by Kat Martin
“Tonight,” he said. “If you’re finished, let’s go get something to eat.”
They headed for the Grand Lux Café to enjoy what so far had been, aside from a series of updates from Tabby and business calls from Kate’s office, a surprisingly normal day.
Kate ordered a delicious Asian chicken salad while Jase ordered a prime rib sandwich and fries. She wondered how a man could eat the way he did and never gain weight. But she knew he did serious workouts and kept himself in extremely good physical condition.
Which reminded her of the shower they had shared last night, and the feel of that incredible body pressing her against the wet tile walls. Her face heated up and so did other parts of her anatomy. It took a supreme effort to drag her mind back to sanity and stab a bite of lettuce.
“Have you heard from your father?” Jase asked casually, taking a drink of iced tea.
Thank God he couldn’t read her thoughts. “Just this morning, actually. When he couldn’t reach my cell, he called my office. I phoned him back before we left the apartment.”
“Everything all right?”
“He said he just wanted to say hello.”
“That’s great, Kate. It means he cares.”
“I guess. It’s hard with our lives so different.”
“Maybe you can carve out some time to go see him, meet the rest of your family.”
She’d never really thought of it that way, that she had a half sister and brother, and a stepmom, a family she had never met. Her dad had extended an invitation at the cemetery and also this morning on the phone.
“Maybe I will,” she said, taking another forkful of salad. It would give her something to do after Jason was gone. Something that would help her forget him. The salad stuck in her throat.
Jason paid the bill and they slid out of the booth, wove their way through the crowded restaurant back outside and drove back to Reese’s lavish apartment.
“This is place is really nice,” Jase said as they stepped out of the private elevator. “But it isn’t for me.”
“Too cold, right?”
He smiled. “Yeah.”
“Reese probably had it professionally decorated. I wonder what kind of place he would choose for himself.”
“Hard to tell with Reese.”
Later in the afternoon, Tabby called with information on the nightclub, which was owned by a man named Rafael De Santos. Kate looked him up on the internet, a hot-looking Hispanic man with short black hair and intense dark eyes. In an expensive suit, he looked like a male cover model.
There were several news articles about him and the club he had opened, with photos that showed the wildly extravagant interior. Even under the tenuous circumstances, Kate was looking forward to the evening.
It was after 10:00 p.m. Jase had gotten dressed in one of the other guest suites, giving her space. Now he was pacing the living room, anxious to leave.
Kate checked her makeup in the mirror above the black granite counter in the bathroom and fluffed her long blond curls. Straightening the sequined bodice of the black silk dress, she tugged down the very short, very snug skirt and headed for the living room.
Jase turned and she stopped dead in her tracks. She could almost feel her jaw unhinging. Dressed in an expensive, perfectly tailored black suit over a purple designer T-shirt, his hair shaved on the sides and moussed into a peak on top, Hawk looked amazing, as if he’d stepped out of GQ.
Kate barely recognized him as the tough man in the black jeans and leather vest he had been at Mean Jack’s.
His gaze slid over her head to foot, and the heat in his eyes had desire pulsing low in her belly.
“Beautiful,” he said.
She swallowed, her stomach quivering. “You...um...too.” She set her palms on the lapels of his black jacket, noticed a small tattoo above his right ear, a pair of arrows, one above the other, pointing in opposite directions. “Is that real?”
He chuckled. “I drew it on with a Sharpie. It’ll be there awhile.”
“What’s it mean?”
“Two opposing arrows mean war or conflict. It’s just part of the image.”
“What about the tattoo on your calf?” Which was definitely real. “You never said.”
“Friends in Afghanistan, marines in my unit who died while I lived.”
Her heart ached for him. She had read about survivor’s guilt, knew that when you lost close friends it was even more difficult. “I’m glad you made it out okay.”
Jason glanced away, the subject clearly painful.
“You look...really different,” Kate said, bringing him back to the moment.
“Tricks of the trade.” He adjusted the heavy gold rings on his fingers. “A bounty hunter has to be a chameleon.”
He looked so good she couldn’t resist going up on her toes and pressing a kiss on his lips. An instant later, she was in his arms, his mouth crushing down over hers. Heat scorched through her—the instant before he let her go.
“Remember where we left off when we get home,” he said a little gruffly. “In the meantime, we’ve got work to do.”
Kate simply nodded. Heat still throbbed in all her womanly places. Remembering would not be a problem.
“Leave your ID here. Tonight you’re Kitty Cordell, high-class call girl.”
She glanced down at her black silk dress and heels. She hadn’t been going for cheap.
“Two thousand a night,” Jason said as if he read her mind, and Kate grinned.
“So who are you?” she asked.
“Brock Devlin, in from Atlanta, plenty of money to burn and looking for a good time.”
Brock Devlin. Oh, yeah.
Jase took her arm and led her out of the apartment. Instead of the Yukon, a sleek silver Mercedes AMG S coupe waited in the circular drive in front of the building.
“We’re taking that?”
“That’s right. You got enough money, you can rent anything you want.” He smiled as he settled her in the passenger seat. “No expense spared while I’m in Dallas.”
“We’re spending a lot of money,” Kate said as he slid into the driver’s seat.
“Don’t worry, it’s dirty money, part of the stash I keep for expenses. I got it picking up a drug lord, came out of a huge pile of bills sitting in the middle of the dealer’s bed. This is just a prop. I don’t spend it on anything but work.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not a thief. Like I said, it’s just for show. Undercover cops do the same thing.”
She didn’t say more. She trusted Jason to do the right thing, the way he always did. She settled back to enjoy the evening.
This was fun, she realized. She hadn’t expected that. But now that she knew the game, she was determined to play her part.
She flicked a glance at Jason. “You look good behind the wheel of a Benz.”
He laughed. “Pretty much anybody looks good behind the wheel of a hundred-sixty-thousand-dollar Mercedes.”
She smiled and settled back in the seat. She didn’t stop smiling until the Mercedes pulled up to valet parking in front of the Blue Bayou nightclub. Then the possibilities of what could go wrong had her smile slipping away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
After passing a hefty tip to one of the bouncers to get them in the front door, Jase set a hand on the small of Kate’s back and escorted her into the nightclub. It was first class all the way, the interior three-stories high, ringed with open balconies that looked down on a dance floor crisscrossed with tiny blue LED lights.
Blue neon light illuminated the bar and the booths along the walls. A strobe light beat over the dance floor while a DJ inside a glass-enclosed booth played a throbbing tune that had the place jumping.
“Let’s get a drink,” Jase suggested, steering Kate toward the bar. He tried not to notice the sexy little
black dress she was wearing, cut just low enough to make him sweat. Thick blond curls tumbled around her shoulders, and those long legs went on forever.
He wished it didn’t feel so good to be spending his nights in her bed, wished she didn’t mean more to him than just a hot piece of ass.
Truth was, he was in deep with Kate Gallagher. Kate was smart and strong and determined. She was everything he admired in a woman. He was in a place he had never been before—though now was hardly the time to be thinking about it.
He helped her up on a bar stool and took the one beside her, pulled out a wad of cash in a flashy gold money clip. The way he was dressed, the car he was driving and the cash he’d been tossing around sent a message to the management. He figured it wouldn’t take long to hear from someone.
“I’ll have a vodka lemon drop martini,” Kate said, getting into her role. She seemed to have a knack, which made his job a whole lot easier.
“What kind of vodka?” the bartender asked.
“Grey Goose is all right.”
Jase surveyed the back bar. “She’ll have Beluga Gold.”
The bartender eyed the money clip in Jase’s hand. “What about you?”
“I’ll have a single malt. What have you got?”
The bartender mopped the counter in front of them. “Got a sixteen-year-old Lagavulin. That do?”
“That’s fine.”
The bartender, average height and build, blond and good-looking, went to work. A few minutes later, he returned with a stemmed martini glass and a heavy low ball glass filled with a shot of amber liquid. Setting the drinks on top of the bar, he cruised off to wait on other customers, more than enough to keep him busy.
Jase took a sip of the expensive scotch and turned to survey the room. The music was loud, but the crowd seemed to be enjoying it. His gaze went to the second floor, where he spotted a second bar, one that looked quieter.
“Come on, beautiful, let’s go upstairs.”
Kate’s eyes flashed to his. It was simple truth, not flattery, and had been the first time he’d said it. She took a couple of sips of her drink, bringing the level down so she could carry it, and they wove their way through the throng of moving bodies. Though an elevator wasn’t far away, the stairs gave him a chance to check out their surroundings.
Jase wasn’t sure what he expected to find tonight—maybe nothing that would do them any good. But according to Tabby, the building was also owned by a corporation connected to Schram and Wiedel. Tab was still trying to locate the other two massage parlors in Houston.
At the top of the stairs, he urged Kate toward the second bar, more of a lounge, with comfortable dark blue leather couches set around low, black glass tables.
A maître d’ approached, silver-haired and oddly dignified for a crowd like this. “Good evening. My name is Arnold. I understand this is your first visit to the Blue Bayou.”
“That’s right.” Information Jase had dropped to the bouncers at the front on his way in.
“The owner, Mr. De Santos, would like to extend a personal invitation for you and your companion to join him.” Arnold stepped back and indicated a lean, black-haired man on the sofa in the far corner of the bar. A sexy blonde sat on one side of him, a dynamite redhead on the other.
“Lead the way,” Jase said. “Kitty?” She fell in behind the maître d’ and Jase followed.
Rafael De Santos rose to greet them, extending a slender manicured hand. Jase accepted the handshake, his own nails carefully trimmed and buffed. He knew how to play the game. Under the right circumstances, it was how he got paid.
“Welcome to the Blue Bayou, Mr....?”
“Devlin. Brock Devlin.”
“Rafael De Santos. I own this place.” He reached out to Kate, who extended her hand, but instead of shaking it, De Santos brought Kate’s hand to his lips and kissed the back. “Rafael De Santos at your service, lovely lady.”
“Kathryn Cordell,” Kate said, nicely adjusting to the moment. “My friends call me Kitty.”
De Santos smiled. “My friends call me Rafi. Welcome to the Blue Bayou.”
The guy had two female companions of his own, but he was clearly interested in Kate. Had to give De Santos credit for balls. He had shit for brains or he’d know Jase was thinking about stomping those balls into grease spots on the carpet.
“Please...” De Santos said, stretching a hand toward the opposite sofa. “Won’t you join me?”
Jase nodded. “All right, thanks.” He took a seat across from De Santos, and Kate sat down beside him. Jase made a point of toying with her wrist, linking their fingers together, staking his claim, which De Santos seemed to ignore.
“Your drinks need refreshing.” De Santos snapped his fingers at a passing waiter, and the guy turned around so fast his head nearly spun off his shoulders.
“Lagavulin single malt, I understand,” De Santos said.
Jase nodded.
De Santos looked at Kate. “And yours, Beluga Gold lemon drop.”
Kate smiled and held up her empty glass. The waiter set it on his tray and took off at a run toward the bar, and Jase’s gaze followed, snagged on the man in the short white jacket working behind the counter. Black hair a little too long, olive complexion, high cheekbones. The guy looked familiar.
Jesus. Mark Kingsley, special agent FBI. They’d met a couple years back when Jase was hunting a skip and Kingsley was working undercover—which apparently he was now. They’d formed a wary partnership that had become stronger over time. Kingsley and the feds arrested a well-known drug dealer and Jase brought in his skip, worth 15 percent of a three-million-dollar bond.
For an instant, his gaze locked with Kingsley’s. Recognition was instant, the message clear. You keep quiet and I will too.
“I would like you to meet my friends, Dolores and Bunny,” De Santos said, regaining Jase’s attention.
“Pleasure,” he said, thinking the buxom blonde looked more like a Bunny than the redhead.
“Nice to meet you both,” Kate said.
Their drinks arrived. “So, Mr. Devlin, you are here on business?”
“Of a sort,” Jase said, taking a sip of his drink.
“Where do you come from?” De Santos asked.
“Atlanta.”
“I see. And what sort of work is it you do in Atlanta?” De Santos pressed.
Jase took a sip of his drink. “I work strictly for myself.” Code for I do anything that makes me money. Which De Santos clearly understood.
De Santos swirled the the liquor in his glass, making the ice cubes clink together. “And you, Ms. Cordell? You are also from Atlanta?”
Kate smiled. “Actually, I live right here in Dallas. Brock and I only met this evening.”
De Santos picked up on the implication. A woman who looked like Kate didn’t waste her time on blind dates. “Well, then, perhaps you will come and see us again.”
She gave him a sophisticated smile. “Perhaps I will.”
De Santos’s gaze returned to Jase. “How long will you be in Dallas, Mr. Devlin?”
“I plan to be here at least a few more days.”
“If there is anything you need, please let me know. We like to keep our customers happy.”
Jase lifted a dark eyebrow. “Is that so?”
De Santos smiled, his gaze narrowing on Jase like a raptor swooping down on its prey. “Perhaps, if time permits, tomorrow evening you would care to attend a small party upstairs in my personal quarters. Very private, you understand. Ms. Cordell, of course you are invited, as well.”
Jase sipped his drink and slowly nodded. “That sounds good. What time?”
“Any time after ten.”
“We’ll be there.” Jase set his unfinished scotch on the table and stood up from the sofa. “Time to go, babe. You’ve got a long evening ahead.”
; She stood up beside him, leaned in close, went up and kissed him full on the mouth. “I’m ready whenever you are, honey,” she breathed.
De Santos rose, too. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Devlin. Ms. Cordell.”
Jase nodded. “Thanks for the drink. We’ll see you tomorrow night.”
They left the club and headed back to Reese’s penthouse, Jase making sure they didn’t pick up a tail on the way.
“What do you think he’s involved in?” Kate asked once they were safely inside.
“Aside from drugs and prostitution? Probably the usual array of illegal gaming, extortion and money laundering—anything that makes a buck.”
“What do you think he wants from us?”
“I know what he wants from you and he isn’t going to get it. What he wants from me—probably a connection in Atlanta. Between now and tomorrow night, he’ll be finding out everything he can about Brock Devlin. Fortunately, it’s a cover I’ve used before and it goes deep.”
“Tabby?”
“That’s right. De Santos will discover I’m exactly what he’s hoping I’ll be—a shady character who lives high and hard and is always interested in making more money.”
“Tomorrow night could be dangerous.”
“No question. The good news is there’s an FBI friend of mine working undercover behind the bar. His name is Mark Kingsley. We’ve worked together before.”
Her eyes widened. “FBI! Seriously?”
He chuckled. “Dead serious, honey. I figure Kingsley will try to track me down either tonight or sometime tomorrow. Mindy has the number of my burner. I’ll phone the office in the morning, make sure she gives it to him when he calls.”
“I don’t suppose we could just hand this whole thing over to the FBI and forget it.”
“I wish we could. I’ve got a hunch we may know things they don’t, which means they may need our help. Plus, if we don’t show up tomorrow night, De Santos might get suspicious and pull the plug.”
“You mean go underground and move the women somewhere else.”
“Exactly—assuming he’s got the juice to make that happen. Whatever’s going on, we have to see this through.” Finding Chrissy Gallagher’s killer was no longer enough. The hunters were being hunted. He had to put an end to Los Besos before both of them wound up dead.
