Naked Truth

by Tami Lund

  Only to be woken up an hour later by his phone.

  “Time to look at some film,” his partner said in greeting. Cullen sounded too damn cheerful for only having gotten a handful of hours of sleep. Probably because he’d gotten to sleep in a real bed last night. Lucky bastard.

  • • •

  On Friday morning, when Cullen once again called and told him it was time to review film, Jack managed to corner Kennedy in her bedroom before he dragged his exhausted self out the door. She’d just changed from pajamas to her workout clothes. He wanted to strip them right back off her and do all those wicked things he alluded to while he was up on that stage, dancing for other women’s pleasure. He was suddenly ravenous for her body, but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it because Vanessa was still there, hovering like a damned overprotective queen’s maid, ensuring her charge didn’t let the big bad man steal her virtue.

  He settled for backing her against the wall and gyrating his hips against her pelvis while he kissed her breathless. “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he said when he finally tore his lips away. “Be careful. Do not do anything stupid. Do not go anywhere alone. And for the sake of my sanity, get rid of your cousin.”

  His plea didn’t work, although Kennedy insisted it wasn’t for lack of trying.

  “Seriously,” he muttered as he slouched against the counter while Kennedy chopped ingredients for a grilled salmon salad. Vanessa had disappeared down the hall, giving them a brief respite. “I’m going to go fucking insane if that woman does not leave soon. Like tonight.”

  “Why does she bother you so much? She fawns over you. You don’t like that sort of attention?” Kennedy teased him as she shredded lettuce.

  “Not from her. The only person I want to pay attention to me like that is you.”

  She turned her head and cocked an eyebrow.

  “I want to get laid,” he qualified, realizing that he’d let slip something far more personal than he meant to. “With you,” he added before she had a chance to say something smartass, like suggest her cousin. Every time either of them said anything that could remotely be construed as too personal, they tended to either ignore the subject or dance around it, treating the comment as if it had been a joke.

  The problem was, he wasn’t joking anymore. If he ever had been. With Kennedy, he had a suspicion there had never been a point when it had been casual, just sex. But how did he tell her that? And what if she didn’t feel the same? She wasn’t exactly forthcoming with her feelings either. Unless she was writhing underneath him, begging him for more or screaming his name, he had absolutely no clue how she really felt. So she liked the sex. A lot. But what about the rest of it?

  Jack had never really considered the whole package before because he had never really considered anything beyond a simple, straightforward good time. Now, he couldn’t help but wonder, was he good enough—for more?

  Kennedy added red onion to her salad and began slicing a tomato. “I’ll see what I can do,” she assured him. Her voice was neutral. He couldn’t tell if she was just saying that to appease him, or if she, too, was desperate for a little alone time.

  “It’s not necessary.” He pulled a beer out of the fridge, all too conscious of the fact that she would not have beer in her fridge if he were not spending so much time at her house. Kennedy didn’t drink beer.

  “You just said—

  “Yeah, well, I’m over it now. I don’t want to put you out.”

  She snorted. “Put me out? Are you kidding me? You have no qualms with waking me up at all hours of the night, and half the time I don’t know if you’re going to jump my bones or pass out cold next to me. And now, suddenly, you’re worried about putting me out?”

  He slammed the nearly full beer onto the counter and glared at her. “You know what? Forget it. I’m out of here.” He strode from the kitchen, leaving her standing there, probably leaning against the counter and wondering what the hell just happened.

  Which was just as well, because he was wondering the same damn thing.

  • • •

  Marie just loved the Internet. It was truly amazing what one could find with just a little patience and perseverance. Sometimes it cost money to get the information one wanted, but who cared in the grand scheme of things? If the results were to her satisfaction, Marie considered it a purchase well worth the money.

  Take, for example, the information she learned about Ms. Kennedy St. George, a.k.a. Mrs. Kennedy Coster, wife to a Mr. Jerry Coster. They’d wed five years ago and separated two years later. Kennedy had immediately stopped referring to herself as Mrs. Coster and changed her legal name back to St. George.

  Marie discovered some financial difficulties in there too. Late payments, negative marks on Mrs. St. George-Coster’s credit report. The cable had been turned off; she’d even given up her cell phone for a few months. Marie pieced it all together and surmised that Ms. St. George-Coster’s husband had a bad habit of gambling away far more money than he actually had to gamble.

  Kennedy reminded her of her own daughter, of Shannon. Both made very poor decisions with regard to the opposite sex. Both turned to male strippers as a way to forget their woes. The problem was, these strippers were worse than whatever the two women were running from. They were sinners. Bad, terrible people, leading horrible, immoral lives.

  And just like Shannon, Kennedy had to be taught a lesson.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Vanessa had gone out; to where, Kennedy had no earthly idea and frankly didn’t care. She was so tired of her cousin’s antics, she was barely able to remain civil.

  She spent the rare alone time cleaning her house, and was just contemplating running a hot bath and soaking with a good book in hand when she heard the doorbell. She gave serious consideration to not answering it, figuring it was either a solicitor or Jack. But the reality was, Jack wouldn’t knock, and it was too late for solicitors. Besides, if it was Jack, she really did want to see him, despite the way they’d left things earlier today.

  She shifted gears, heading toward the front door instead of the bathroom.

  When she swung the door open, she wished she hadn’t. So much so, in fact, that she tried to immediately push it closed again. Unfortunately, the person on the other side anticipated her move, and he was, by the simple act of physical stature, stronger than she.

  She stepped into the doorway, blocking his entrance. “What the hell are you doing here, Jerry?” she demanded, her hands on her hips, her mouth twisted into a scowl, her eyes narrowed. She had the unnatural urge to pull back her arm and swing her fist at his cheerfully smiling face.

  She hadn’t seen or spoken to her ex-husband in three years. She had assumed she’d closed that chapter of her life. It hadn’t been all that long ago that her credit score finally had climbed high enough she could consider purchasing a newer car.

  He lifted both hands in the classic sign of surrender and tried for a sheepish look. “Is that any way to greet your husband after all this time? How about a hello?”

  “You aren’t my husband. You’re a lying, thieving, conniving—”

  He flapped his hands, cutting off her impassioned commentary. “Okay, okay, okay. Relax, darlin’. I’m not here to steal anything.”

  She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I just need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

  He was the epitome of politeness, the very picture of innocence. With his perfectly groomed, sandy-brown hair and big, brown eyes, he was the one your mamma wished you would bring home to meet her.

  That smooth exterior hid a cold, black heart and a man who would steal from his own mother if he thought it would bring him better luck at the gaming tables.

  “I don’t have any money, Jerry. You stole it all already, remember? I’m still trying to clean up my credit after what you did to me. If you think for one red hot minute that I would ever consider letting you back into my life, you are one seriously delusional human being.”

  “S
uch an eloquent speech,” Jerry said, his voice faintly taunting. “And all for naught. Because I have some bad news for you, darlin’. We aren’t through yet. That divorce you thought you got three years ago? It never happened. I never signed anything. And if you want me to cooperate and give you what you want, then you’re going to have to let me in.” He smiled wide, showing off a mouthful of large, white teeth.

  Kennedy wanted to knock them out of that mouth.

  “We’re still married?”

  He muscled his way into the house, shouldering past her when she tried to stand in his way. He paused at the entrance to the living room, his eyes roaming over the place.

  “There’s nothing of real value left,” she said tartly. When he’d cleaned out her house the day after she’d served him with divorce papers, the only valuable item he’d left was her wedding ring, and that had only been because she’d worn it to work that day, as she hadn’t been ready to deal with the questions from her coworkers. Thank God she’d made that choice, because she’d hocked it to pay her bills the following month.

  Now he was back, three years later, to inform her that he’d never actually granted her the divorce? She’d slept with a sleaze-bag lawyer she never should have hired, and then she’d slaved sixteen-hour days, seven days a week for months to pay for the second, overpriced lawyer, and she still wasn’t divorced?

  How unfair was this world?

  Jerry found her outrage amusing. “Whatcha been up to while you’ve been waiting around for me to return?” he asked.

  “I haven’t been waiting for you,” she snapped. “I assumed I would never see you again. Why are you back now? And why didn’t you sign those damn papers?”

  She was just beginning to get back onto secure financial footing after three years of barely scraping by, slowly and steadily paying off Jerry’s debt, which had, of course, all been in her name. The idea that he was back, that he would take it all away again, was giving her heart palpitations.

  “I missed you,” he said, and he walked over to the couch, bent over, and picked up something off the ground. When he straightened again, Kennedy saw that it was a belt. Jack’s belt.

  “You’ve gained a few pounds, Kennedy, but this still looks awfully big for you.”

  She wasn’t sure whether to be more outraged by his comment about gaining a few pounds or that he truly expected she had been waiting around for the last three years, pining for him. She stalked over and snatched the belt from his hand.

  “Get out, Jerry,” she said coldly. “Get out before I call the police.”

  “Go ahead. I haven’t touched you, and we’re still married, remember? What are the police going to do?”

  Kennedy gritted her teeth and squeezed her fists until the leather of the belt dug into her palm. She took a few breaths to relax her raging emotions, and then she forced herself to be calm as she tried to decipher why the hell Jerry was back in her life again.

  As it turned out—if Jerry could be believed—he had conquered his addiction. He was no longer a gambling addict. He’d gotten help and was better now. All he needed was to find a job. Get back on his feet. He wanted to pay her back. He wanted to prove to her that he was the man she thought she fell in love with.

  “I can’t, Jerry,” she said wearily, several hours into his ramblings. “I’m not in love with you anymore. I guess I’m glad you’re better now, but I can’t do it again. I’m sure there’s someone out there for you, but it isn’t me.”

  She wasn’t in love with him; she was in love with someone else. Unfortunately, she suspected that particular person was just in it for a good time and, eventually, she’d get her heart broken, but that didn’t matter at the moment. She could not walk away from Jack, nor could she turn back to Jerry.

  Love really sucked sometimes.

  • • •

  Vanessa was at the club tonight. Alone, or so Jack presumed, since she’d managed to position herself at a table of elderly women. Jack could barely look at the group because it was like looking at a gaggle of grannies, and who the hell wanted to see his mamaw at a strip club?

  Sabrina, according to Cullen, was at home tonight, and he didn’t see Kennedy anywhere around. He was pretty sure Vanessa didn’t know anyone else in town, which meant she’d ventured out on her own this evening.

  He wished he could slip away and head over to Kennedy’s house for some time alone with her. Without the burden of Vanessa hovering, he was reasonably certain he could talk her into getting naked with him. And maybe, just maybe, while they were in that vulnerable state, they could talk—about life, about relationships, about the two of them, and whatever the hell they were doing together.

  After leaving her house earlier in the day in what could only be called a snit, he’d ended up at Cullen’s and Sabrina’s house. He pounded a beer out of sheer frustration, ignored Cullen’s snide comments, and then asked his partner how he did it.

  “You and Sabrina, you’re so damn different. But it works. How’d you get to that point?”

  Cullen barked out a laugh and drank his beer more sedately. “Dumbass, you’re the one who gave me the advice to talk to her. Once I figured out how to do that, everything else fell into place.”

  After that mostly useless bit of advice, Cullen had narrowed his eyes and studied Jack with an uncomfortable scrutiny. “Is this about Kennedy? Jesus, Jack, what the fuck?”

  If this was Cullen’s version of talking, Sabrina must be a saint and a mind reader all wrapped into one pretty little package.

  But he kept thinking about it, and kept thinking about it, and he realized his own advice was right. They just needed to talk. If he admitted to Kennedy that he felt more for her than just a good time, maybe, hopefully, she might admit she felt the same. She was, after all, a relationship kind of girl. Hell, she’d already done it once. According to Cullen, she’d gotten married when she was twenty-five. It had only lasted two years, but that had been the ex-husband’s fault for cheating on her.

  Jack couldn’t imagine ever cheating on Kennedy. She was the perfect woman. She was flexible and accommodating, and she didn’t bitch when he showed up at her house in the middle of the night. She didn’t question the hours he put in at work. Hell, she didn’t question anything at all. His job occasionally made her nervous, caused her to worry for his safety, but if she didn’t worry about an FBI agent on occasion, he’d wonder about her capacity for empathy. And in truth, he liked that about her, too, liked the way she cared so much for others. Especially him.

  If he needed more proof that he ought to give this thing with her a try, she was the hottest thing he’d slept with in a very long time—if ever. Just thinking about how rubbing her feet had given her an almost instant orgasm made him consider walking right out the back door of the club, climbing into his truck, and heading to her house—to hell with the case, to hell with the group of dancers who didn’t realize it but were counting on him and Cullen to keep them alive.

  So he didn’t leave. Even for Kennedy, he couldn’t. He had a killer to catch. He stood in the shadows behind the stage while Sweetspot did his routine to Def Leopard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” and he wondered if the killer was in the crowd tonight.

  He and Cullen had watched surveillance tape until they’d both gone cross-eyed, and so far, they’d come up dry. “Half the damn women in this place come back night after night,” Cullen complained earlier that morning. They sat in one of the smaller conference rooms at FBI headquarters, watching grainy, black-and-white footage as it played against the beige wall background.

  Jack had been dozing at that point, and woke with a start. An elderly woman passed in front of the hidden camera. “Even the freaking grannies,” he muttered as she stepped out of sight again.

  “We’ve avoided questioning everyone, because we don’t want to blow our cover,” Cullen mused. “But maybe it’s time. There’re two more nights, and then the show heads to Biloxi. I for one have no desire to go to Biloxi for the next two weeks. Nor do I want to
keep up this grueling schedule. I hate functioning on four hours of sleep a night.”

  Cullen’s misery echoed his own. The only difference was that Cullen’s home life was at least going well, whereas Jack’s home life—or whatever the hell it was—had evaporated into thin air, when all he’d been trying to do was convince Kennedy to get rid of her cousin so they could have some privacy.

  Maybe talking wasn’t the best option.

  It was his turn to dance. Danny introduced him, working the crowd into a frenzy as his Nine Inch Nails number pulsed in the background. He’d never realized until this assignment just how lust-crazed and base women could be. They were hardly different from men. They just hid it better, underneath light makeup, cute outfits, sexy heels and long, smooth hair.

  He really needed to find some time alone with Kennedy. Action first, then talk. His frustration had turned into a dual combination of wanting to get laid and wanting to just be with her—on good terms.

  Vanessa nearly tackled him when he leapt down and danced his way along the front of the stage. He winced as she grabbed his injured arm. “Take me now or lose me forever!” she shouted as she pawed and tried to kiss him.

  Jack kept his lips determinedly out of reach and said, “Guess I’ll lose you forever,” disentangled himself, and danced out of reach. All the grannies except one were shouting their encouragement to Vanessa. He guessed the quiet one was the designated driver.

  And men were accused of being miscreants?

  The show finally ended, the seats vacated, and more women filled them again. Many were the same, but some were different, and Jack tried to be optimistic that they would find their perp on tonight’s surveillance tape. He was tired of worrying for the safety of ten guys he didn’t particularly like all that much, and he was tired of worrying about Kennedy and the fact that he believed their Stripper Killer—as the media had dubbed the perp—knew where she lived.

  “The wig isn’t custom-made, and it’s widely available at Walmart stores across the country,” the lab tech had informed them the day after it was found in Kennedy’s neighborhood. They were checking the local Walmart stores to see if anyone recalled the purchase of this particular wig, but all they’d learned so far was if their perp was a man, he was likely dressing up as a woman.