Rush pushed himself up and turned once more to survey the belongings on the bed. “Right,” he said to the empty room. “Avengers assemble. To fucking infinity and beyond.”
—
The doorman at Sugar Daddy’s scowled at Ava. “Again?”
She didn’t bother arguing this time, merely slid the bills across to him. He grunted, made the money disappear, and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs.
Ava turned without a word and went along the by now familiar corridor to the metal stairs at the end of it.
This was probably a really stupid idea.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have much choice, not if she didn’t want to let Rush down. And she really didn’t want to let Rush down. She’d convinced him to bring her along to Troy’s, and she wanted to prove herself. Wanted to show him she could do this.
That blow job probably helped.
Heat swirled like smoke inside her. She didn’t need that right now, not when she was coming into a strip club with a very specific purpose in mind.
Pausing for a minute to watch the girls on the poles, she squinted into the stage lights, but the woman she was looking for wasn’t there. She watched for another minute, seeing how they moved and filing that away for future reference, then turned and headed toward the bar.
Flashing her badge and using phrases like “confidential police business” had the desired effect, and soon she was being ushered through a door near the stage and down a corridor to a maze of backstage rooms full of hairspray and glitter and women not wearing very much at all.
The man who’d led her here paused outside a closed door, then knocked.
“What?” a distinctly unfriendly voice called from the room inside.
“Got a visitor for ya,” the man said.
“I don’t take visitors, Clive. Not unless they’re paying ones.”
But the man took no notice and opened the door anyway, gesturing for Ava to go in.
The dressing room was small, a mirror taking up most of the wall opposite, the lights around it making the space bright. Sitting in a chair in front of the mirror, her blond hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail with a jeweled ribbon around it, wearing a sparkly bikini bottom, six-inch-high stripper heels, and nothing else, was Candy.
Ava stepped into the room as the door shut behind her and gave the other woman a stiff smile. “Hi…uh…Candy.”
Candy, in the middle of applying some fake eyelashes, gave her a look of dislike. “Not you again. What the hell do you want? If you’re after Rush, he’s not here. Obviously.”
Well, this was awkward. Not that she’d expected it not to be, but still.
“Actually,” she said slowly, not knowing quite how to begin, “I’m here to see you.”
The look on Candy’s face hardened. “I don’t do girls, sweetheart. And if you’re here to see me, you’re gonna have to pay me, ’cause I don’t work for free.”
“I’m here on police business,” Ava said, which wasn’t the entire truth, but it wasn’t exactly untrue either. She was pursuing a potential murder suspect, which was definitely police business. But she was doing it without the sanction of the police, which wasn’t.
“I’m not telling you a damn thing,” Candy said flatly.
Ava took a breath. “I’m not here for information. I’m here because I need to go undercover and thought you might be able to give me some help.”
It was a long shot coming here, but she hadn’t known what else to do. Rush was coming for her the next day, which had left her with no time at all to get the stuff she needed in order to make a convincing girlfriend for him.
She had no mother, no close girlfriends she could ask for advice. She didn’t even know which stores to visit to find suitable clothes.
Think stripper, Rush had told her. So here she was, asking an actual stripper.
Candy stared at her in the mirror. The expression on the other woman’s face was guarded and unfriendly, and Ava didn’t blame her in the slightest. After all, she was a cop, and it wasn’t like cops were nice to working girls like Candy.
“Help, huh?” Candy said at last. “What kind of help are you talking about?”
“I’m going undercover as Rush’s girlfriend as part of a police operation. And I need to look the part.”
There was a silence.
Slowly Candy swiveled around so she was facing Ava. She was topless and made no effort to hide her admittedly impressive chest. “Look the part?” she echoed.
Ava gritted her teeth and hoped she wasn’t blushing. “He told me he only dates strippers, which means looking—”
“Like a stripper,” Candy finished.
The silence became even more awkward.
Candy sat back in her chair and gracefully crossed one long leg over the other, giving Ava a head-to-toe look that made her feel uncomfortable. “Sorry, sweetie, but you’re a lot to work with. And like I said, I don’t do anything for free.” There was something very shrewd in the other woman’s eyes, the look of a businesswoman cutting a deal.
Ava gave a brisk nod, because after all, her badge could only take her so far and she didn’t feel right about threatening the woman with some kind of trumped-up legal action. “I’ll pay you.” Digging her hand into her purse, she hauled out her wallet and opened it, taking out a wad of bills. Then she came over to the mirror and laid the bills down on the vanity sitting beneath it. “For your trouble.”
Candy glanced at the money but didn’t touch it. And Ava had the feeling that the woman didn’t need to count it because she knew exactly how much was sitting there.
“Okay,” Candy said. “You got yourself a stripper for half an hour. What do you need?”
“Clothes. And I guess…makeup? Shoes. Anything that makes me pass convincingly as Rush’s girlfriend.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I don’t know if I have clothes that will fit you, but I’m sure we can rustle something up from some of the other girls. What else?”
She didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to embarrass herself. But again, she had no one to talk to, no other female figure in her life to share with, and she’d never felt the lack of it until now. It hurt more than she thought, that the only person she had to talk about this stuff with was a stripper she didn’t even know.
Then again, in a way, that made it easier.
“Come on, sweetie,” Candy said impatiently. “I can see you want to say something, so spit it out.”
Ava swallowed. “What does he like?”
Candy’s long fake eyelashes fluttered and she frowned, as if she’d been expecting a very different question. “What? What does who like?”
“Rush,” Ava said, feeling horribly awkward. “What does he like…you know…in bed?”
The other woman stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “Why are you asking me?”
“Well, because you…” Ava made a helpless gesture. “You know. You and he…have been together.”
“I’ve fucked him, yeah.” Her blue eyes sharpened in a way that made Ava feel like she’d just been peeled open. “You want him, don’t you?”
She hadn’t come here to lie, and this was an opportunity she sensed she wouldn’t have again, so there was no point in wasting it. “Yes,” she said. “I do.”
There was no jealousy in Candy’s expression, just that narrow, assessing look. “So why don’t you find out for yourself? That’s half the fun.”
“Because I don’t…I’m not very experienced.” She felt heat stain her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Everything in her life she’d approached with maximum effort, to be the best she could be, and she wasn’t about to break the habit of a lifetime now. “I don’t want to…disappoint him.”
Candy studied her silently for what seemed like forever. Then she let out a long breath. “Well, sure. Why not? I got a few tips I could pass on to you. It’s your money, after all.”
Ava shifted on her feet. “I could pay you more. I mean, if we need more time.”
But the other woman shook her head. “Nah. Call it a public service. I kind of owe Rush anyway.”
She blinked at that. “Oh?”
Candy gave her a quick, brilliant grin. “When you do a dude for free, word gets out, you know? They can’t fucking shut up about it, like it’s some big thing. And then all their friends are down here, trying to get you to do it to them for free too. I hate shit like that. I’m a businesswoman. I’m just trying to make a buck, and dudes wanting services for free just isn’t happening.” She paused. “I did Rush for free a couple of times, because he was a good guy. Because I liked him. Because he was good in bed and he never took advantage. And you know what else? He never told a soul. Just told all his friends I was worth every dime.”
Ava didn’t know what to say to that. She studied the other woman’s pretty, guarded face. “You don’t feel…things for him?” she asked, not wanting to examine the reasons why that was important to know, but wanting to know it anyway.
Candy’s smile turned wistful, a strange look on her heavily made-up face. “No. Never get involved with clients. That’s my line and I never cross it. He was good with his hands, but there was other shit going on with him and I don’t need that. And besides…” She tipped her head to the side and gave Ava a shrewd look. “Men are like locks, sweetie. If you want to open them, you have to have the right key.” She paused. “And I didn’t have Rush’s key.”
Ava swallowed, not quite sure what to say to that either.
Perhaps you have the right key?
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs in a firm, definite beat. But she didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to examine what that might mean.
Maybe Candy knew, maybe the other woman could see it on her face, because abruptly she slid out of the chair in a sinuous, graceful movement. “Come on, sweetie,” she said. “Time to get this stripper show on the road. Let’s see if we can’t make Rush freak the hell out when he sees you.”
Ava spent the rest of the evening getting her face painted and her hair teased, then squeezing herself into a variety of outfits that were without exception tight, short, or some combination of the two. Candy and her friends didn’t hold back with their opinions. It took them forever to be satisfied with the outfits she eventually borrowed, but in the end, armed with enough makeup to paint the entire cast of The Lion King and enough tips to put a Las Vegas brothel to shame, she made her way home feeling at least somewhat prepared.
She spent the next day carefully trying on the outfits again and figuring out how to walk in six-inch heels without falling over, before deciding on what she was going to wear for the journey there. Then she sat for a whole half hour in front of the bathroom mirror, painstakingly trying to make herself up with enough skill to at least look like she knew what she was doing and not as if she was auditioning to be a clown in a circus.
When finally she heard Rush’s knock on the front door, she had to take a few deep breaths to calm herself down before she went to open it.
Her heart was racing and she felt ridiculously nervous as she pulled open the front door, and it wasn’t even because of the dangerous situation they were heading into.
Oh no, it was all him.
He stood in the doorway and somehow she was even more conscious of how tall and powerful he was. The width of his shoulders and the pull of the material around his biceps. How the lighting cast shadows on his face, making him seem not so much the cocky guy she knew, but someone much more mysterious, much more dangerous.
He said nothing, his gaze taking in the tight, midriff-baring white tank top she wore and the little white mini that was less of a skirt and more of a bandage wound around her hips. The high gold sandals with the straps that wrapped around and around her calves. The masses of curls bouncing around her head, the thick black mascara, and the bright red lipstick that somehow didn’t clash with her hair even though she was sure it should have.
Another moment of silence passed.
This was crazy. She felt like an idiot, and she looked like an idiot too, even though Candy had told her, with grudging respect, that she looked pretty good and might even be able to get a job at Sugar Daddy’s if the whole cop thing didn’t work out for her.
But maybe Candy had been lying. Maybe she just looked ridiculous.
“I know,” she said, breaking the awful silence. “I look terrible, perhaps I should—”
Rush stepped forward and before she could finish, he put his big, warm hands on her hips and pulled her toward him with a jerk, so she was right up against his hard, strong body. Then he put one hand in her hair and pulled her head back, while he slid his other hand up her thigh, lifting her leg high around his lean waist. Then he covered her mouth in a kiss that literally blew her mind.
It was hard and hot, his tongue pushing into her mouth, demanding, taking. He tasted of something fresh and sweet, with that alcoholic bite that always had her senses spinning, and she had to curl her fingers into the fabric of his black T-shirt just to stay upright.
She shivered. With her leg lifted high, her sex was pressed to the hard ridge of his zipper, and when he flexed his hips, pushing blatantly against her, the electric bolt of sensation that shot through her made her knees go weak.
Her fingers curled tighter in his shirt, wanting to hold him close, and she tried to kiss him in return, take back some of the control. But he was having none of it, expertly controlling the kiss, deepening it, then easing off, his mouth moving on hers with such leisurely skill that she forgot where she was and what she was doing. Forgot everything but the feel of his lips on hers and the taste of him. The rock-hard body she was plastered against and the terrible, teasing ridge that nudged against her sex, making her want to wrap her legs around him and rub herself against him like a cat.
But then, much to her disappointment, he pulled away gently and released her. She stood there swaying slightly, her fingers still curled in his T-shirt, unwilling to let go, while he put his hands on her hips to steady her.
“Why did you do that?” she asked thickly.
“Because you’re my fucking girlfriend and I’ll do whatever I want to you, whenever I want to do it.” His eyes gleamed. “Where did you get the gear?”
The words echoed inside her, bouncing around, ricocheting off the sharp edges of a pain she didn’t fully understand, somehow smoothing them off. “Wait,” she said, because she wanted to know. “Does that mean I look convincing?”
He lifted one dark, scarred brow. “Why the hell do you think I kissed you? You look like you should be on the stage at Sugar Daddy’s.”
How weird to feel so pleased that she looked like a stripper. “I got the gear from Candy,” she said, forcing herself to uncurl her fingers from his T-shirt.
A surprised look crossed his face. “Candy?”
“You told me to think stripper. And I have no idea at all about strippers, so I thought I’d go speak to a real one. She and her friends let me borrow some of their clothes.”
There was no mistaking the respect in his eyes and it made her feel ridiculously pleased with herself. “You take this shit seriously, don’t you?”
“Of course. I take everything that’s important seriously.”
“ ‘Everything that’s important,’ ” he echoed, an odd note in his voice. “And how do you figure out what that is?”
This time it was her turn to be surprised. “It’s not what, it’s who. The people who you care about, of course—they’re the important ones.” She paused, not sure quite what the expression on his face was. “I mean, don’t you think that?”
He lifted a shoulder in an offhand shrug. “Well, sure. But why make life difficult for yourself?” A familiar, cocky grin turned one corner of his mouth up. “I’ve only got one rule, and that’s ‘Don’t give a fuck.’ Makes life so much easier and simpler.”
She stared at him, because he was a liar and she knew it. There was only one reason he’d been so furious at his family, and it wasn’t becaus
e he didn’t care. “You don’t believe that.”
“Of course I do.” He opened his hands, gesturing around. “Look at all the fucks I do not give.”
“Oh, come on, Rush. I think you—”
“Honey, can we keep thinking to a minimum? Now go grab your stuff and let’s get going. We’ve got a crime summit to get to.”
Chapter 12
Ava didn’t comment as Rush hit play on his iPod and let the sounds of hard rock fill the cab of his battered truck, which made a nice change from Rhys pulling his fucking gun and threatening to shoot it.
Ah, Nirvana—the sounds of his childhood.
The Troy ranch was a couple of hours down the highway from Austin, not a long journey but far enough for plenty of conversation. And there was no way he was going to have a damn conversation. Hence Kurt Cobain screaming about a heart-shaped box.
Pity the memories it brought back were of the shitty kind. Of going to the hospital to visit his mother, seeing her on the bed surrounded by tubes and other medical machines that beeped and made ominous noises. Of his father’s furious and frustrated face as he held her hand, watching impotently as she slipped away from him.
He’d had headphones for his portable CD player and he used to slip them on, let the loud music take him away from the scene of rage and grief and illness. Let it take him away from his own pain, because it was too much for him.
His brothers hadn’t come on the visits with his mom. Zane was too young and Quinn had refused, so it was only him and Joe, sitting in silence as they drove to the hospital. Silence, because his father didn’t speak very often to him at the best of times, and now, in the face of losing his wife, he had nothing to say to Rush at all.
He never knew why his father had allowed him on those visits, especially when he could tell his dad hated having him there. But he’d never said anything to Rush.
It was only in his mother’s last hours that Rush had found out the truth. That his mother had wanted to see him and had specifically asked Joe to bring him along.
Kurt’s voice suddenly grated on his nerves and he reached to switch tracks, only for Ava to say, in the moment’s silence, “Do your brothers know anything about this?”
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