“Thanks.” Not much to go on, but something. “Hey Eddie,” she called over her shoulder. “Head for the shelter. Looks like a bad night ahead.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Reino asked once she was back behind the wheel.
“Doesn’t what bother me?”
“Giving that bum money when you know he’s going to head to the nearest liquor store and kill himself with booze.”
Lara bristled. “It’s not my job to keep the guy sober. People with more experience than me have tried for years to help him and others like him.”
“Still…”
“Look, Reino. If you’re squeamish, you should have thought twice about tagging along. I’m crazy to have agreed to it in the first place,” she muttered to herself.
He gave her a cheeky grin. “Women can’t say no to me.”
Flabbergasted at his conceit, Lara blurted, “Excuse me?”
“When I want something, women have a hard time refusing.”
A quick glance confirmed the guy was serious. “Have a bit of an ego problem, do you?”
“Nope. It’s the truth.”
Lara chuckled. “If nothing else, you’re good for a laugh.”
“I know you want me.”
That truth hurt. This guy needed a reality check. “Hmmm…you do look a lot like Jake Gyllenhaal.”
He sat up straighter in the seat, his forehead knit in a frown. “Hey! Didn’t he play a gay guy in some cowboy movie? Besides, I’ve got blond hair.”
Lara laughed for the second time at Reino’s horror. When was the last time she’d laughed? Enjoyed someone’s company?
“You’re right, and I wasn’t questioning your manhood. You’re definitely not gay.”
“Thanks for that anyway. So you think this Jake’s a good-looking dude?”
“I do, but if I were after a movie-star look alike, I’d go for someone who looked like Kevin Costner.”
“What’s wrong with Jake Gyllenhaal?”
“I don’t like younger men. How old are you? Twenty-four, twenty-five?”
“You’re good, Detective Stevens. I’m twenty-five.”
“Well, I’m thirty-eight, almost thirty-nine, so that makes me old enough to have been the babysitter who changed your diapers, for Christ’s sake. I was probably on my first date the day you were born.” Lara’s hands tightened on the wheel. Admitting those facts out loud hurt.
A rich laugh rolled from Reino’s throat. “So that’s why you don’t like me. You think I’m too young.” His hand landed on her thigh and squeezed gently. “Relax. I like older women.”
She swatted his hand away and tried to ignore the warmth filtering through the material of her skirt. “No touching.”
“We’d be good together. Since we met, I can’t get you out of my mind.”
The low huskiness of his voice shot shivers up her back. “Actually, Reino, I don’t think younger men have the stamina to satisfy older women.”
“Believe me, you’re wrong. I can stay for the long haul.”
“Don’t you have a job?” Lara asked.
“I’m in construction.”
Oh yeah. She pictured him bare-chested, a tool belt hanging on his low-slung jeans. Even the thought of his butt crack showing didn’t diminish the sexy image. She swallowed hard and discovered her mouth was dry. “Why aren’t you out somewhere pounding nails?
“Construction business slows down in the winter.”
She turned a corner, spied the station up ahead and stifled a sigh of relief. She pulled up to the curb.
“What are you doing tonight?” Reino asked. “I know a place in the North End that serves a mean pasta meal. Seafood alfredo or just plain spaghetti and meatballs. Nice red-checked cloth tablecloths and great Chianti.”
“Sorry. I told you I’m busy,” Lara spoke curtly, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. Although an Italian restaurant in the famed North End was tempting.
“Got a date?”
“None of your business.”
“How about a boyfriend?”
“Still none of your business.” Twisting her body in the seat, she gave him a frosty glare. The movement tightened the seat belt across her breast and drove a spear of lust through her. Christ, her body was behaving as if it hadn’t had sex in a year. Actually…
He heaved a dramatic sigh, the sound loud in the car. “Okay. I’ll be in touch.” He opened the door then leaned over to trail a finger down her cheek. “Count on it.” Once outside, he bent down and looked in. “Give me a call if you have any news about Corrine.”
Before she could respond, he slammed the door and walked jauntily down the sidewalk.
Chapter Two
“Welcome our newest dancer at Beaver Lodge—Summer Day. And she’s a scorcher, I can tell ya’ that.”
Behind the curtain, Lara took a breath to steady her nerves as Steven, the club’s owner, announced her performance. Two weeks of planning and hardcore practicing had paid off. She’d auditioned that afternoon and been given a job. She’d discovered strippers didn’t get a paycheck, only tips. Not that she cared. Now here she was wearing high, white, silver-studded cowboy boots that hurt her feet, a huge Texan ten-gallon hat, and little else other than a rhinestone in her bellybutton. She strutted onto the stage to the beat of Long Tall Texan.
She twirled an imaginary lasso and sashayed her way toward the only prop, a pole that went from the stage floor to the ceiling. Once her eyes adjusted to the contrast of the stage lights and the dimness of the shadowy club’s interior, she did a quick visual sweep of the audience, hoping her cop’s instincts would zero in on a possible suspect. She missed her partner, Hank. Trusting her back to a rookie cop didn’t sit well.
Amidst the catcalls and whistles, she grabbed the pole. Holding her legs at waist level, she pulled herself hand over hand up the cold metal and then bumped and gyrated her way down. The open embroidered cowboy shirt did nothing to hide the fact she wore little underneath. She shook her ass and jiggled her breasts, and prayed the small pasties over her nipples would stay in place.
How the hell did women wear damn thongs with any comfort? The G-string had worked its way up and now lodged uncomfortably in the crack of her ass.
She smiled, slow and sultry—a come on smile. Juicy bait to catch a big fish. Her smile faltered as her gaze landed on a familiar face. She stumbled and grabbed the pole. Reino Larkin sat at the bar, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Her stomach fluttered…not to mention the reactions of other parts of her body.
God, the man was hot. He sizzled. Why not dance for him? It’d make her job easier. And there was nothing more enticing for men than watching a hot dancer.
* * * *
Every night for the past two weeks he’d sat on this same stool, hoping to get a clue as to who murdered Corinne. It’d taken him a while to absorb the fact that there’d been three other women who’d met the same fate. The novelty of watching half-naked women gyrate on the stage had worn thin after day two.
Reino sipped his beer. The music began as a new dancer strutted on stage. He checked her out, starting in his usual spot, the cowboy boots. He’d found the faces way too disappointing, so he saved them for last. Long, well-muscled legs. Solid ass, no sag. Breasts high and firm. Sexier than most. Yeah, the woman worked out all right. Gyrations rippled her stomach muscles. When his gaze arrived at her head, he choked on his beer. Lara Stevens worked her way up and down the pole, legs spread as she went forward and backward in an imitation of sex. Holy shit! Sweat broke out on his forehead. He wiped it off with the back of his hand.
Her eyes focused on him, and he’d have to be blind not to see the heat there, along with a definite warning. He’d go along with whatever game she played and pretend not to know her. Once he got her alone, he’d have plenty to say. And he planned to quench the hot fire burning in his groin. He had no doubts she wanted him. Their attraction had been volcanic, and he’d half expected to have sex with her on her desk the day they’d first met.
* * * *
Three hours and two shows later, Lara, dressed in tight jeans and an even tighter sweater ending two inches above her waistband, glided to the bar. She walked up behind Reino and put her lips against his neck, close enough to get a whiff of clean soap. She bit her tongue before it could taste his skin. “Buy a lady a drink?”
The muscles in his back tightened. He waved a hand at the empty stool beside him. “Sure, sugar. Have a seat,” he said loud enough to be heard by anyone within ear shot. “What’s your pleasure?”
“A shot of tequila. And don’t forget the salt and lemon.”
His eyebrows rose. “Two shots of your best tequila, a salt shaker and some lemon slices,” he told the bartender. “Are you crazy?” he whispered, as soon as they were alone.
“Crazy about you,” she purred.
“Look, Lara—”
“Summer. The name’s Summer.” She leaned toward him, kissed his ear and whispered, “Got no idea what you’re doing here, but don’t blow my cover.”
Reino’s hand coiled into her hair, holding her captive. “I’ll play along—for now. Later, you and I are going to have a long talk.” In a voice loud enough to be heard on the other side of the small room he said, “Sugar, I like the way you use that pole. You can practice on me any old time.”
Lara forced a laugh. She’d kill him. First chance she got.
The bartender returned with two shot glasses, his gaze glued to Lara’s chest. She ignored him and turned to meet Reino’s gaze. Lapping the back of her hand just above her thumb, she sprinkled some salt and lifted it toward her mouth. Her breath whooshed when he snatched her fingers and gently sucked off the salt. He tossed the shot to the back of his throat, then sucked on a piece of lemon.
The feel of his mouth on her skin was a shock—as if someone had plugged her thumb into an electrical socket. Without breaking eye contact, he sprinkled salt on his own hand and offered it to her. Two could play his game. She repeated his action, swirling her tongue over his skin. The tequila stung her throat, brought tears to her eyes.
His eyes narrowed. “Want another?” he asked as she sucked on the lemon.
Oh yes, she definitely wanted more. And not tequila. She nodded and scanned the room. No one appeared to pay particular attention to their antics except for a swarthy man who leaned against the back wall, watching them intently. She batted her eyelashes, jiggled her breasts and smiled before returning her attention to Reino.
“Keep doing that and I’ll take you on the bar. The customers will see a show they’ll never forget.”
The low spoke words sent tingles to every nerve ending in her body. She didn’t trust herself to respond.
An hour later, she was dizzy from the three shots, or had it been four? Good thing she’d taken the subway. “Guess I’d better get going.”
Reino’s fingers caressed her neck. “You driving?”
Seconds ticked by as their gazes held. “Public transportation. I was hoping to get lucky.” Her body felt as taut as the strings on a cello.
“You have. The seam in the crotch of my pants is ready to split. Let me give you a ride.”
Against her better judgment, she nodded. “I’ll get my gear and meet you out front.”
Once in the dressing room, although the dirty cubicle was a poor excuse for one, Lara stuffed her costume and makeup into a duffle bag. Just as she grabbed her coat the door opened, and the club’s owner walked in.
“Steven.” She pasted a smile on her face. Don’t you freaking knock? “I was just leaving. Is there a problem?”
“To the contrary,” he replied. He leaned back against the closed door. “I know we agreed to three nights a week. You interested in dancing every night?”
Lara stifled a groan. She hoisted herself onto the counter in front of the mirror. “Maybe. The tips were good.” That was no lie. She must have over a couple hundred bucks stashed away in her pocketbook. Steven’s eyes wandered to every part of her anatomy except her face. She shuddered. What a creep. The precinct had checked out his alibi for all the murders. He came out squeaky clean. Was he going to hit on her? She hoped not, because pissing him off wouldn’t bode well for her dancing career.
“Quite a few regulars would like to see…a bit more of you. You know,” he added at her look of surprise, “see you dance more often.”
“Is that right? They told you that?”
“Yeah. And if you’re interested, there’s money to be made on the side.”
Her heart picked up its beat. “Doing what? You already told me anything I did outside the club was my own business. As a matter of fact, I found myself a guy tonight.”
He sneered. “I noticed.”
“Is that a problem?” She crossed her legs and rested her back on the mirror.
“Not at all. If he recommends you to his friends, business will pick up—for both of us. A lot of the dancers aren’t interested in promoting themselves.” Steven crossed his arms over his chest and lifted a foot, resting it on the wall behind him. “As for money on the side, I was thinking more along the line of a private party.”
Lara’s pulse thudded with excitement. This might be the break she’d hoped for. “Private parties? Here?”
“Occasionally here. Some clients enjoy partying in their own homes.”
Come on, Steven. Help me out here. “Lap dancing parties?”
“Perhaps. Maybe something a bit more adventurous.”
“I’d have to know the details before I commit myself. I don’t do animals and have reservations about situations involving other women.”
Steven leered. “I’ll make a note of that. Ah…if I make the arrangement, I get a cut.”
“Agreed. Ten percent?”
“Twenty.”
“And who sets the price?”
“I do.”
“If I agree with the agenda and the price, then I’m game.”
“Great. I’ll be in touch as soon as I make an arrangement.” He pushed away from the wall, opened the door and, like the gentleman he wasn’t, gestured with his hand for her to precede him. Probably so he could ogle her ass—the pervert.
Lara said goodnight and hightailed it for fresh air. The bitter cold hit her like a punch to the stomach as she stepped onto the sidewalk. Where the hell was Reino? Every car parked along the curb was empty. She pulled her coat closer around her neck and shivered. Why hadn’t she asked him what he drove? To her left, a horn tooted. She whirled, her jaw dropping. A nineteen fifty-seven turquoise and white Chevy, in tip-top shape, pulled up to the curb. A muscle car in all its glory. Someone’s loving hands had restored it to original condition. The bright turquoise color almost blinded her, even in the darkness.
Reino leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door. “It’s cold. You getting in or what?”
Lara slid into the seat with a feeling of going back in time. Now all they needed was to find a diner with a jukebox playing songs from the fifties. Her eyes took in the new condition of the interior at the same time as she ran her hands over the upholstery. “Great car. I didn’t take you for a muscle car type of guy.”
“Is that right? Goes to show how well you know me. I’ve got several. It’s a hobby of mine.” He shivered. “The damn heat doesn’t work like it should, though.”
Lara laughed, feeling young and carefree. “It’s winter—might as well enjoy it. It ain’t going anywhere until spring, perhaps even summer. Dangerous business, bringing one of these cars to this area of the city.”
He turned his head and winked at her. “I paid somebody a hundred bucks to watch it.”
A laugh rose in her throat. Too many damn shots. “Didn’t you say the construction business was slow this time of year?”
Reino looked in the rear-view mirror. “Not sure if you’re aware of it, but someone’s following us. They pulled out of an alley right next to the club.”
Humiliation rolled over Lara. She was the cop for Christ’s sake. Why hadn’t she noticed? She glanced
in her side-view mirror. The car didn’t match the description Eddie had given her, but still… “The owner approached me before I left.”
“Wanting to get laid?”
Lara punched his arm. “Wanted to know if I was interested in doing private parties.”
“No shit!” He took his eyes off the road and almost hit a car slowing down in front of him.
“Pay attention!”
He seemed unruffled that he’d almost rammed his beautiful Chevy into a Jeep Cherokee. “Naturally, you told him you weren’t interested.”
“Now that would be stupid. Do you think I’m up on that stage bumping and grinding for the fun of it? I’m trying to catch a damn murderer. Corinne’s murderer. Remember?”
Reino braked at a red light and turned his gaze fully on her. “Then I guess I’ll have to spend the night with you. Whoever’s following us is checking you out for a reason. Won’t look good if I drop you off and disappear. Not if you’re trying to build a reputation.”
Damn it. The truth of what he said dampened her spirits. Lara itched to slap the satisfied grin off his face.
“Unless you want to come to my house?” Lara heard hope in his voice.
“And where’s that?”
“Gloucester. On the NorthShore.”
“Jesus. You travel back and forth from Gloucester to sit at the Beaver Lodge?”
He shrugged. “Not such a high price to find the person who murdered Corrine.”
“That’s too far out of the city for me. I’m tired.”
“Okay. Where’s your apartment?”
“Beacon Hill. First, though, lose our tail. And you’re sleeping on the couch.”
* * * *
Lara seemed pissed so Reino held his tongue. No sense irritating her further. The car following them had taken a left within minutes of leaving the club, so they’d gone straight to Lara’s. He’d parked the car and now waited patiently outside her apartment while she fished her keys from the monstrous bag like most women carried. He stepped through the door behind her after she unlocked it.
Dance for Me Page 2
