by Janie Crouch
So putting pressure on Harry, even though he wasn’t really a viable suspect, was no hardship for Brandon. The man was sweating every corner he’d ever cut—and there were many—by the time Brandon left. Oh, and Brandon said they would have constant surveillance on Harry and Jaguar’s for at least the next year.
Brandon rolled his eyes at the thought of how much of a misuse of funds that would be, how ridiculously expensive, how it would never get approved. But Harry didn’t need to know that. Every time someone came in looking slightly uptight, Harry would wonder if the person was undercover law enforcement. Good.
Brandon had watched Andrea interacting with the dancers of Jaguar’s—some she’d known before, some she hadn’t—and just kept his distance. The women, rightfully, had questions about Jillian Spires’s death and Andrea answered them as best she could without giving away important details about the case. DJ Shocker was not mentioned by Andrea, although all the women said how crazy the night had been. Busy, especially for a Tuesday, not normally a great night. They’d all made a lot of money, which had made everyone happy.
None of them could remember any particular guy hanging around Jillian. Of course, there had been men everywhere because it was so busy.
Andrea warned them all to look out for each other. To walk to their cars at least in pairs. To carefully vet anyone new in their lives before trusting them. The women listened to Andrea in a way they never would’ve listened to Brandon. She was one of their own.
Keira, the woman Andrea had been so friendly with the day before, had come up to them after Andrea was finished and the other girls had left.
She told them that Jillian had been mentioning a new guy in her life. She hadn’t given a name, just that it was someone she’d known for a while and that their relationship had recently taken a turn toward the romantic.
It was something to look into and Brandon assured her they would.
“Hey, you won’t leave town without coming to say goodbye, right?”
Keira had gorgeous wavy black hair that fell to the middle of her back. She was shorter and more voluptuous than Andrea’s tall slender build. The two of them standing side by side made a striking pair.
“No, the case is far from over.”
“Well, I want you to catch this sicko, but no just taking off like last time, okay?”
“I’m sorry, Keira. You were a good friend to me and I shouldn’t have done that.” Andrea looked down, and Brandon could see her begin to withdraw into herself.
Keira pulled Andrea to her in a huge hug. “Oh, honey, once I found out you’d left with those two cops and you weren’t in any trouble, I was thrilled for you. This was never the place you were meant to be.”
Andrea wrapped her arms around Keira, also. “You either, Kee. It’s time to move on.”
Keira slid back and winked at Andrea and smiled over at Brandon. “It’s not so bad for me. I know how to work the stage, the whole place. But I got a plan, don’t you worry.”
“I’m going to be moonlighting over at Club Paradise for the next few days,” Andrea told her. “Undercover type stuff.”
“Dancing?” Keira’s eyes got big.
“No, just waiting tables. We’ve got reason to suspect the killer might target someone from there next.”
“You be careful.” She turned to Brandon. “You’ll be there looking out for her?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. She’s going to need it. She’s all tough now, but she won’t be feeling so tough when she’s in the club. Even working the floor can be brutal. Sometimes more so with the wandering hands.”
Brandon felt his own hands clench. The thought of drunk, sweaty men—of any men—pawing at Andrea had the warrior clawing to get out. He had to take a deep breath to calm himself.
Keira gave him a knowing smile. “Yeah, you’re going to have to keep that under control if you want this undercover mission to work. She can handle it. She handled it for months when she worked here. Can you?”
Brandon hadn’t known, still didn’t know, as he was walking into the club now.
Club Paradise was nicer—more high-end—than Jaguar’s, but in the end it was the same general principle: almost-naked women making themselves pseudo available.
These clubs sold a fantasy—a private dancer fantasy—where it didn’t matter what a guy looked like, how short or tall, fat or skinny, skin tones or hairstyles: he got the girl.
For a price.
And only for a three-minute dance.
Although he’d been to a few for parties over the years, strip clubs had never been his thing. He had always found them to reek of desperation from both the men and women, although you could easily ignore it if you wanted to. And obviously many people wanted to.
A woman’s naked body, although he could appreciate it, was not ultimately what turned him on. He found a woman’s mind, her emotions, her ability to converse, infinitely more attractive.
Take Andrea, for instance. He couldn’t deny he was attracted to her blond hair, green eyes, the delicate lines of her face. Her slender body, curved in just the right places, definitely turned him on.
But it was the other things: her obvious intelligence despite having to overcome her dyslexia, her shy smile, her ability at reading people. Those were the things that really attracted him to her.
The thumping sound of the music permeated the entire building. Brandon passed two bouncers who were actively surveilling the club, making sure none of the girls needed to be rescued from any of the men. Their job would get progressively more difficult as the night—and drinking—went on.
It was Saturday night, still relatively early for a place like this, but there were already men sitting around the main stage, where a dancer worked the pole with strength and skill that would rival an acrobat.
A topless acrobat, but still.
Big Mike had reserved a small table for Brandon in a strategic location in a corner near the bar. It wasn’t the best seat if you wanted to be close to or watch the dancers, which was fine since Brandon didn’t, but it was excellent for watching the rest of the club without looking as if he was doing so.
DJ Shocker’s show would be here in three more days. Brandon and Andrea wanted to use her time working here leading up to that to try to identify regulars and people who could potentially pose a threat. Both so they knew who to watch and who they didn’t really need to worry about watching when Tuesday rolled around.
Brandon would study behavior patterns: men who looked as though they were observing the girls with a more nefarious purpose in mind. Andrea would use her skills at reading body language and emotions to do the same thing, but from a stripper’s point of view.
Sitting at his table, Brandon ordered a vodka tonic from a waitress who came by, smiling. He wouldn’t drink it; he needed all his facilities firing at full speed, not dulled by alcohol. Next time around he’d switch it out for a club soda. It would look the same to anyone who happened to be observing.
He hadn’t seen Andrea yet, but it was a big place. Big enough that he couldn’t watch everything at one time. He had to constantly be looking around in order to see everyone, much like the bouncers. But he had to be much more subtle about it.
He wasn’t wearing a suit, of course. Nobody in here was. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, since he knew Club Paradise would just get warmer as the night went on and more bodies were packed inside.
His waitress brought his drink back, smiling, and Brandon paid, tipping generously. Drackett was not going to be thrilled when Brandon’s Omega expense report included drinks from Club Paradise.
Brandon saw Andrea as she came out of a room from behind the bar. At first he could see only her shoulders and the side of her head through the crowd. Then a group of laughing guys moved and he could see her completely.
He picked up his drink and gulped it all the way down, alcohol be damned. If he’d had another he would’ve done the same thing.
This was Andrea as he’d never seen her, hell, would never even have been able to picture her in all her professional button-down suits.
Her shoulders were bare, her breasts cupped in a red corset bustier that cinched her already-small waist. Her black skirt was short, loose, not even reaching to midthigh. He couldn’t tell what shoes she wore from where he sat, but knew from the way she towered over everyone that she had to be in heels.
Her hair that had always been perfectly tidy at work was now sexily, skillfully mussed. Her dark makeup gave her eyes a smoldering look.
Brandon wasn’t the only one who noticed her. The group of guys that had parted so he could catch a glimpse of her soon saw the gorgeous waitress and made their way over to order more drinks. One put his hand on her waist; another played with a little piece of her hair.
Andrea laughed at something one of them said, then showed them to a table near the stage. All of them were staring at her legs as she walked away to get their order.
When her back was turned to them, one made a crude gesture to another, obviously about what he’d like to do to Andrea.
It took every ounce of willpower Brandon possessed to stay in his seat. What was he going to do, go punch some twentysomething guy in the face because he’d made a suggestive gesture?
Besides, look at what Andrea was wearing. Could he really blame the punk?
Brandon realized that was just as unfair a thought. Andrea was dressed the way all the waitresses here were dressed. It seemed to be a uniform of some sort: corset bustier and flirty skirts. All the girls had them on in different colors.
He hadn’t even really noticed the outfit when his waitress had brought him his drink, but he sure as hell noticed it on Andrea.
He leaned back farther in his seat and forced his eyes away from her at the bar. He was here to study potential suspects, for anybody acting out of the ordinary. Not to act out of the ordinary himself.
But he couldn’t stop himself from looking as Andrea brought the drinks back over to the guys. As she leaned down to put them on the table, all of their eyes flew to her breasts, hoping, he was sure, that there might be a happy accident with her top. One guy rubbed his hand up and down the back of her knee. Not going far enough up to be trouble, but certainly more intimate than he had a right to be.
Andrea just smiled and shook her head at him, as if scolding a toddler for being naughty. The men paid and she walked away. Their attention turned back to the stage.
Brandon sat back in his chair.
When he had found out a couple of days ago that Andrea had been a stripper, had worked at a place like this, Brandon had thought he was okay with it. He knew how quiet and reserved she was, plus the abuse that had occurred in her past, the desperate situation that had led her to it.
It had made for a very tragic figure in his mind.
What had he thought, that she had just cried all the way through every night she’d worked there? Sobbing and pushing away every man who came near her?
Obviously that hadn’t happened. She’d worked the scenario to her advantage. Worked the men. She might have even enjoyed it all, if how she looked tonight—all smiles and flirtation—was anything to go by.
This jarring close-up of her scantily clad past made it a little harder for him to accept.
Brandon sat up and looked away from her again, from her laughs and flirtatiousness with seemingly every man in the room. The warrior snarled, demanding that he remove her from this situation, get her out of here. Prove—to all these men and her—she was his and only his.
But Brandon refused. His intellect ruled him, not his body and definitely not his emotions. Not the warrior. He had a job to do. He ignored the darkness that seemed to be waiting like a cavernous pit for him to fall into. And possibly never crawl back out.
No, he would do this job. Find and stop this killer.
Maybe Andrea wasn’t the woman he’d thought. The partner, in more ways than one, that he’d been subconsciously hoping for. He’d survive.
Chapter Fifteen
“If a man comes up behind you and has you in a grasp you can’t escape from, the most important thing is not to panic,” Brandon had said yesterday evening as they went through self-defense moves in the large living room of the house Omega had rented for them for the rest of their stay here.
“Actually, not panicking is always the most important thing,” he’d said, then continued to show her how to throw her arms up and then reach behind her attacker in a sweeping motion with her leg to take him down.
“It’s not about size—you’re never going to get attacked by someone smaller and weaker than you—it’s about staying calm, focused and moving quickly.”
It was some sort of jujitsu move, he’d told her. He had a black belt in it, as well as Tae Kwon Do. Andrea had always known about his intellectual prowess, but had no idea about the physical. Although she should’ve guessed after seeing his rock-hard abdomen and well-defined chest while in bed with him.
They’d practiced over and over, Brandon taking the brunt of the fall each time, until Andrea could do it naturally, without having to think about the different steps. Then they’d practiced more because Brandon said it needed to become muscle memory.
She’d finally stopped him by rolling on top of him after she’d swept him to the ground and kissing him.
“I don’t think this is how you’re going to want to behave during a crisis,” he muttered against her lips, but she could feel his smile.
He’d slipped his arms under his head as she’d sat up, straddling his hips, and pulled her shirt over her head. She’d loved how his eyes had narrowed and his breath hissed out of his lips.
“I think I’ve got that particular attack crisis taken care of. There are some other one-on-one moves I’d like to work on now, if that’s okay with you.”
“Um...”
She reached back and unhooked her bra, throwing it to the side, and looked down at him, eyebrow arched. “Got any other moves we can commit to muscle memory?”
“I can definitely think of a couple.”
Andrea held on to those memories of yesterday evening as the hours dragged on at Club Paradise. The memories of making love with Brandon with her on top, then in the shower, before he’d tenderly held her while they slept. She was getting used to having his arms around her, snuggling into him while sleeping.
She could use his strong arms around her now. It was nearly midnight, she had two more hours to work and the Saturday crowd was getting more rowdy.
Her first steps out the backstage door onto the club floor had brought back memories, all of them bad. The feelings of being exposed, being watched, being thought of as a piece of meat.
The hands that touched her, sometimes innocently, sometimes much less so.
The bouncers were great here, much better than at Jaguar’s. She’d already seen one step in at just a look from one of the waitresses. A guy who had pulled her down in his lap didn’t want to let go. The bouncer made his way over, and without a word, he offered the waitress a hand to help her out of the guy’s lap. He gave a pointed look to the man, again not saying a word. The guy had apologized to the waitress and everything had been fine.
Other waitresses, Andrea noticed, didn’t mind the wandering hands of customers. Provided better tips. The bouncers seemed to know who was who.
Andrea still hated everything about it. Being down on the floor was almost worse than being up on the stage. At least onstage there was a distance—you were a performer. Here you were in the middle of the fray.
She’d seen Brandon sitting over at a corner table. She’d wanted to go over there, but didn’t. She didn’t want to encroach on another waitress’s ta
ble, plus Brandon seemed to be deep in the study of the club. His face was pinched and focused, almost angry.
So, although she could desperately use a friendly smile from him, she forced herself to look away and do her job.
Survive this night, which had been her motto when working at Jaguar’s, was not her job now. Now her job was doing what she could to find a killer.
It was difficult to get a reading of anyone in here. It was too chaotic; her own feelings were too chaotic. Lust was the primary emotion, followed by guilt and greed. Alcohol caused everything to be hazy and people to have emotions they might not normally feel. She felt as if she was trying to filter through solid walls.
She tried to focus and find the emotions of anger, judgment, condescension. The ones the killer was most likely to have. It didn’t take her long to realize the biggest place all three were coming from was Brandon’s table.
She had to be wrong about that. Maybe Brandon was just using those emotions, channeling them almost, in order to try to find them in other people. Looking for nonverbal clues. She knew he wasn’t the killer, but he definitely wasn’t happy.
Andrea turned away from Brandon. She had to focus on what she was doing, not on how he seemed to be behaving.
Instead of trying to feel out general emotions for the whole place, Andrea decided to take it table by table.
She carried her drinks, trying to stay a little longer at each table to get a read on the men there.
The killer was icily controlled. What had been done to the women had not been done in a rage or burst of passion. It had been planned. The killer would study his victim. That was what Andrea was hoping to catch tonight. Someone who just didn’t quite fit.
The emotions would be cold, not hot. Andrea needed to look beneath the heat of the lust and general rowdiness. She took a breath and centered herself.
