Alias

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Jack set Charlie down and the boy dived inside, where he had comic books he couldn’t read yet, a blanket and a pillow. “You’re all set for a night in the desert, huh?”

  “Yeah, cool huh? Kel says I can go with him next time he goes to shoot pictures.”

  “Is that so?” Jack twisted to look at her. Darcy could tell his back teeth were grinding.

  “Yeah. I have new crayons and why do they call blue cyan?”

  Jack looked back at her son. “To be different, I guess.”

  Charlie asked about another half dozen questions at light speed, then finally took a breath to say, “Wanna see my books?”

  “Sure, can I borrow one? I’ll read while your mom’s cutting my hair.” Charlie held one up to him, proud to share his Spider-Man collection. Jack took it, flipping through it and telling Charlie, “This is great. I haven’t read this issue.”

  Charlie beamed, and Jack slipped a tiny penlight from his back pocket, one with a plastic charm on the end, and handed it to Charlie. “This might come in handy in there.”

  “Wow,” Charlie said, and Jack ruffled his hair before the boy huddled in the small nylon tent and flicked it on and off repeatedly.

  Oblivious to the smiles from the other stylists and clients, Jack sat in Darcy’s chair. She whipped the cape around his neck. “You really should stop giving him toys all the time.”

  “I don’t do it all the time. Besides, it’s just small stuff, and he likes it so much.”

  “He has an old hatbox filled with the stuff you’ve given him.”

  Jack twisted to look at her. “No kidding. Huh.”

  “He adores you,” she said close to his ear and she got a whiff of his aftershave.

  “How about his mama?”

  Jack was always so blunt. She leaned forward and said, “I like you, too, Jack.”

  “No adoration, damn. How about that Kel Adams guy? What’s he still doing hanging around?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I know the answer.”

  “Why is it bothering you so much?” He looked back over his shoulder at her. Darcy felt struck by the possessive look in his eyes. “I barely know him, Jack, but I know you. At least I think I do.”

  He faced front. He was quiet, his forehead furrowed as she combed and sectioned his hair, cutting on automatic since she’d been doing it for nearly two years. The silence stretched and for her own self-preservation, not wanting anyone to have something more to gossip about, Darcy turned the chair so Jack faced away from the crowd.

  “Watch your back with that guy,” he said after a moment.

  She paused, looking at him.

  “I’d hate to have to bust his chops if he hurts you.”

  Her champion, she thought, smiling. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

  His look said more than his words. “In a heartbeat.”

  Darcy’s throat tightened, she was so moved, and she squeezed his shoulder. Jack patted her hand, saying nothing.

  After a few minutes she ventured, “Jack? I need a favor, some help.”

  “Name it.”

  She blinked, not really taken aback, but reminded that Jack was one of the good guys. “I have to go to Vegas to look for someone. She’s supposed to be working at a casino.”

  “Showgirl, croupier? Waitress?”

  “Showgirl I think. A dancer, that much I know.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Where would she live? What kind of area could a showgirl afford?”

  “They make decent money, so the apartments past the strip would be your best bet. Easiest way is to follow the paper trail.”

  Darcy nodded, trimming his neckline. “I gotcha. DMV, power, phone records.”

  “That’s a start. I’ve got a pal who works in Vegas, maybe he can tell you exactly where this person works.”

  “I’d rather not bother her there.”

  “A showgirl’s schedule is tough and erratic.”

  “Speaking from personal knowledge?”

  She caught his gaze in the mirror and that little devilish smile made her heart skip. “Maybe.”

  “Hand that to someone else, Jack. You’ve got Cheshire cat written all over your face.”

  He chuckled and the tension radiating between them eased a little. She finished, fluffing his hair and picking up the blow-dryer. She knew what Jack liked and kept running her fingers through his dark hair, but touching him was like adding oil to a flame and after a couple passes, she was running her hand down his jaw before she realized it. He caught her hand, looking up at her and pulling off the cutting cape.

  “You keep doing that darlin’ and I’ll break my promise and drag you into the dark.”

  Her skin flushed, her body gone warm under her clothes. It felt almost instinctive to touch him. “What promise?”

  “One I made to myself, not to push you where I want you to go.”

  She didn’t ask where that would be. His expression said, bed. Long hours of hot sex. The thought made her warm all the way down to her toes, but sex with Jack wouldn’t be just sex. It would be commitment, and Darcy wasn’t able to do that just yet. She was a liar, a fake, and until that changed, she couldn’t. But she wanted to.

  The fleeting thought of Kel slipped into her mind.

  How could she kiss a man in her storeroom, then in the next moment want Jack like breathing? The men were like night and day. Kel was carefree and fun loving, a big tease. Since she’d met him, she often wondered if he actually worked at his job, since she hadn’t seen him do it, nor had she seen any of the pictures he’d supposedly taken of the older section of Comanche. But he always had a camera with him.

  But Jack was equally handsome, yet in a totally different way. While Kel had a softer look, more GQ, and cared about his clothes and the statement he made, Jack had rugged, tanned features, his clothes were always a little weathered around the edges, and he spoke his mind, up-front and to the point.

  And right now, she told herself, Kel Adams was safe. Jack was dangerous. He didn’t do anything halfway, and once she fell, there was no turning back. She wasn’t prepared to risk the relationship they had now, and was terrified of losing it if she gave in to her feelings. She wanted him, not Kel, yet they both were chasing her. It was great for her ego, but Darcy was a realist. Sex took you only so far.

  Kel played. Jack played for keeps.

  She brushed at his hair. “I’m done. Handsome once again.”

  He held her gaze for a couple seconds, not smiling, and she felt as if he was trying to delve into her mind. Then he stood and didn’t even peer in the mirror, giving her an obscene tip and walking to the desk to pay. She followed him and he was already jotting something down on the back of her salon business card. He handed it to her.

  “This is an old pal. Tell him I sent you, that should clear the way for anything you need.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it.” She didn’t look at the card.

  He stared at her, struggling with something. She could tell by the way his lips tightened that he wanted to say more. Then finally, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Be careful, baby,” he whispered softly, then left.

  Darcy watched him go, which was an event in itself, then looked at Meg.

  Meg grinned. “I vote for Jack.”

  Two stylists added a vote for Kel. She looked at Charlie, who was confused by the adult conversation and went back to playing with the penlight in the tent.

  “There’s no competition,” Darcy said. But there was.

  “Not yet,” Zoe put in. “But I see one brewing.”

  Darcy hoped not. It was so teenage, anyway. She looked at the back of the business card.

  Her features tightened.

  Great. Jack’s friend was a cop. Detective Kyle Windom.

  Well that blows. No way was she getting anywhere near the police. Not even for help to find this Cleo Patra. She’d have to do it on her own.

  With the boys in black willing to kill
Tony Feeley to keep him from talking, Darcy was thinking she’d be better off with a gun.

  She looked at her baby boy scribbling in a coloring book, tucked safely in his new tent. She knew she couldn’t bring him along, but she’d been away from him so much lately and missed him. Leaving him with Megan was safer, she told herself. She didn’t have a choice.

  The music was the ching of slot machines, the shouts of winners. A wild assortment of people from tourists to high rollers peppered Caesar’s Palace and kept the casino running at top speed.

  Darcy got a little dizzy staring at all the bright lights. Her persona for the day was a high roller and she had on so much paste jewelry it was a wonder she didn’t stick to the carpet. She didn’t think it would do her good to look like a showgirl, since she wasn’t tall enough, and the security around Caesar’s Palace was phenomenal. She’d be lucky if she could get close enough to Cleo to speak with her.

  Cleo wasn’t hard to find. Her water bill, paid online, brought Darcy to an apartment and while Cleo wasn’t there, according to the neighbors, she didn’t socialize and kept late hours. Nor did she have many guests. Cleo didn’t own a phone. Probably carried a cell, Darcy thought, but if it was that easy to find her, then the boys in black could, too.

  Although Feeley could have been blowing smoke and could have been harassed by the thugs for another reason entirely.

  The foot traffic around her was heavy. Lights sparkled like flashing beacons, luring the players and their money to the casinos beyond. She made a point not to behave as if she was searching, pausing to study the people, the restaurant menu. Her gaze shot around herself. It was instinct to stop and look, to watch her own back.

  Her gaze caught on the back of a man’s head. He was in the casino, moving between the blackjack tables, and something about him struck her enough for her to head that way. The crowd was heavy, brushing her hard enough for her to misstep. She peered over heads, her gaze quickly flicking over the crowd. She spotted him and moved.

  Darcy was nearly close enough to get a good look, but his back was to her. It was the way he walked, she thought, not his looks.

  Kel? He turned a corner, and she hurried to catch up.

  But when she reached the spot where she’d seen him last, he was gone.

  She looked around at the shops and restaurants, but didn’t see him. The doors leading out were nearby. Giving up, Darcy turned back and headed to the Coliseum Theater. She needed to find Cleo before the show, since afterward it would be too crowded and the dancers would be making a beeline to get home.

  She went into the Coliseum, marveling at the size of the place as she walked with confidence in her step, her jewelry and clothing shouting money and enough of it to burn. No one questioned her when she stepped inside the empty theater. She went up to a man who was near the stage. He was wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard, pointing to the stage and telling someone to move the lighting. Darcy assumed there was a lighting grip in the rafters.

  She waited and when he noticed her, he smiled and looked her over.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m looking for someone, one of your dancers.”

  His gaze narrowed. “What for?”

  “We have a mutual friend, and they asked if I’d say hello, see how she was liking working here.” Darcy put on her best fascinated face. “It looks all so exciting and glamorous,” she gushed.

  His gaze shot over her, noticing her designer clothing and jewelry. Darcy only hoped he didn’t notice it was paste and last year’s collection.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Cleo.” She cleared her throat. “Cleo Patra.”

  He gave her a look that was equally amused. “Yeah, she’s back there.” He inclined his head toward the stage door.

  “May I go back?”

  “Sure. They’re getting ready for tonight’s show.”

  He pressed the headset to his ear and listened, a finger up to stop her from talking. Then he frowned and spoke into the mike, “No, that’s not right.” He turned his back, waving her on, and Darcy drew a breath and started moving. She wasn’t going to give him a chance to stop her if he had second thoughts.

  She pushed through the stage doors and walked down a narrow hall that forked, one short corridor leading to the stage, the other to what she assumed was the dressing rooms. She followed the chatter, the sounds of equipment being moved. It felt familiar to her, like working on movie sets. Soon she saw people giving stage orders, and a woman who Darcy suspected was the dresser was adjusting elaborate headpieces and skimpy costumes on women who were inches taller than her, and more beautiful up close than she’d thought possible.

  She tapped the dresser, who didn’t even look up from working on refitting a dancer’s costume. “I’m looking for Cleo.”

  The woman pointed off to the right and kept right on working, straight pins in her mouth. Darcy shifted between the women and men, ignoring the stares and walking down the hall. She asked again where she’d find Cleo and a man spoke up, his gaze moving over her.

  “She’s in there.”

  “May I go in?”

  He pushed away from the wall and rapped on the door, then leaned close when someone opened it a fraction. “Someone to see Cleo,” he said, giving Darcy the once-over again.

  The door shut and in a few minutes a black woman with flawless café-au-lait skin stepped out. She was beautiful. And really tall. She had to be near six feet, Darcy thought. It was hard to believe the woman was about forty-five.

  Wrapping her silk robe a bit tighter, Cleo looked down at her, her hip cocked. “What you want, honey?”

  “Can we speak in private?”

  She looked around and gestured. “You see any place in this wild house?”

  Darcy inclined her head and shifted away from the crowd, farther back down the hall. The click of Cleo’s shoes followed her and when they were in private, she faced her.

  “I’m Piper Daniels. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  She gave her a narrow, wary look. “You a cop?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “So what’s this about? And make it quick, I’ve got to dress for the show and it takes a while to pack all this—” she gestured to her voluptuous body “—into half a yard of material.”

  “Tony Feeley said—”

  “That bastard sent you?” Cleo cut in, her friendly attitude vanishing. “Forget it.” She turned and headed toward her dressing room.

  Darcy raced to catch her arm. “No, he didn’t send me here.”

  Cleo looked back, losing her grip on her. “Then what do you want?”

  “Information.”

  Cleo’s beautiful kohl-lined eyes thinned. “I haven’t seen Tony in years and don’t want to.”

  “I wouldn’t, either. He ranks below pond scum.”

  Cleo smiled slightly, yet her eyes held years of distrust. Darcy understood that. “Please, Miss Patra.”

  “Call me Cleo, honey. And what information do you think I have?” She lowered her voice, glancing to see if anyone was close enough to hear. “I haven’t been in Tony’s line of work for two decades.”

  “I know. This has nothing to do with Tony.” Darcy debated on how to approach this, then decided straight ahead was the best way. “Twenty years ago, did you answer an ad to become a surrogate mother?”

  Cleo’s eyes widened, her features going slack as she stepped back, looking past Darcy and around the area.

  “Sorry, sister, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cleo turned and hurried down the hall.

  Darcy caught up with her. “Cleo, wait.”

  Cleo rounded on her, nearly six feet of angry black woman towering over Darcy. “You listen to me, girl, don’t come near me again, or I’ll have the hotel staff kick your preppy little ass outta here.”

  Darcy didn’t have to ask why she was so reluctant to talk. Someone was willing to kill to keep this surrogate business under wraps.

  “Take this then.” She
handed Cleo a card with her alias and her cell number printed on it. “If you change your mind, call me.”

  “I won’t.” Crushing the card, Cleo leaned down in her face. “And if you’re smart, you’ll keep your mouth shut and get out of this town as fast as you can.”

  Cleo spun away, long curls bouncing as she stormed off.

  She’s scared, Darcy thought. Very scared.

  Had the men who were after Tony visited Cleo?

  And how was she going to convince the woman to talk to her?

  Chapter 11

  C leo had been a surrogate. No doubt, after her reaction.

  Walking toward the front exit, Darcy passed the ticket counter, not paying attention to anything but her own steps when she dropped her purse. She stopped to pick it up, glanced around for any loose items.

  That’s when she saw him. Jack. She almost didn’t recognize him. He looked more like a corporate executive than a bounty hunter in the dark gray suit, dark shirt and silk tie. Hot. Incredibly polished. He was talking to a hotel staff member, handing him something.

  When he lifted his gaze, Darcy felt pinned and knew in an instant he was aware she was here. She waited till the other man left, then strode up to him.

  When he looked at her, Darcy felt her insides tighten. “Did you follow me?”

  He jerked his head back. “Hell, no. I knew you’d be here, but not here.” He gestured to Caesar’s.

  Darcy’s gaze thinned. “What are you doing here, Jack?”

  “If you must pry,” he enunciated, “I’m working on an old missing-persons case for someone. You didn’t call Kyle, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t need to. I found her on my own.”

  “Good girl.” He smiled.

  She didn’t. “Don’t patronize me.”

  He eyed her, his smile fading. “You really think I’m tracking you?”

  “Yes.” He’d been outside the Match Lite Bar, and now he was here? It was too convenient.

  “What the hell are you into that you’d believe that?”

  “None of your business.”