CHANCES ARE (Last Chance Rescue)

by Reece, Christy

  Protecting Angela was going to be doubly difficult. Not only would he have to restrain himself from going after the men in the club, he also had to be on the lookout for the crazed madman who might want to kill her. And his feelings for her, whether he wanted to admit them or not, weren’t the mildly affectionate ones he told himself he could allow. The things she made him feel were gut deep and full of all the emotions he’d denied himself for years.

  But they had to be shoved back, out of the way. These kinds of feelings weren’t something he could allow, especially on an op.

  They walked into the small mom and pop Italian restaurant he’d eaten at a couple of times when he’d been vacationing here. Angela had chattered nonstop since they’d left the club, seemingly unaware of his lack of words.

  They were seated and had placed their order before Jake spoke. Wanting to get the discussion back to an easygoing non-confrontational status they’d developed over the last few months, Jake said, “I ate here a couple of times when I was on vacation. I think you’ll like it.”

  Stupid to forget that Angela was the queen of confrontations.

  Leaning forward, she seared him with her eyes and said softly, “So, am I your woman, Jake?”

  Chapter Eight

  A house outside London

  “You really shouldn’t be afraid of me. I’m going to make you famous. When I’m through with you, everyone in England will know who you are.”

  The silver tape across Clarissa Eaton’s mouth muffled her responding sob. Her eyes spoke for her. They looked upon him as if he were the devil himself. Her fear exuded a healthy respect. He liked that. She also had the appearance of a terrified lamb. That was proper and very important. Suffering for one’s art was part of the process. Of course, she didn’t understand that yet. Once she did, they would get along famously.

  “You should feel honored that you were chosen. I don’t normally invite women like you into my world. I’m very particular about my preferences. And you aren’t even from my usual hunting area. You caught my attention one day and I haven’t been able to think of anyone since.”

  Dark green eyes, drenched with tears, blinked up at him. Once again they spoke volumes, telling him she wasn’t honored. That would change though. Before their final goodbye, she would learn many important lessons. All of his women had left him with the knowledge of his greatness in their eyes. So would this one.

  Her eye color was a disappointment. From a distance, they had looked brown. Once he began the process of elevation to her new status, they would have to be covered. They could prove a distraction; one he couldn’t afford. Every nuance of the process was carefully calculated. If even one aspect was off, it would ruin everything.

  A common man would either discard her or remove the distraction. He was not a common man. He had chosen her for a reason. Just because he didn’t know why yet didn’t mean she was a mistake. Knowledge would come. And so he would proceed. When it was time, the answer would be revealed to him.

  Taking the scissors from the drawer, he held them up to the light, loving the way they glinted like diamonds. He looked down at Clarissa again. At the sight of his scissors, her green eyes blazed with terror. Hmm. Perhaps the color wasn’t so bad after all.

  With that comforting thought, he began to cut, Clarissa’s muffled screams sounding like thunderous applause as they hit his ears.

  Club Drago

  “You nervous?” a gravelly female voice asked.

  As soon as Angela entered the dressing room, Georgette Hilliard, stage name Dynamite, had taken her under her wing. Georgette was the oldest dancer at Club Drago and apparently saw herself as a surrogate big sister.

  Georgette’s question surprised her because it made her realize that she was nervous. Nerves weren’t usually an issue for her but this was so completely out of the norm for her low-key lifestyle, she couldn’t stop the army of butterflies battling each other in her stomach.

  Reading the correct answer in Angela’s expression, Georgette said, “Don’t worry, Sweets. Once you’re on stage, the nerves will disappear. It’s dark out in the club. When the lights come on, you just go to your happy place and let the music take over.”

  Good advice except she wasn’t performing for the reason most exotic dancers went on stage. She was performing to catch a killer. That was definitely something they hadn’t covered in her dance classes.

  Apparently seeing the doubt in her eyes, Georgette offered another avenue. “You have a man?”

  Did she? Her question to Jake had been met with a bright blue gaze of pure heat that had almost incinerated her insides. She shouldn’t have asked the question in the first place. Sometimes her tongue overpowered her brain and she blurted out inappropriate questions. Asking hadn’t worked anyway—Jake hadn’t answered. Passionate intensity had been in his expression but the words she longed to hear never came.

  Still, whether he looked upon her as his woman, Angela knew one thing—Jake was her man, whether he wanted to admit to it or not.

  “Yes, I have a man.”

  “Think about him. Pretend it’s just you and him and you’re dancing only for him. With your body and exotic looks, you’ll have men salivating. Add that kind of personal touch, make each man believe you’re dancing only for him.” She nodded knowingly. “They’ll be throwing money at your feet.”

  The money would go to charity, so that was a good thing. And thinking about Jake while she danced? That was excellent advice. What better way for her to show him how much she wanted him, especially since she doubted she would ever get the chance to dance for him in private.

  “Thank you, Georgette. I appreciate the advice.”

  “New girl?”

  Angela turned around and faced a petite, large-breasted woman with bleached hair teased up so high it easily gave her three more inches of height. Her costume consisted of an extremely short cowgirl dress and cowboy boots.

  Georgette nodded. “Angela, this is Luscious Lucy. She goes on right before you do.”

  Lucy flashed a bright, welcoming smile. “I’ll warm them up for you.”

  “Thanks,” Angela said, returning her smile.

  A voice boomed behind them. “Lucy, you’re on in two.”

  Lucy gave a teasing wink. “Better head that way before Arlo has a nervous breakdown.”

  Angela had met Arlo, the stage manager, earlier. He was a thin, nervous man with a beaky nose and kind eyes. Georgette had introduced them and then explained that Arlo was married to a former dancer of Club Drago. She said he had a fatherly affection for all the girls and watched out for them.

  As Lucy swayed toward the door in her four-inch cowboy boots, Angela stood and surveyed herself in the full-length mirror.

  “There are going to be some hot and bothered men out there tonight,” Georgette said admiringly.

  Perhaps, but there were only two she wanted to attract. One was the love of her life and the other was a sadistic killer.

  Jake sat at a table, on a dais to the left of the stage, with an excellent view of the club. So far, he’d seen nothing out of the ordinary. Just everyday, average horny men staring with lust-glazed eyes as beautiful and scantily clad women gyrated in front of them.

  The audience was mostly men of varying ages. He saw a few guys who didn’t look old enough to be there, along with a couple of old geezers who looked as though they could keel over at anytime. None of them looked like killers, serial or otherwise. But then, mild-mannered looking people committed bloodcurdling crimes every damn day.

  Ingram and Kelly had started their undercover jobs tonight, too. Dressed in a short, red skirt, a white, midriff-baring top and stilettos that made her appear about five inches taller, the always serious-looking Riley Ingram was barely recognizable. Jake had never worked with the young operative before and had to admit he was impressed with her acting abilities. The few times he’d met her, she’d seemed withdrawn and closed off. Tonight she was the total opposite. She flirted and laughed, deterring wayward ha
nds and off-color comments with impressive diplomacy.

  Justin Kelly stood at attention a few yards from her. Though his eyes roamed the crowded room, the former special ops man returned his gaze frequently to his partner. Other than her height, Riley had many of the same similarities as the killer’s preferred victim. Even though the two operatives were mainly here for Angela’s protection, Riley Ingram would also be working hard to attract the killer’s attention. And Justin Kelly would be doing the same thing as Jake—looking for a killer and making sure his partner stayed safe.

  Jake had worked an op with Kelly a couple of months ago. Their mission had been to rescue a small group of aid workers being held for ransom in Guatemala. He’d been impressed with Kelly’s no-bullshit attitude. They’d gone in just before dawn and grabbed the five victims. No casualties and the disorganized group of small-time thugs were now locked up. It had been a good day.

  As the countrified and well-endowed Lucy left the stage wearing only her G-string and cowboy boots, the music started for the next performer. Jake froze. He recognized the music from when Angela had played it earlier in the apartment. The title of the song, Come And Get Me, was dammed provocative. Jake just hoped to hell it didn’t provoke more than what they anticipated. He was here to catch a killer, not fight a roomful of horny, out of control men.

  He caught his first glimpse of Dark Angel. Holy hell, no wonder she’d had room for her costume in her purse. There was nothing to it. A miniscule black leather jacket covered what looked like a bra made of black fishnet. Even from this distance, he could see rose-colored nipples. She wore black bikini panties, black, thigh-high stockings and black boots. She finished off the look with short, black gloves. And for some unknown, freaky reason, those gloves called to him. The flash of a fantasy played in his mind—Angela wearing nothing but those gloves.

  Long, raven-black hair fell like a silken waterfall over her creamy shoulders and rippled hypnotically with each sensual movement she made with the music. She grasped the pole, whirled, caressed and twisted around it, as if inviting a lover to her bed. Then she strutted away from the pole and faced the crowded room. The seductive expression on her face was that of a woman comfortable with her own sexuality. Her graceful movements invited intimacy, as if she were calling to her lover, aching for his touch.

  A sharp pain in his left hand made him realize he was gripping the table so hard, the edge had cut into his palm. Relaxing his hold, Jake told his body to do the same. He had known he’d have a hard time with this—dammed if he had known how hard.

  Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he ignored his physical response to the beautiful, sexy woman on stage, and tore his eyes away from her. The fact that he had watched four other women dance just as provocatively wearing even less clothing and hadn’t been the least bit moved didn’t matter…couldn’t matter.

  His gaze roamed the audience who seemed to be eating up the performance. Based on the ear-splitting wolf whistles, Dark Angel was a definite hit.

  Even though the killer wouldn’t come after her on stage, Jake carefully assessed each man. It was too dark to see faces but he had good enough night vision to observe body language. Not the best way to identify a killer, but seeing something ‘off’ could help pinpoint a possible suspect.

  Tonight, on the way back to the apartment, would be the real test. Angela would walk home, seemingly alone and vulnerable. If the killer was watching tonight’s performance and followed her, he would get the impression that Angela was easy prey. Jake looked forward to showing the bastard just how very alone she wasn’t.

  Shrill whistles brought his attention back to the stage. Jake cursed, softly, vehemently. Angela was hanging upside down from the pole, her long, beautiful legs twisting around the hard steel with a grace and strength that defied description. He had held her in his arms and felt the slenderness of her body but beneath the soft, silky skin was solid muscle. She made another twist, whirled and then landed back on her feet.

  Once again, Jake forced his eyes away from the stage. He had two jobs, protecting Angela and catching a killer. Neither of those responsibilities involved staring like a salivating, sex-starved fiend. Unfortunately that was exactly how he felt.

  As the song came to an end, the catcalls and whistles grew louder. Jake stood and moved easily between the tables, his eyes looking for any kind of a threat. No one even noticed his existence—he could be invisible. Their eyes were riveted to the stage. He dared a glance at the stage and jerked to a stop in the middle of the floor, his breath caught in his lungs. Other than the bikini panties and boots, Angela was completely nude. She’d even taken off those damn gloves.

  Only by reminding himself that her protection was his number one priority was he able to look away. He turned and surveyed the crowd. All eyes were still focused on Dark Angel, seemingly mesmerized.

  Just when he thought her first performance would end with no drama, a gorilla-sized man flung himself toward the stage, his giant hand within inches of grabbing Angela’s ankle. As if it was a natural part of her performance, Angela gracefully stepped out of the man’s reach. Roddy had warned them this might happen. It took every ounce of Jake’s self-control to allow Justin Kelly to take care of the guy. The LCR operative grabbed the man by the collar, easily wrangling him back into his chair and then leaned over him for several seconds. Whatever Kelly had said worked because the man nodded and stayed seated.

  The music ended and at last Angela’s performance was over. Jake watched her as she left the stage, walking in that long-legged, loose-hipped sexy way she had, her strides unhurried and languid, full of that sexy confidence that had enthralled him from the first time he met her.

  Dragging his attention away, he turned back to the audience. Anyone seem too extreme in their response? As another dancer was announced, he waited to see if anyone would walk out, thinking he’d found his next victim. No one moved.

  It had been a long shot to believe the man could be targeted the first night, on the first performance. This might be a long, arduous op, taking weeks to complete. If tonight was any indication, Jake knew he was in for a tortuous time.

  Angela sat alone in a corner of the dressing room. The other dancers seemed to recognize her need for isolation. Had they felt something similar their first time on stage? She had been so confident, sure that the experience wouldn’t faze her. How wrong she had been.

  Dancing in front of a small group in class, with a friendly, supportive instructor calling out directions and fellow classmates shouting encouraging words was a completely different experience from the real thing. The shouts had been lascivious and lewd, the encouragement had been vulgar, and the atmosphere had been anything but friendly.

  Jake had been in that crowd. Of course she hadn’t been able to see him but knowing he was in the audience had eased the feeling of aloneness as she’d stepped out onto the stage. That reassurance changed quickly. He had witnessed the crowd’s reaction. She had known it wouldn’t be easy for him but what she hadn’t anticipated was how hard it would be for her, knowing he was watching it unfold.

  Had he lost respect for her? Right now, friendship and respect were all they had. Would this mission she’d fought so hard for cost her that?

  “Everything okay, ducky?”

  Angela turned to see Monique, a tall, slender redhead whose stage name of Chili Pepper suited her.

  “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “First time?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Did you have problems the first time?”

  “Oh yeah, cried for hours after. Told myself I wouldn’t come back.”

  “Why did you?”

  “Because I’m good and I make a lot of money. It got easier.”

  “How?”

  She stared above Angela’s head for several seconds and then said, “Distance. It’s a job, not who I am. When I’m out there, I dance to the music, I think about a lover…” She shrugged and added, “Guess
I go somewhere else.”

  That’s what she had thought she could do too, but somehow that hadn’t worked out. Not only had she been aware of the gawking, salacious eyes of the audience and Jake’s overwhelming presence, she had been acutely conscious that one of those lust-filled gawkers might well be a serial killer. All of that was a bit much to handle for a first-time gig.

  The sound of her cellphone pulled Angela back to the here and now. This was a job, nothing more. She had to keep that in mind. Thanking Monique for her advice, Angela reached for the phone she’d left at her dressing table.

  “Hello?”

  “You okay?”

  Angela closed her eyes as Jake’s deep, steadying voice soothed her. She wasn’t alone in all of this. He was her partner and her friend.

  “I’m fine.” And because she was vain enough to want reassurance, she asked, “So how did I do?”

  The long pause before he answered made her tense up. Had she done that badly?

  “If you were any better, I would’ve had to jump up on the stage and carry you away.”

  She laughed, relieved to hear her nervousness hadn’t shown through to ruin her performance. “To protect me from all the ravenous wolves in the audience?”

  Another long pause. Angela could almost feel the electricity coming through the phone. When he answered, his voice was deeper, thicker. “The ravenous wolves had nothing to do with me wanting to carry you away.”

  “Oh.” Amazing how one could become aroused in an instant. If Jake had been anywhere within touching distance, she would have been wrapped around him.

  “You’re not on for another hour. I think it would be best if you stay in the dressing room till your next set.”

  “Best for whom? You or me?”

  His sigh exploded in her ear. “I’ll see you after your performance. Stay with the plan.”