Midnight Alias Page 7

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  His hands were so warm. And strong. She wanted to sink into his palms. No, she wanted to bury her face against the wide expanse of his chest and pretend that everything was all right.

  Were you turned on? Did you get wet when you were humping his thigh?

  She shrugged Luke’s hands off and took a step back. What the hell was she thinking? She couldn’t touch this man. She couldn’t even be around him. If Vince’s temper could be provoked by an innocent lap dance, how would he react if he discovered she’d been hugging some stranger in a Laundromat? And Olivia didn’t doubt that he would discover it. She’d only been half-serious when she’d asked Luke if he was following her, but when it came to Vince, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d sent a guard to keep tabs on her. Over the past six months, the hairs on the back of her neck often tingled when she was out of the apartment, as if she were being watched.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she murmured. “I just have to go.”

  Her hands shook as she started shoving clothes into the second laundry bag, not bothering to be gentle about it. She would just refold everything when she got home. When she locked the door behind her and shut out the world.

  “Can I see you again?” Luke’s dark eyes followed her hasty movements. “Maybe we can go out for coffee?”

  “That’s not a good idea,” she said sharply.

  A crease carved into his forehead. “Why not?”

  “Because I have a boyfriend.” The nausea returned. Vince would be happy to hear her say that. As far as he was concerned, she’d become his “girl” the second he’d rescued her in the alley.

  Luke’s wariness seemed to deepen. “Oh. Well, I don’t see why we still can’t share a cup of coffee as friends.”

  Friends? She wanted to laugh. And what would happen when Vince Angelo found out she was friends with the man whose lap she’d danced on?

  “Not a good idea,” she reiterated.

  When he looked ready to protest, she set her jaw. “My boyfriend is on the possessive side. He doesn’t like me talking with other men, or hanging out with them.”

  He raised one dark brow. “And you’re fine with that?”

  Irritation and panic shot through her. “It’s none of your business what I’m fine with.” She quickly tightened the drawstrings at the top of each sack. “Look, it was nice chatting with you, Luke. You seem like a good guy, okay? But I don’t need any friends.”

  “Olivia—”

  “I have to go.”

  Without so much as a backward glance, she hurried out of the Laundromat, her breath coming in gasps. She practically sprinted down the street, dodging a group of boys in private school uniforms and nearly knocking over an elderly woman exiting a bakery. She suddenly wanted to burst into tears. And why shouldn’t she? She was weak, right? She was too terrified to even talk to another man because Vince might find out.

  She came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk, a streak of fury soaring inside her. No. She was not weak. She was being smart. Vince might have gotten his slimy hooks into her, but she would soon sever the rope of control he’d wrapped around her. She could have packed up and run a long time ago, which was exactly what her father would have done. But guess what—Eddie Taylor had been a rash fool. Her mom might sing her dad’s praises, but Olivia had figured out at an early age that her father wasn’t the big hero Kathleen claimed he was. He’d blown all their money on high-risk investments and get-rich-quick schemes. He’d been reckless, diving into dangerous situations without a single thought for the family waiting for him at home.

  Well, Olivia was not reckless. She was practical. There was no way she could support herself and her mother without finishing school. Sure, they could flee now, before she got her degree, but how would she pay the rent? How would she pay for her mother’s medication? And what happened if Kathleen’s cancer came back? What happened if the bills piled up again?

  So screw reckless. She could keep Vince at bay for another three months. She would suck it up and dance at the club. She would play the virgin card and hope Vince respected it. And then she would get the hell out of this city and never look back.

  * * *

  “For fuck’s sake, you’d think she’s never had a cock inside of her,” Vince remarked as he stared in disdain at the sobbing idiot on the queen-size bed.

  The man next to him shared his disgust. Marco Bianchi was an enforcer for Ric De Luca and a trusted player in De Luca’s inner circle. He’d been assigned to monitor the private party that had taken place in this hotel room last night. Vince wished De Luca had sent somebody else, someone he could slip a few hundred to in exchange for keeping quiet about this.

  On the bed, Cora was shuddering and quivering like a bitch in heat, tears streaming down her freckled face. She was drowsy, her blue eyes glazed, but the smack was leaving her system and the memories of what she’d done last night were making her wail like a squawking infant.

  Fighting a rush of annoyance, Vince approached the bed and slapped the bitch in the face. She wailed even louder.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he snapped.

  “You . . . y-you said I only had to dance.”

  “People say a lot of things.” Ignoring her, he turned to De Luca’s man, pasting on an apologetic expression. “She’s high maintenance.”

  Marco’s cold eyes took on a surprising glint of humor. “Most whores are.”

  “I’m not a whore!” Cora cried.

  Vince continued to ignore her. “But she performed well? Our associates were pleased?”

  The enforcer nodded. “Very pleased. She only started with this bullshit when she was coming down.”

  And who said drugs were bad? Vince had long ago realized that shooting the girls up was a surefire way to gain their cooperation.

  “The boss wants a sit-down tonight,” Marco added. “He’d like to discuss the upcoming shipment.”

  “I’ll be there,” Vince promised.

  After Marco left the room, Vince crossed the off-white carpet and returned to the bed. He sat down at the edge of the thick gold duvet and stared at the redhead, who was shaking like a leaf. Then he glanced around the suite, absorbing the expensive furnishings, the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a view of the city skyline. Cora’s crying annoyed him. She was a dumb single mom with a pile of student loans—when the fuck would she ever have the opportunity to stay in such a lavish suite? He resented her ingratitude.

  Nevertheless, he drew her into his arms. She was still one of his girls, and he had a duty to comfort her. He stroked her hair without interest, wishing she’d just shut up already.

  “It couldn’t have been so bad.” He clucked as the redhead’s tears stained the collar of his black silk dress shirt.

  “Th-there were th-three of them.” Her voice was muffled. “They . . . they . . . made me do things that . . .” She trailed off, a new series of shudders wracking her body.

  Vince sighed. “They were important clients, Cora. We need to keep important clients happy.”

  Ric De Luca demanded it, and Vince had no problem arranging it. And to think, fifteen years ago he’d been nothing but a twenty-year-old punk selling drugs on the street corner. The son of a pair of piss-poor losers, smarter than everyone around him yet unable to climb out of the gutter he’d been born in. All that changed when Ric De Luca had taken him under his wing. He’d started off as a drug runner, the lowest on the totem pole. Now he was thirty-five years old with cash to spare, another one of those blessed to be part of the inner circle. Number six man for the head of one of the Five Families. The most powerful family. Number six, but that would change too. As long as he kept De Luca happy, his star would continue to rise.

  So big deal if he had to send some whores De Luca’s way to entertain the man’s associates. Dancer. Whore. Didn’t make a difference. He supposed he could always prowl the streets and find some regular old hooker to do the job, but De Luca expected class, and the Diamond was known t
o employ only the most beautiful girls.

  Even now, with snot pouring out of her nose and her eyes puffy as marshmallows, Cora was breathtaking. The associates had wanted her the moment they’d seen her dance, and Vince had obligingly given her to them.

  “They liked you so much they even gave you a bonus,” he told her. “Instead of two grand, you’re getting five.”

  Out of his own pocket, he might add. But shutting this one up was worth the extra dough.

  She pulled back, her tear-streaked face red and swollen. “How can I ever look my daughter in the eye?” she stammered. “What would she think if she . . . if she knew what I . . .”

  Vince smothered an annoyed groan. It was either that or give in to the urge and smother this bitch with a damn pillow.

  “I won’t do it again.” Cora spoke in a fierce whisper. “I won’t. You can’t make me.”

  He patted her head. “If that’s what you want. You won’t have to work another private party.”

  Unless they ask for you again.

  Still trembling, Cora wiggled out of his embrace and stumbled to her feet. “I want to go home. Take me home now.”

  Her demand irked him, but since she hadn’t insisted that he take her to the police station, Vince simply nodded and stood up. “If that’s what you want,” he said again.

  Chapter 5

  The rest of the team was already holed up in a back booth when Luke walked into the diner later that afternoon. He’d been watching Olivia’s building until now, but after hours of inactivity, it became obvious that she wouldn’t be venturing out again. When he’d reported in, Trevor had ordered him to come for a briefing, and he had to admit the team leader had chosen a good place for it. The diner on Hudson Street was one of those greasy spoons that reminded Luke of his favorite haunt back home. Lou’s Bacon. He’d always thought it was a dumb-ass name for a restaurant, but Lou did fry up some damn good bacon.

  At the thought of home, he made a mental note to give his mother a call. Ellen and Vanessa were probably impatient to hear from him too, which brought a trickle of guilt. Shit, he’d been a bad son and brother these past six years. Hadn’t visited, hardly ever called. But he knew his mom and older sisters understood. Him on the other hand? He would never understand why the three of them had decided to stay in New Orleans, why they’d chosen to remain among the ghosts instead of trying to forget.

  Luke banished the memories attempting to surface and walked across the checkered floor. The booth was a huge red-vinyl monstrosity, but even so, it was a tight squeeze for four mercenaries. Trevor, D, and Sullivan, already tackling their food, grunted out hellos when Luke slid in next to the team leader. A waitress walked up to take his order, then flounced off.

  “We think Dane’s alive,” Trevor said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

  Luke swiped a french fry off D’s plate, earning himself a stony glare. He popped the fry in his mouth and glanced at Trevor. “Morgan’s source?”

  “Yeah. She overheard Angelo on the phone telling someone that they needed to get rid of Dane before people started looking for him.”

  He experienced a burst of satisfaction. Finally. He’d been starting to think that maybe Carter Dane didn’t even exist and the DEA was just fucking around with Morgan. “So what are we thinking? He’s being held somewhere?”

  “That makes the most sense,” Trevor answered. “While he was undercover, he went to the club almost every night to buddy up to Angelo, but we’ve been watching the place for almost a week, and Dane is nowhere in sight.”

  “If Dane’s a captive, then this job just became an extraction,” D said in his raspy voice.

  “We need to find out where they’re keeping him,” Sullivan piped up, sucking on the straw sticking out of his chocolate milk shake.

  Luke didn’t comment on the shake. Everyone else had ordered coffee, but he’d never seen Sullivan Port drink anything you’d call normal. At a bar, while the other men ordered beers, Sully ordered the most obscure cocktail on the menu. At diners, it was apparently milk shakes. Luke wondered what the guy sucked down on his yacht. Probably some weird coconut shit Sullivan had concocted himself.

  “Can the source get the location?” D demanded.

  “She’ll try, but her cover’s too new. She might get lucky, but she thinks we’ll have better luck using Olivia Taylor.” Trevor turned to Luke. “What’s your take on her? How close is she to Angelo?”

  “Close,” he said, struggling to keep the derision out of his voice. “She said she’s got a boyfriend. I’m assuming she meant him.”

  Trevor looked pleased. “Then there’s a chance she knows something. Keep doing what you’re doing—get close to her.”

  He shook his head. “She won’t talk to me. The second I even mention the club, or going out for coffee, she shuts down.” He remembered the way she’d sprinted out of the Laundromat as if the damn bogeyman was chasing her. “She’s scared of him. Big-time scared.”

  “That’s what our source thinks too,” Trevor said with a frown.

  “She said he’s possessive,” Luke added. “He doesn’t like her talking with other men.”

  “She’s a mobster’s girlfriend.” D spoke up, his black eyes flickering with irritation. “And she shakes her ass in a G-string for dirty old men.”

  He stiffened. “So?”

  “So stop acting like she’s some quivering virgin. She’s not a victim. She knows exactly what goes on in that club. Her man runs drugs and beats the hell out of dealers who piss off De Luca.” D shrugged. “I don’t give two shits if she’s scared. She chose to be in this position when she decided to bang Angelo.”

  Anger crept up his spine. D was a heartless bastard on a good day, but this was just fucked. “And if he beats the hell out of her?” Luke said coolly. “She deserves that?”

  “When you willingly get involved with bad dudes, you pay the price.”

  “How do we know it was willingly? I’ve spent time with her. You haven’t.”

  “You got a lap dance. Whoop-dee-doo. What exactly did the feel of her pussy rubbing against your leg reveal, bro? Are you sure it wasn’t telling you that she’s just some airhead stripper who’s screwing her Mafia boss?”

  Luke’s jaw tensed. “Trust me, she’s not an airhead. And she’s not some gangster’s moll either.” She was a woman who entertained a pair of little girls while their exhausted mother washed their clothes. A woman who dished out change for a homeless dude on her way home.

  “And I’m not kidding,” he went on. “She’s terrified of something. She doesn’t want to be in that club, and I don’t think Angelo is her boyfriend by choice.”

  He finished in an angry rush, just as the waitress approached the table with his order. The huge bacon, egg, and sausage combo didn’t look so appetizing anymore. The others had fallen silent, except Sullivan, who was sucking the last bit of milk shake from his glass.

  “What do you suggest we do?” Trevor finally asked.

  “Find out how she became Angelo’s girl.” Luke released a breath. “My instincts are telling me he’s got something on her, that she’s in trouble.”

  “Fine. I’ll get Holden on it.” Trevor paused. “And if you’re right, and she’s in some kind of trouble, then what?”

  “We use her. Bring her over to our side.”

  D barked out a laugh.

  “I’m serious. I think I should tell her the truth about who I am.”

  The team leader looked unenthused. “You want to blow your cover?”

  “It could be the only way. She won’t date a customer or share her secrets with a stranger. End of story. But if she knows I’m one of the good guys, she might agree to help.”

  “If she’s an unwilling player like you believe,” Trevor pointed out. “If she’s not, then—”

  “Then you’ve just announced to Angelo that he’s under surveillance,” D cut in, annoyed. “And that we’re looking for Dane.”

  “It’s a risk,” Luke conceded. “But
I’d rather go with my gut than your paranoia.”

  D scowled, ready to argue, but Trevor held up his hand. “Let’s see what Holden comes up with. If we find any evidence to suggest that Angelo has some kind of hold over Taylor, we’ll consider using her.”

  Luke knew that was all he was gonna get at the moment. At least Trevor was willing to explore the idea that Olivia might be caught up in something beyond her control.

  The tête-à-tête officially came to an end when D got up abruptly. “Come on, bro,” he growled at Sullivan. “It’s our watch.”

  Sullivan frowned, but when the team leader gave him a nod, the big Australian followed D toward the door. After they were gone, Luke slid into D’s seat so that he was facing Trevor. “Is it just me, or has he gotten even more volatile?”

  “It’s not just you.”

  His appetite returning, Luke reached for his plate and dug in. He chewed on a piece of bacon, watching Trevor with growing wariness. Something seemed to be bugging the guy, judging by the tension in his jaw.

  “What?” Luke said between mouthfuls. “Did something go down?”

  The other man shook his head. “Nah. It’s nothing.”

  They didn’t say a word for the next five minutes, as Luke polished off his meal. Yep, Trev was most definitely perturbed about something. So was he. But he hadn’t realized how perturbed he actually was until he’d set down his coffee, opened his mouth, and something unexpected popped out: “I want to fuck her.”

  Trevor’s mouth fell open.

  It suddenly occurred to him that he was in the vicinity of one of the world’s last remaining gentlemen. “I mean, have sex with her. Make love to her, whatever.”

  “I know what fucking is,” Trevor said dryly. “I’m more perplexed by why you felt that was something you needed to share with me.”

  “I know, it’s TMI, but—”

  “WTMI.”

  “What’s the W—oh, way. Yeah, way too much. But you’re team leader, so I figured I owed you full disclosure.”

  Mr. Team Leader wrapped his fingers around his coffee mug. “You want to sleep with Olivia Taylor.”