Midnight Alias Page 8

  He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “Okay.” A beat. “Is this going to be a problem? Mission-wise?”

  “No.”

  Trevor’s brown eyes bored into his own. “You sure about that?”

  “It won’t be a problem.” He suddenly felt uncharacteristically exasperated. “She’s hot, all right? She’s super hot and my body reacts to her, but my cock has nothing to do with my gut. There’s more to her story. I feel it. And I believe she will help us find Dane if she knows we’re the good guys.” He slugged down the rest of his coffee. “She might have referred to him as her boyfriend, but she doesn’t want him to be.”

  “Whether that’s true or not, the fact is she’s still tangled up with the bastard.”

  “Which puts her in the best position to gather intel. I’ve been to the club a dozen times and haven’t come up with shit. Morgan’s source is inside too, and she—”

  “It’s Isabel.”

  Luke blinked. “What?”

  “Morgan’s source. It’s Isabel.” Trevor picked up his mug, tipped his head back, and drained his coffee. “She’s undercover there.”

  “For real?”

  Trevor nodded.

  “My favorite chameleon,” he said with genuine delight. “Damn, and I didn’t even recognize her. I’ve seen every dancer in that place. Who is she?”

  “Candy Cane.”

  Well, damn. Luke pictured the curvy Candy Cane, with her long blond hair and delectable ass. Then he went pale. Aw, shit, he’d seen Isabel Roma’s tits. How could he ever look her in the eye now?

  “I can’t believe she didn’t say anything to me,” he grumbled. “We’re e-mail buddies.”

  Trevor’s jaw dropped. This time he was the one blurting. “For real?”

  “Sure.” In fact, Isabel Roma was probably the only woman Luke had ever maintained a platonic relationship with. They’d totally hit it off when she’d helped them with the Colombian job last year. Even did some target practice together on the compound. The woman was pretty damn impressive with a rifle.

  He cocked his head. “Didn’t you keep in touch with her?”

  “No,” Trevor admitted.

  “Even after she took a bullet to save your sorry ass?”

  Trevor’s expression darkened. Without responding, he yanked out his wallet, dropped two twenties on the table, and rose from his seat. “I’m heading back to the safe house to brief Holden. You keep tailing Olivia until we know more.”

  Trevor left, and Luke found himself in an empty booth. Well. Apparently he was the buzz kill of the day.

  * * *

  After her rendezvous with Trevor, Isabel went to the Chinese place over on the next block to grab some dinner. When she waltzed back into her apartment a half hour later, she found Noelle sitting on her couch.

  Nearly dropping her takeout bag, Isabel gaped at her boss, then recovered and smiled uneasily. “Funny, I don’t recall ever giving you a key.”

  “You didn’t.”

  Well, of course. The queen of assassins didn’t need silly things like keys. Isabel suspected her boss had an arsenal of weapons and tools underneath her clothing, although it certainly didn’t show. Tight leather pants encased Noelle’s legs, an even tighter black tank hugging her torso. She must be hiding her gear beneath her leather jacket, but that was pretty tight too. Ah well. Isabel wasn’t about to ask how she got in, and Noelle sure as hell wouldn’t tell her.

  The boss looked fierce this afternoon. Fiercer than usual. Her blue eyes were narrowed with displeasure, and she tapped her red-manicured fingernails against her thighs.

  Isabel sighed. “All right, let’s have it. I’m ready.”

  The blonde was on her feet in a nanosecond, bearing down on her. “Did I give you permission to work a job for Jim Morgan?”

  “I didn’t realize I needed permission. I’m on vacation, remember?” She sidestepped Noelle’s approach and headed for the coffee table.

  She set her takeout bag down, then flopped on the carpet cross-legged and began removing the white cardboard food containers. After seven years of working for Noelle, she’d learned that the best way to defuse the woman’s wrath was to ignore it.

  Sure enough, Noelle dialed back the rage, but her beautiful face still glittered with disapproval. “You know what you do on vacation, Isabel? You go to a beach. Get a tan. Fuck a cabana boy.”

  Isabel stuck her plastic fork into a container and speared some spicy noodles. “I’ve got fair skin. I burn easily.”

  “But no,” Noelle continued as if Isabel hadn’t even spoken. “You decide to do some undercover work for Morgan.”

  “He asked for my assistance. What can I say? He appreciates my skills.”

  It didn’t escape her that she possessed a skill set that couldn’t exactly be considered normal. Her expertise didn’t involve numbers or computers or whatever it was that normal people did. What she excelled in was transformation. She could alter her appearance with whatever means necessary—makeup, padding, clothes—but becoming a different person was more than just using the tools at your disposal. It meant a new way of walking, talking, thinking. Facial gestures, body language, changing your entire mental outlook to convey a distinctive persona. Funny how nobody had ever really trained her for that. Stepping into a new role came as naturally as brushing her teeth in the morning. And she was good at it.

  Probably, she supposed, because she’d spent her entire childhood and adolescence wishing she were somebody else.

  “Morgan doesn’t appreciate shit,” Noelle scoffed. “He’s using you.”

  Isabel chewed, swallowed, and shot her boss a pointed stare. “You went to him for help when Abby was missing.”

  Given the tightness of her jaw, Noelle was evidently grinding her teeth together. “I had no other choice. And trust me, I don’t sleep at night, knowing I owe that man a favor.” She sauntered back to the couch and lowered herself on the cushions, crossing her leather-clad legs.

  Isabel still couldn’t figure out how someone so graceful and heartbreakingly beautiful had grown up to be a ruthless killer. Call her a coward, but she was kind of scared to ask Noelle that question.

  “Then call this job your repayment,” Isabel said, reaching for a carton of chicken in black bean sauce. “Tell Morgan he’s receiving my services now in exchange for his help with Abby.”

  “Damn right I’ll tell him.”

  “So there you go. Now you can sleep at night again, and all is right in the world. I even forgive you for breaking into my home.”

  Noelle’s blue eyes flickered with scorn and a touch of bewilderment. “How is it that you’re able to take everything in stride? Does nothing piss you off?”

  “Getting pissed off requires too much energy.” She popped a piece of chicken into her mouth. “I prefer to use that energy to get the job done.”

  “Morgan’s job,” Noelle muttered. “Don’t even think about joining his team. I mean it. I already lost Abby to that son of a bitch.”

  “That drives you crazy, doesn’t it?” Grinning, she reached into the brown paper bag and pulled out a can of Sprite. She popped the tab, then took a sip and eyed the other woman over the rim. “Why are you really here, Noelle? I don’t believe you hopped a plane to New York simply to bitch at me for taking on a little side gig.”

  Those midnight blue eyes became veiled. “I had some business to take care of. Figured I’d stop by while I was in town.”

  “What kind of business?”

  Noelle just stared at her. Well, okay then. Not that Isabel was surprised. Her boss happened to be the most secretive person on the planet.

  “Sorry I asked.” With a shrug of her shoulders, Isabel gave up on receiving an answer and ate some more noodles.

  “Out of curiosity, does your sudden desire to help Morgan out have anything to do with the fact that Callaghan is back in action?” Noelle drawled.

  She lifted her head and leveled a stare of her own at her boss.

  After a bea
t, the deadly blonde laughed. “Sorry I asked.”

  * * *

  When Olivia showed up at the Diamond Mine the following evening, Tony intercepted her before she could reach the dressing room. “Boss wants you in his office,” the bodyguard announced.

  A tremor of panic moved through her body, growing stronger when she realized there could be only one reason why Vince would demand to see her.

  He knew she’d been with Luke yesterday.

  Her heart thudded as she followed Tony upstairs, her brain already working through various excuses. He followed me to the Laundromat. I was caught off guard, Vince. I swear, I tried to tell him to get lost, but he kept pushing and—

  “There she is.”

  Vince’s warm greeting interrupted her frantic thoughts. He was behind the desk again, but rose when she entered the office. His expression revealed no anger. Just pleasure.

  Her heartbeat slowed. This wasn’t about Luke, then.

  Unless Vince was toying with her, playing nice until he went in for the kill . . . She dismissed the thought. No, that looked like genuine joy sparkling in his eyes.

  “I’ve got something for you,” he said, his tone containing that tease of anticipation a lover used when he was about to present you with something special.

  Her panic all but disappeared when Vince extended a velvet jeweler’s box in her direction.

  Olivia eyed the gift with uneasiness. “What is it?”

  “Open it.”

  After a second of reluctance, she accepted the box and carefully opened the lid. A flash of silver winked up at her. No, not silver. Diamonds. Resting on the box’s black velvet bed was a sparkling diamond tennis bracelet accented with white gold.

  “Wow” was all she could think to say.

  “Five carats,” Vince said smugly.

  Now she said, “Oh.” Five carats. Of diamonds. On a silly bracelet. She was about to insist she couldn’t accept it, but the practical side of her objected. She could probably sell this thing for a huge chunk of change.

  So she met his eyes, feigned delight, and breathed, “Thank you.” For helping me bankroll my escape from you.

  His gaze shone with pleasure. “You like it?”

  “I love it. Will you help me put it on?”

  She started to lift the bracelet from its box, but Vince reached out and snapped the lid. He promptly tucked the box into the inner pocket of his Armani jacket. “You can’t wear it when you dance, babe. Diamonds and G-strings don’t complement each other. I’ll hold on to this until tomorrow night.”

  A spark of panic returned. “What’s tomorrow night?”

  Displeasure glittered on his face. “Have you forgotten?”

  Olivia quickly searched her mind. Tomorrow night. A Thursday. October eighteenth. What was special about October eightee—

  “It’s our six-month anniversary,” Vince snapped.

  Said the kidnapper to his hostage.

  “Of course it is,” she answered, donning a playful look, as if she’d known all along and had only been teasing him. “I just can’t believe you remembered.”

  “I remember everything. You know that.”

  Yep, and she also knew he wasn’t referring just to his knack for remembering dates.

  Message received, asshole.

  Olivia managed a smile. “So what are we doing tomorrow?”

  “Dinner. At my place.” His tone brooked no argument.

  She choked down a wave of sickness. His place? She’d never set foot in his Midtown penthouse. Oh God. That could mean only one thing. He expected her to sleep with him tomorrow. A million excuses burned through her brain, everything from I have my period to I’d rather slit my wrists. But she knew some blood between her legs would only turn him on even more, and the wrist-slitting thing . . . well, he’d probably be the one handing her the razor if she refused to fuck him.

  “S-sounds lovely,” she stammered.

  He stepped closer and dragged his thumb along her lower lip. His eyelids grew heavy, his features taut with arousal. “It’s what we’ve both been waiting for.” He gave her butt a little pat. “Now get downstairs and change.”

  Hiding her terror and disgust, she forced herself to exit the office with calm steps rather than breaking into a dead run. God, she had to find a way out of this. She couldn’t sleep with that man. She felt nauseous just thinking about it.

  She hurried downstairs and wandered into the busy dressing room, making a beeline for the bathroom. Inside, she approached the double sinks, flicked on the faucet, and splashed cold water on her face. She was so distracted that she didn’t even notice Cora come up behind her until the redhead’s face appeared in the bathroom mirror.

  Olivia turned around, concern washing over her. “Cora, hey. You startled me.”

  Her friend didn’t answer. Waves of hostility radiated from Cora’s body and her expression burned with stark fury. It took Olivia a second to register that the hostility was directed at her.

  “Cora,” she said again. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Oh God, did something happen to Katie?”

  “Leave my daughter out of this!”

  She blinked in confusion. “What the hell is going on? What’s wrong?”

  “What the fuck do you care?” Cora hissed. “You fucking slut. You’re the one who should have gone last night!”

  “What?”

  “He told me how much you liked it the first time. Why did he have to send me?”

  Uh. All right. She had no clue what the other woman was talking about, but it didn’t sound good. At all.

  “I don’t know what you think I did, but—”

  Pain slashed into her cheek. Olivia raised her palm to her face, stunned. Cora had slapped her.

  She took a step forward, but the redhead edged away. Her cheeks were flushed with anger, her hand shaking wildly as she lifted it to point an accusing finger. “Don’t come near me.”

  “Cora—”

  “I thought you were my friend, but you’re not. You’re no better than all the other sluts in this whorehouse.”

  “What are you talking ab—”

  “I thought we were friends! That’s why I got you this job, so I’d have someone to watch my back, someone who gave a shit about me. But you don’t. You never did, did you?” A maniacal laugh spiraled out of the girl’s mouth.

  Gulping, Olivia dared to approach the hysterical redhead. She reached out her hand, only for Cora to slap it away as if she’d been stung by a hornet.

  “Don’t touch me,” Cora growled. “I only came to tell you what you could do with your friendship.” She stumbled toward the doorway. “And tell that sick motherfucker he can shove his five grand up his ass. I’m going to the cops.”

  Chapter 6

  From the bathroom doorway, Olivia watched with wide eyes as Cora stormed out of the dressing room. Her mind reeled from confusion, and her cheek still stung from that slap. What the hell just happened?

  What had Vince done to her friend?

  Snapping out of her stupor, she charged across the room.

  “Bad idea, Olivia.”

  She spun around and spotted Candy in the process of lifting a tube of lipstick to her mouth. Dumbfounded, Olivia met the dancer’s blue eyes. “Why is going after her a bad idea?”

  “It’s not the time. The boss won’t appreciate your interference.”

  She bristled. “What makes you an expert on Vince?” Without waiting for an answer, she took another step toward the door. “Cora needs a friend. She needs me.”

  “She needs to calm down,” Candy corrected, reaching for a flat brush and dipping it into a container of cream-colored powder. As if she had no care in the world, the dancer began applying her makeup, her voice gentle and oddly comforting as she went on. “Whatever happened with her and Vince, they need to work it out amongst themselves. You’ll make it worse if you get involved.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Vince likes you meek. Doesn’t he, Olivia?”

/>   She remembered the last time she’d talked back to him, and the right side of her face experienced a phantom pain. She hadn’t been able to open her eye for days.

  “Whatever you’re doing to control him, keep doing it,” the blonde advised. “Stay off his radar.”

  Off his radar? She almost laughed. She was the only thing on that bastard’s radar.

  “Why are you saying this?” Unable to help it, she glanced up at the camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling.

  Candy’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

  Olivia noticed for the first time that Candy Cane’s blue eyes were far sharper than she’d realized. Shrewd. Warm. The dancer couldn’t be older than thirty or thirty-one, but she exuded a maternal aura that made Olivia want to launch herself into Candy’s arms and let the other woman comfort her, the way her mother used to do before she got too weak for even the gentlest of embraces.

  “What does he have on you?”

  The out-of-the-blue inquiry slammed into her like a punch to the gut. “Wh-what?” she sputtered.

  “I’d like to be your friend, if you’ll let me. You can talk to me.”

  “I don’t know what you think is going on, but—”

  “The shadows in your eyes,” Candy replied. “I still see them.”

  The temptation to confide in the woman was so strong she nearly blurted out every last detail, but then her mouth snapped shut. For all she knew, the dressing room was wired for sound and Vince was listening to every word. This was a trick. Vince must have put the dancer up to this. He’d caught on to the charade and now he was using Candy to extract a confession from her. So he could punish her.

  “Then you’re seeing things,” she said coldly. “Because the only thing Vince has is my heart.” With that, Olivia ended the conversation by marching toward the rack of costumes and keeping her back to Candy.

  Several minutes later, Olivia’s suspicions were confirmed when she passed by the woman’s station and spotted Candy texting on her BlackBerry.

  Checking in with Vince and typing out every word that had just been exchanged, no doubt.

  Friend, her ass.

  * * *

  Nothing beat New York pizza. Trevor couldn’t deny that as he wolfed down the last slice of the extra-large pie he’d devoured all by his lonesome. Man, he was piling on the carbs lately, but then again, he was burning them just as fast now that he’d begun working out again. It felt good to be at the top of his game.