He knows what goes on in the dark.

She’s got the face of an angel and the body of…well, isn’t that what he’d expect from an exotic dancer? But there’s something about this girl that Johnnie Riggs can’t shake. The former army ranger is hot on the trail of an elusive drug lord—and suddenly very hot under the collar, as well.

Amy’s got her own agenda to pursue: her sister is missing and Amy seems to be the only one who cares. She’ll enlist Johnnie’s help and do her best to ignore her growing attraction to finally get some answers. But when the two trails begin to converge and reveal something even more sinister than they imagined, their mutual desire is the least of their problems. They’ll bring the truth to light…or die trying.

Praise for Kat Martin’s

The Raines of Wind Canyon series

Against the Wind

“This is a ‘don’t miss’ read.…

Kat Martin is a very gifted writer who takes you

from the beginning to the end in total suspense.”

—Fresh Fiction

“Kat Martin has delivered yet another rockin’

romantic suspense. Stockpiled with suspense and passion, Against the Wind kept me reading, dying to find out the truth…I can’t recommend [it] highly enough!”

—Joyfully Reviewed

“Martin brings us a rugged hero, a strong-willed heroine and a story filled with romance, grit, tension and suspense…Martin definitely delivers.”

—RT Book Reviews

Against the Fire

“There’s something irresistible about a bad boy.… There’s lots of sizzle and burn…this sexy page-turner

is a perfect blend of romance, mystery and action.”

—RT Book Reviews

“A fascinating page-turner, one you won’t want to miss.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“I simply loved this book. I didn’t want to put it down.”

—Suspense Romance Writers

Against the Law

“Once you start Against the Law,

be prepared not to stop until you’ve reached the end…. This is one I highly recommend.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“4½ quills! Ms. Martin has struck the motherlode….”

—Romantic Crush Junkies

Against the Night
Kat Martin

To all my Rock Creek pals. You guys are the best! Thanks for the fun times!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Epilogue

Author’s Note

One

Johnnie Riggs was a night owl. Tonight he sat at a table at the Kitty Cat Club on Sunset Boulevard, watching a little blonde pole dancer with the hottest body he’d ever seen and trying like hell not to get an erection.

He reached for the Bud Light sitting in front of him, took a swallow and set the barely touched bottle back down on the table. He wasn’t there to get drunk. He wasn’t there to get turned on by some sexy little piece of fluff.

He was there to make a collar and a nice chunk of change.

A former Army Ranger with a P.I.’s license, Johnnie spent most of his time in the bars and clubs of Los Angeles, digging up information for clients who could afford his fees. And the occasional recovery job, if the money was high enough.

He glanced around the club, one of the better run strip joints in the area, a place an out-of-town businessman could go for a little harmless fun and not feel like he was about to get mugged when he walked outside to catch a cab.

Johnnie knew the owner, a guy named Tate Watters, a reasonable sort who ran a clean operation. Tate knew Johnnie was there to collect a skip, but Tate was a stand-up guy who did his best to stay on the right side of the law, and having a pervert around—Johnnie’s target—wasn’t good for business.

It was dark inside the club except for the neon beer signs behind the bar and the soft glow of lights over gilt-framed photos of nineteen-fifties strippers that hung on the walls. A row of colored spotlights lit the woman performing onstage.

The place smelled like stale beer and cheap perfume, and rock music hid the sound of clinking bar glasses and the heavy breathing of the men. Customers sat in the darkness at small round tables sipping whiskey or beer, staring toward the entertainment with big smiles on their faces.

Johnnie didn’t blame them. He’d be wearing a big smile, too, along with a raging hard-on if he wasn’t there on business.

He watched the woman on the stage. She was twenty-five or -six, a pretty little exotic dancer wearing nothing but red sequined pasties and a matching G-string. She wasn’t just petite, she was dainty, little more than five feet tall, with the shiniest, straightest, long blond hair he’d ever seen. Short bangs fluttered across her forehead above a pair of blue eyes that made him shift in his seat against his growing arousal, and muttering a curse between his teeth.

The music played, the beat steady, loud and erotic. She raised a red spike heel, wrapped her calf around the pole and slid up, then sank back down, rubbing the pole between her pale, perfectly proportioned legs. He felt a tug in his gut so strong he had to shove back his chair and get up from the table. Grabbing his beer bottle, he walked to the back of the club where he could survey the room and put a little more distance between him and the scrumptious piece of ass on the stage.

He scanned the patrons, keeping a careful watch for his target.

Earlier in the week, he’d gotten a call from his Ranger buddy in Houston. Trace Rawlins owned a security firm with branches in Houston and Dallas. In the years since they’d left the army, they had worked together a dozen times, most recently on an abduction case that had led them into Mexico.

According to Trace, a guy named Ray Carroll had jumped bail and was on the run. Rumor was he had friends in L.A. and odds were good that was where he had gone to ground. Good ol’ Ray had been arrested for possession and trafficking in child pornography—the lowest of the low as far as Johnnie was concerned. He would have taken the guy down for free if he’d had to, which fortunately he didn’t.

The case was interesting because Ray was the grandson of the late Texas oil billionaire, C. P. Carroll. C.P.’s widow was filthy rich and she doted on her grandson, which, with that kind of money at his disposal, made Ray a flight risk. His bail had been set at a half-million dollars, which his grandmother had posted.

But Ray had taken off for parts unknown, leaving grandma on the hook for a boatload of money if her boy wasn’t caught and brought back to appear in court. For ten percent of the bail fee, a cool fifty thou less a referral fee to Trace, Johnnie had agreed to find him. Surprisingly, once he’d started digging, narrowing his search hadn’t been all that hard.

Since leopards didn’t change their spots and jackals like Ray were fairly predictable, it didn’t take long to find out that Carroll hung out in the local strip clubs.

The Kitty Cat was his favorite. According to the bartender who ID’d the photo Johnnie had shown him, a guy calling himself Ray Conners had been in the club both Wednesday and Thursday nights. Johnnie had come in on Friday and again tonight but so far hadn’t seen any sign of him. Not until now.

The black padded vinyl front door swung open, letting a thin slice of street noise into the club. Recalling the photo, Johnnie recognized Ray Carroll as he ambled over to the bar. He was an average-looking forty-year-old, with thinning brown hair and the kind of greasy smile you’d expect to see on a creep like him. He sat down on one of the black vinyl bar stools, and the bartender, a tall, spare, good-looking Hispanic guy named Dante, flashed Johnnie a heads-up glance before taking Ray’s drink order, a double Grey Goose martini on the rocks.

A cocktail waitress walked past. The girls who performed also served drinks, though for that they wore a few more clothes. This one, a brunette, was tall and svelte, dressed in a little blue satin two-piece number, the bottom cut high on the sides, a built-in push-up bra shoving her heavy cleavage nearly over the top. Not indecent, but definitely less than the old bunny outfits they wore at the Playboy Club.

Johnnie sipped his beer, his attention fixed on Ray, who stared with fascination toward the stage. The dancer, Angel Fontaine, being not much bigger than a kid, was Ray’s favorite according to Dante. He watched as she dipped and swayed to the music, the red sequins on her nipples flashing in the spotlight, the light changing color to the rhythm of the music.

Johnnie tried to look away, but found himself as mesmerized as the drunks at the tables. Like the rest of her body, her breasts were perfectly formed, not too large, not too small and tilted provocatively upward.

Her face wasn’t perfect, he had finally gotten around to noticing. Her mouth was a little too wide, making her pouty lips a little too pronounced. Her cheeks were as flawless as rose petals but her chin was a little too pointy.

She was the sexiest woman Johnnie had ever seen.

She turned, thrust her pale, luscious ass into the air and wiggled it suggestively, and his groin tightened. If he didn’t make his move soon, he wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone make a collar.

Ray came off his stool just then and started toward the stage. Johnnie noticed the folded dollar bills in one hand as he approached the little blonde.

Another man beat Ray to her, leaning over and stuffing a ten-dollar bill into Angel’s sequined G-string, the scrap of red barely covering the spot every guy in the place dreamed of touching. Angel whirled away from him and smiled, mouthing a thank-you. When she turned her back, raised her arms above her head and began swaying to the hard rock beat, another man stuffed a bill into the glittering strip of red around her waist above that sweet little ass.

Ray moved closer, hovering as Angel approached the edge of the stage. He leaned toward her, stuffed the money into her G-string. He was grinning when he turned away, his mind on pussy instead of escape.

Johnnie made his move, slamming into Carroll, knocking him over an empty table, both of them crashing to the floor. Ray struggled as Johnnie caught his arm, cranked it behind his back, lifted and hauled him to his feet. Johnnie caught sight of the club’s big Asian bouncer moving toward them, but he didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. Guess he’d got word about the pervert, too.

Carroll squirmed in his grasp. “What the fuck? Who the hell are you?”

“I’m your worst nightmare,” Johnnie said, cranking the arm a little higher, eliciting a satisfying grunt of pain. “I’m the guy who’s gonna make sure you get back to Houston safe and sound.” Ray stumbled a couple of times as Johnnie’s heavy frame propelled him forward, slamming him into the wall beside the door. “I’m the guy who’s gonna put your sorry, sick ass back in jail.”

The moment the song ended and she stepped down from the stage, Amy started to tremble. Angel, she reminded herself. Angel, not Amy.

“You okay?” Her roommate walked toward her, Babs McClure, Sugar Babs, she used as her stage name. She was five foot seven with a curvy figure and chin-length dark brown hair she sometimes covered with a hot-pink wig.

Amy managed to nod. “I will be in a minute.” It was one thing to be out there beneath the spotlights, dancing almost naked as Angel Fontaine, another entirely to be just a normal woman again. Onstage, she could fool herself into thinking she was Angel, a woman who enjoyed every catcall, every wolf whistle from the men she danced in front of without her clothes. An illusion she worked tirelessly to achieve.

But it didn’t last long once she stepped out of the spotlight.

“That was quite a scene.” Babs cocked her head toward the side door where the brawny, dark-haired man had just hauled a scummy-looking customer out of the club.

Amy followed Babs’s gaze. As if she hadn’t noticed the brawl just a few feet in front of the stage.

“Dante says the creep that guy busted is into kiddie porn.”

Amy shuddered. “He certainly looks the part.” She crossed the backstage area and started up the stairs leading to the studio apartment she and Babs shared above the club. “So I guess the other guy is a cop or something.”

“Or something.” Babs fell into step beside her, pulled off her pink wig and ranked a hand through her dark hair. “He was in here last night, too.”

“I saw him.”

Babs grinned. “Hard to miss a guy who looks like that.”

Amy grinned back. “No kidding.” Six feet of solid muscle, barrel-chested with a thick neck and shoulders. As he’d walked—more like swaggered—toward the stage, she’d noticed a tattoo of an eagle on his very impressive biceps. Every move he made spoke of power and strength, and in a rugged, masculine way, he was handsome.

“I asked Tate about him,” Babs said. “Says his name is John Riggs. He’s an ex-Army Ranger. Does P.I. work and pretty much anything else he can make a buck at.” Babs rolled her eyes. “What a hunk.”

Just hearing the words brought his image to mind: dark brown hair and eyes such a deep brown they looked black, strong jaw roughened by the shadow of a beard. He was the kind of guy who should have Dangerous stamped on his forehead.

Amy’s mind slipped back to her performance onstage and the way he had looked at her, his eyes following her every move. She had never felt a gaze so intense.

It was late, nearly closing. Amy blew out a breath, suddenly exhausted.

“You look like you could use a cup of coffee,” Babs said as they reached the small apartment they shared and Amy unlocked the door. There were other small apartments down the hall, cheap places for the girls to live. “I put on a fresh pot before I went downstairs.”

“Sounds good.” The rich aroma filled the room as she stepped inside. She and Babs hadn’t known each other long yet Babs watched out for her. She was Amy’s only confidante, the only person who knew the truth, knew she wasn’t really an exotic dancer, had never done anything in her entire life remotely as wild as what she was doing now.

She wasn’t a stripper, a pole dancer, a lap dancer or anything the least bit similar. She was a schoolteacher from Michigan, a woman who had absolutely no business being naked up onstage.

They crossed the studio apartment: two single beds, a kitchenette, and a small living area with a sofa and chair. Babs went to the kitchen counter and took down two mugs, pouring coffee into each one. Amy grabbed her robe from the hook beside the door, slipped it on and breathed a sigh of relief once she was more decently covered. Babs was still wearing her dark blue satin cocktail waitress costume, sexy but no worse than the bikinis women wore on the beach.

She took the mug Babs held out to her and they carried them over to the tiny round table in the corner.

“So what about the hunk?” Babs asked, watching her over the rim of her cup.

Amy’s blond brows went up. “What about him?”

“He was certainly giving you the eye.”

Amy just shrugged. “When you’re up there naked, they all give you the eye.”

“This was different—and don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

Oh, she’d noticed all right. She could feel the heat in those dark eyes all the way across the room. It was what that hot look did to her that was startling. The Kitty Cat Club was filled with men every night. None of them made her stomach flip the way a single look from John Riggs had. Two nights in a row, he’d sat in the shadows watching, his fierce gaze singularly focused on her. At the same time he seemed aware of every other person in the room.

“He got his man tonight.” Amy sighed. “We won’t be seeing him again.”

Babs sipped her coffee. “Wanna bet?”

Amy glanced up. “You don’t think he’ll come back because of me?”

“I’ve been doing this for almost three years, hon. One thing you learn to recognize is when a man is interested. And let me tell you, honey, John Riggs has a major interest in you.”

Her stomach contracted. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the heat in those dark eyes burning into her. “You’re crazy. He was here on business, that’s all.”

“Five bucks?”

Amy laughed. “You’re on.”

Two

The club was closed on Sunday, and John Riggs wasn’t there the next night. As Amy finished her first dance set Tuesday evening, she felt oddly disappointed. She told herself it was just that she had been thinking she might ask him for help. He was a private investigator, after all—or something close to that—and he had been an Army Ranger. They were tough guys, she knew, and even if she hadn’t read about them, one look at that hard jaw and powerful body would have made that clear.

But he didn’t come back and the truth was she didn’t have enough money to hire him if he had. She loved teaching, but it didn’t pay that much to start with and she wasn’t a very good saver. Seemed like there was always something she needed for the kids in her class, and everything else went to rent and bills.

Amy thought of the weeks before her arrival in L.A. Back home in Michigan, the children at Grand Rapids Elementary School had been ready for summer vacation. Amy was packed to leave the afternoon of the last day of school. As soon as she had seen the final child safely out of her kindergarten classroom, she had headed for the airport to catch her flight to L.A. From the airport, she had come directly to the Kitty Cat Club.

It was the place where her sister, Rachael, was working when she had disappeared.

The music stopped. Her set was over. Pulling dollar bills out of her tiny costume as she left the stage, she hurried upstairs to change into her cocktail waitress outfit. Thoughts of her sister crept in, along with a sharp pang of loss. Rachael had gone missing more than six weeks ago. The last place she had been seen was the Kitty Cat Club where she worked as an exotic dancer.

Babs had been Rachael’s roommate and one of her closest friends, the person who had reported her missing when she failed to return to the apartment in time for her performance the following night.

“At first I just thought she was screwing off,” Babs had told Amy on the phone, the first of many conversations that followed. “Maybe she got drunk or something, you know? Not that she usually did that kind of thing. But she’d been acting strange for more than a month, being secretive, staying out all night. She was seeing a couple of different guys, but she didn’t talk much about them.”

More and more worried, Babs had called the police, who had taken a statement and started an investigation into Rachael’s disappearance. It was Babs who had first contacted Amy. Several times a week after Rachael’s disappearance had been reported, Amy had phoned the police from Michigan, pushing them, trying to make sure they were doing everything in their power to find her. So far the police had come up with nothing—though Babs didn’t believe they had tried very hard to find a missing dancer who worked at a place like the Kitty Cat Club.

Babs had also kept calling, figuring two people pressing the police would get more results than one. Babs had also done some digging on her own. She had talked to everyone who worked at the club—the bartenders and waitresses, the guys and gals on every shift. She hadn’t expected any of them to be involved in Rachael’s disappearance and that was the conclusion she had come to in the end.

If something terrible had happened, Amy sensed it had to have involved one of the club’s customers, or someone Rachael was seeing.

From the start, Babs and Amy had connected. Both of them cared about Rachael and both were beginning to suspect the worst—Rachael had either been kidnapped or killed. As the weeks slipped past with no word from her, the devastating scenario seemed more and more likely.

Amy’s chest tightened. Though she and Rachael hadn’t been close for years, they were still sisters, best friends once. Amy had decided to come to L.A. to find out what had happened. Since there was no way she could just walk up to a customer, tell them she was Amy Brewer and ask them if they had murdered her sister, she and Babs had come up with a plan. Amy would go undercover, take the job Rachael’s disappearance had left vacant, and start digging. Amy would find out what happened to Rachael—no matter what it took.

Amy raced up the stairs to the apartment to get ready for her waitressing shift, hoping that maybe tonight she would turn up something useful. Her costume, a two-piece dark blue satin number just like Babs’s, lay on the bed, ready for her to put on.

Before Amy got to L.A., Babs had spoken to the club owner, Tate Watters, and told him she had a friend who was looking for a job. Watters had hired her sight-unseen, even though she had “limited experience.” Fortunately, Amy and her sister had both been blessed with good figures, and faces that weren’t too bad, either, so he didn’t seem to regret giving her the job.

Babs had promised to show her the ropes, and after her first self-conscious, clumsy efforts, she had been able to get through an entire performance onstage. A couple of summers ago, she had learned a self-hypnosis technique at a teaching seminar in Detroit. The trick was good for controlling anxiety and aiding in memory work. Amy had used the technique to help her get over her stage fright and embarrassment.

She had always been a pretty good dancer, not the exotic sort, of course, and she had been on the cheering squad in high school. Her movements were fluid, and if she could forget she was almost naked and gave into the suggestions she put into her head, if she could manage to let herself go, she wasn’t half bad.

Which surprised the heck out of her. She guessed a person never really knew themselves completely.

A last glance in the makeup mirror above the dresser, a few quick strokes of the brush through her long blond hair, a dab of blush and a fresh application of lipstick and she was ready to go.

Her stomach tightened. By some ironic twist, being onstage as Angel Fontaine was the easy part. Mingling with customers, putting up with the risqué remarks while quietly digging for information that might lead to finding her sister—that was the tough part.

And no amount of self-hypnosis had helped. She was nervous and edgy the entire time she worked the floor, always trying to stay just out of a customer’s reach, trying to keep a smile on her face as the men flirted and propositioned her.

Not that they were usually that bad. Tate wouldn’t put up with harassment. And there was a house rule that the girls couldn’t date the customers, which all of the regulars knew. And after a warning or two, if any of the men got too far out of line, big Bo Jing, the bald-headed, oversize Asian bouncer who stood at the door with his legs splayed and his arms folded over his massive chest, looking like a half-ton Mr. Clean, made sure they left the club and never came back.

The club allowed lap dancing, both in the bar and in private VIP rooms, which was a good way to make a little extra money, but so far she had never done one, and it wasn’t something any of the girls had to do if they didn’t want to. Tate was clear on that.

Making her way over to the bar, Amy picked up a tray and headed for the table of new arrivals in her assigned section. One of the other dancers, a redhead who called herself Honeybee, kept their attention fixed on the stage until Amy could get their drink orders.

She plastered on a smile. “Hello, gentlemen, what can I get for you?”

An overweight businessman in a wrinkled three-piece suit was the first to reply. “A big taste of you, sweetheart, would suit me just fine.”

The other men laughed.

Amy ignored a wave of nerves and turned her attention to the customer beside him, gray-haired and a little too bright-eyed. “For you, sir?”

“Bombay martini,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the stage. “Very dry, and I want it up.”

“Hell, Sam, a martini won’t help you get it up!”

The men roared with laughter. Amy pretended not to have heard the remark, smiled and took the rest of their orders, grateful she had already learned the majority of the drinks people wanted and relieved there were no more comments. At the bar, Dante filled the orders and she returned to the table to deliver the drinks, setting the right order in front of the right customer, which wasn’t as easy as she would have guessed.

Waitresses earned their money, she had learned in a very short time, more so when they were only half dressed.

Babs walked past just then, wearing a pale blue wig tonight. “Far left corner. Kyle Bennett just walked in.”

Amy’s gaze swung in that direction. She was getting used to the dimness, getting to know her way around the tables and chairs, better able to work in the low light than she had been when she had first started.

She spotted Kyle Bennett, a regular customer and one of the men her sister had been dating in the weeks before her disappearance. He was sandy-haired, lean and elegant, almost effeminate. She might have thought he was gay except for the lascivious look in his eyes when he watched the girls onstage.

“Thanks,” she said to Babs. Babs had tried talking to Bennett after Rachael first disappeared, but as soon as he found out she was Rachael’s roommate he’d clammed up tight. Amy knew she couldn’t tell him her real name, or her connection to Rachael.

She took a breath to steady herself and started in Kyle Bennett’s direction. There was no one else at the table, which would make things a little easier.

“Hello, Mr. Bennett, what can I get you this evening?”

He looked up at her and smiled. “Tanqueray and tonic, doll, and a little conversation.” He wasn’t handsome but he was attractive, and so far whenever she’d talked to him, he’d been polite.

Entertaining the customers was part of the job, and it gave her the chance she needed to dig for information. “Let me get that for you and I’ll be right back.”

She hurried to the bar, waited for Dante to fill the order, then walked back to the table. “Here you go.”

Kyle stirred the drink with the plastic swizzle stick, tipped his head back to look up at her. “You know, Angel, with a face and figure like yours, you could be a whole lot more than just a dancer.”

She managed to look surprised. “You really think so?”

“Sure I do. Hollywood is always looking for the next big name. Angel Fontaine could be it.”

Amy figured that was probably the line he had used on Rachael, who had come to Hollywood with dreams of becoming a star. He was rumored to be a movie producer but no one really knew if it was true.

Fortunately, she and Rachael looked nothing alike, Rachael being several inches taller, with softly curling dark brown hair and green eyes. Amy took after her mother’s side of the family, Norwegians who had immigrated to Michigan during the past century to work in the logging industry.

She gave him a bright, interested smile. “I’ve always dreamed of being famous. Do you really think I might have a chance?”

“You’d have to do a screen test first, but I could arrange that for you. In fact I’m working on a film right now that might have just the right part for you. What do you say?”

She knew where this was leading and her nerves kicked up. “What…what would I have to do?”

“When’s your next day off?”

She moistened her suddenly dry lips. “Thursday.”

“All right, then. We’ll do it Thursday. You just come to my house and I’ll have everything set.”

She swallowed, knowing she had to say yes. Then she thought of how Rachael had just disappeared as if she had never existed, how there was a chance this man might have had something to do with it, and a chill slipped down her spine. “I need to check with Tate…see if that will work in my schedule. If I had your number, I could give you a call and confirm.”

“Sure, sweet thing.” He took out his wallet and handed her a business card. It was too dark to read what it said, but she had what she needed to find him.

“Just remember,” he said, “opportunities like this don’t come along very often.”

She nodded, smiled. “I’m really grateful, Mr. Bennett, truly, I am.”

His lips curved. “Keep my tab open, will you? I may stay for a while.” His gaze ran over her, ended up on the cleavage pushed up in her blue satin top.

Amy kept her smile in place. “No problem.” She started walking, grateful to escape. She would call Kyle Bennett and set up the screen test, but she wasn’t a fool. If she went to his house, she wanted to be sure Babs knew the address and time she was going to be there.

She had almost reached the next table when she caught sight of a dark-haired man sitting in the shadows a few feet away. He was staring at her with intense brown eyes and she felt the impact in every pore in her body.

Babs breezed past her just then. “You owe me five bucks.” Babs grinned as she hurried off with a tray of drinks propped on her shoulder.

For several seconds, Amy just stood there, her gaze locked with his. Even in the dim neon light, she could see the outline of his muscular body, see the faint glint of the eagle tattoo on his biceps just below the sleeve of the tight black T-shirt he wore with a pair of black jeans.

“Hello, Angel.”

His voice was rough and sexy and just hearing it made her stomach quiver. He was even better looking than she had thought.

She managed to smile. “Hello. May I get you a drink?”

One of his dark eyebrows went up. She had slipped and used proper grammar, may instead of can, the way everyone else did.

“I suppose you can. How about a Bud Light?”

Most of the guys drank microbrews, which were the vogue these days. No one drank light beer—not in here. Except for John Riggs. She wondered if he was working.

“Certainly. I mean…no problem. I’ll be right back.” He unsettled her, this man. Just looking at him made her heart pound and her mouth go dry. And when his eyes moved over her the way they were now, she could barely breathe.

She headed for the bar and gave Dante the order. The handsome Latino tipped his head toward the man in the shadowy darkness.

“That guy over there…his name’s Johnnie Riggs. You be careful, querida. That one is out of your league.” Dante didn’t know she wasn’t really Angel, but he had been in the business long enough to recognize a novice.

“I will. Thank you, Dante.”

He just nodded. She returned to the table with the beer, wondering if the bartender could tell how attracted she was to Johnnie Riggs.

Crazy as it was.

She was a schoolteacher, for heaven’s sake! Riggs was an ex-soldier, a hard, dangerous man who clearly thought she was something she wasn’t, interested in her for only one reason.

On the other hand, she was attracted to him for the same exact reason. She hadn’t been to bed with a man in years, and never a man like John Riggs. Her last boyfriend, Tom Coleman, was a history teacher. And their affair, bland as it was, had been over for nearly two years.

She set Johnnie’s bottle of beer down in front of him and he caught hold of her wrist. “Why don’t you join me? You look like you need a break.”

She eased her hand from his. She didn’t need a break. She wasn’t tired; she was nervous. More so when she was talking to him.

“What happened to that guy you arrested?” she asked, just to have something to say.

“I didn’t exactly arrest him. He jumped bail. I was hired to take him back to Houston so he could appear in court.”

“I see.”

“Probably not. It’s kind of complicated.”

“I imagine it is.”

“When do you get off?”

“What?”

“I asked when you get off work.”

She gave him a wary glance. “Why?”

“Because I want to take you out for a drink or a cup of coffee or something.”

Her chin firmed. “That isn’t what you want and we both know it.”

“I want you. Every man in the place wants you. But you don’t look at the rest of them the way you look at me.”

She blushed clear to the toes of her high-heeled shoes. It was true. From the moment he first walked through the door last week, she could barely keep her eyes off him. Still, she couldn’t believe he had come right out and said it.

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go out with you. There’s a rule against employees dating customers.”

“Which nobody pays any attention to. Besides, I don’t give a damn about the rules.”

“Look. I need this job, okay? Please don’t make it hard for me.”

He chuckled. “Why not? You’re making it plenty hard for me.” Hot color washed into her cheeks. She turned to walk away, but Riggs caught her arm, his hold gentler than she expected.

“Sorry. I was out of line. I won’t do it again.” He meant it. She could see it in his face. Why it pleased her, she refused to say.

“I appreciate that.”

He let her go and she hurried over to the next table. In a different way, she was even more relieved to escape John Riggs than she had been Kyle Bennett.

What was there about him? Was she really that sexually deprived? A last glance in his direction and her stomach lifted. Apparently, she was.

Johnnie watched the little dancer walk away. There was something off about Angel Fontaine, something he had picked up on when she took his drink order. Onstage, she was confident, just another exotic dancer doing her job. But once she was out of the lights, she became a different person, shy and uncertain, barely able to make conversation with a man.

All evening, he had watched her. That she was new to the job was clear, but it was more than that. Some bone-deep difference that intrigued him. He liked solving puzzles. He wanted to solve the puzzle of Angel Fontaine.

On top of that, she was beautiful, and he had a weakness for sexy blondes. He wanted her. There was no denying it. But he also wanted to know her story, her secret. Find out what that subtle incongruity was that drew him like a moth to a lightbulb.

And he thought that she wanted him, too, though it was an attraction she clearly didn’t want to feel.

He chuckled and took a sip of his beer. Well, that was just too bad. He wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easy. He was going to find out Angel’s secret. He had a hunch once he knew what it was, she would trust him enough to let their mutual attraction progress to its logical end.

He wasn’t in any hurry. If the stakes were high enough, Johnnie could be a very patient man.

“You can’t be serious. You don’t really plan to go to Kyle Bennett’s house?” Babs pulled on a knee-length T-shirt with a teddy bear on the front in preparation for bed.

“I have to,” Amy argued as she slipped into a pair of soft flannel pajamas. It was two-thirty in the morning. The club was closed and both of them were dead on their feet. “Maybe I’ll have a chance to look around, find some kind of clue. You said he and Rachael dated for a while. Kyle probably made her all sorts of promises, lured her into going out with him by saying the kind of things he said to me. Rachael wanted to be a star. She might have trusted that he could help her get the break she needed.”

“I don’t like it. It’s too dangerous. What if Kyle killed her? Maybe he’ll make you disappear, too.”

Amy ignored the little shiver that crawled down her spine. “That’s not going to happen because you aren’t going to let it. I’ll call him tomorrow, get his address and set up a time on Thursday to go to his house. If I’m not back in a couple of hours, you’ll call the police.”

“How’s that gonna help if you’re already dead?”

Amy ignored that bit of wisdom and the little shiver it sent down her spine.

Babs slipped between the sheets on her twin bed and pulled the covers up over her. “How are you gonna get there? You don’t even have a car.”

Amy brightened. “No, but you do.” She gave her friend a sugary smile. “And I know you’re going to let me borrow it.”

Babs scoffed. “Traffic’s a lot different in L.A. than driving in Grand Rapids.”

Amy sat down on the edge of the bed. “You said you’d help me.”

“I know, I know. It isn’t the car. It’s just that I’m afraid something will happen to you.”

“We don’t even know if Kyle’s involved.”

“Even if he isn’t, he might try something and then where will you be?”

Amy didn’t want to think about that. Getting attacked by some Hollywood weirdo was a terrifying thought. “Okay, so you’ll loan me your car and your pepper spray.”

Babs laughed. “I knew I liked you the first time I talked to you on the phone. Okay, we’ll figure something out.” She yawned behind her hand. “Listen, what about getting the Ranger guy to help you? He’s supposed to be an expert on that kind of thing.”

Amy drew back the covers and slipped beneath the sheets. “I thought about it. But I can’t afford him.”

“I saw you two talking tonight. Maybe he’ll work for something besides money.” Babs wiggled her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t suggest it except that you’re thinking about doing it anyway.”

“I am not thinking about doing it.” Oh, she so was. She had always walked the straight and narrow, always been the good little girl. But since she had come to L.A. and started dancing half naked, she felt free for the first time in her life. She knew that if she got the chance, she was going to have sex with Johnnie Riggs. “Besides, he might not show up in here again.”

“He’ll show up.”

Babs was probably right. Just thinking of the determined way he had looked at her tonight made her stomach contract. “Maybe I’ll talk to him a little, see what he has to say.”

“Good idea.” Babs yawned again. “In the meantime, turn out the light. We both need to get some sleep.”

Amy thought of the conversion she needed to have with Johnnie Riggs. She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t fall asleep.

Three

Johnnie arrived at Cisco’s Cantina a little after eleven the following night. The bar, decorated in a south of the border style with cactus painted on the walls and leather-covered tables and chairs, was crowded. The clientele was mostly white-collar, lawyers and secretaries, corporate types and office assistants, a lot of men in designer jeans. The drinks were only moderately expensive and at this time of night, the lights were turned low.

Johnnie was there to meet DEA special agent Kent Wheeler, who had been working for years to build a case against a high-level drug dealer named Carlos Ortega, one of the major players in the San Dimas cartel. Over the years, Johnnie and Wheeler had helped each other a number of times and tonight was no exception.

“I appreciate your call,” Wheeler said, joining him at the bar, a lean, athletically built man with slightly receding brown hair and a pale complexion. Johnnie had left a message on the agent’s cell phone that he had information Wheeler might need. “What have you got?”

“Might be nothing, but my guy’s pretty reliable. I had Ty Brodie helping me with surveillance on a guy whose wife wanted to find out if he was cheating. According to Ty, turns out the husband wasn’t screwing around. He’s into some major shit with the San Dimas cartel.”

Wheeler whistled softly. “Got a name?”

“Joseph Pandaro. Ty picked up on some of the guy’s conversation with a couple of lowlifes down at The Cave. Heard them talking about a big load of coke coming into the San Pedro docks the end of the month.”

Wheeler was nodding. “We’ve been hearing rumors, nothing specific.”

“He didn’t get a date, but it’s sometime in the next few weeks.”

“Anything else?”

Johnnie shook his head. “I pulled the kid off the case. He’s ex-military, tough as nails, but he doesn’t have the street savvy to deal with thugs like those.”

Wheeler took a sip of his drink, nearly as untouched as Johnnie’s beer. “Thanks, I really appreciate the info.”

“Just remember where you got it. I may need a favor sometime.”

It was quid pro quo, and both of them knew it. As a GS-13, the highest rank in the DEA, Wheeler was a powerhouse and dedicated to the service. At the moment, Johnnie didn’t need anything from him, but there would likely be a time when he would.

From Cisco’s, Johnnie climbed into his black Ford Mustang G.T. and fired up the powerful V-8 engine. He’d just bought the car, his pride and joy, a couple of months ago, black leather interior, 412 horsepower, 5.0 engine. Plus, he’d had a mechanic friend of his soup it up even more. The beast could really move. The car and his Harley Sportster helped him do his job and have a little fun while he was at it.

He eased the car into the traffic moving down Sunset, taking in the crowds prowling the sidewalks and the laughter and music spilling out of the clubs crowded together on each block. He wasn’t ready to go back to his apartment up the hill. Not yet.

His destination lay ahead. Just past La Cienega, he turned into the parking lot next to the Kitty Cat Club and slipped the car in one of the empty spaces. There was something he needed inside and it wasn’t a bottle of beer. Though he’d probably have to settle for that again tonight.

He climbed out of the Mustang, locked the car and sauntered toward the door leading into the club. The music was blasting, a steady hard-rock beat. The redhead he had seen the other night was dancing onstage. He glanced around, spotted his quarry even before he reached what was lately becoming his regular table at the back of the room.

Angel’s gaze collided with his and she nearly dropped her tray. Damn, she was cute. Johnnie winked at her and smiled, sat down at the table, leaned back and waited.

Amy forced her legs to keep moving. She felt like an idiot. One glance at the man in the snug black T-shirt and she turned into a bumbling fool. As she walked past Babs, her friend raised a hand and wiggled the tips of her fingers.

“Still owe me that five bucks, kiddo. Tonight, I intend to collect.”

“Okay, I owe you, but that doesn’t mean he’s here tonight for me.”

Babs just rolled her eyes and kept walking. Riggs was sitting in Amy’s section. There was no way to avoid him. She took a calming breath, forced a note of cool into her demeanor and started toward his table in the back.

She pasted on a smile. “Welcome back to the Kitty Cat Club, Mr. Riggs. What would you like to drink?”

A corner of his mouth edged up. He had the sexiest mouth. “You know my name. That means you asked. That’s good. It’s even better if you call me Johnnie.”

Her mouth went dry. “Johnnie. All right, what can I get for you…Johnnie?”

“Bud Light.” His gaze slowly took in every inch of her body. Her stomach swirled as she turned and walked toward the bar to get his beer. She delivered drinks to a table on her way to his, then set the Bud Light bottle down in front of him.

“Thanks.” He tipped his head toward a girl named Ruby, who gyrated in a G-string, performing a lap dance for a customer sitting at a table not far away from his. “You do lap dances?”

Amy’s hand trembled and she had to take a better grip on her tray. “No…I’m, uh, I’m kind of new at this.” Tate had suggested she wait until she was more comfortable with the customers. Her plan was not to do them at all.

“That so…? How about doing one for me?” He was leaning back in his chair, those powerful arms crossed over his massive chest. He could have been wearing sunglasses for all she could read in those dark, dark eyes.

“They…umm…cost fifty dollars,” she said, hoping the price would dissuade him.

“Private costs seventy-five. That’s what I want.”

Her breath stalled. “That’s a lot of money.” The dancer got a percentage, a way to make extra cash.

“Think you’re worth it?”

“I don’t…don’t know…”

His smile came slow and easy and it made her skin feel hot. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I think you’d be worth every dime.”

Her legs were shaking. “Even…even if I said I would, you know you can’t touch me.” There were rules about what she could and couldn’t do, how far she was allowed to go. What the customer could and couldn’t do. She wasn’t a prostitute, after all, she was a dancer.

Well, actually, she was a kindergarten teacher, but he didn’t know that.

“I’ll talk to Tate, arrange for a private room.” He slid back his chair and stood up. Even in six-inch heels, she had to look up at him.

When he started to leave, she grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute. I—I didn’t say I’d do it.”

His mouth edged up. “What’s the matter? You aren’t afraid, are you?”

She stiffened. Of course she was afraid. She was terrified. But she wasn’t about to let him know. “No, of course not.”

“Good.” He turned and started walking. As he sauntered off toward the owner, Amy stared after him.

Oh, my God! She was going to do a lap dance for Johnnie Riggs! And the weirdest part was, deep down in her womanly core, she wanted to do it.

Johnnie took a seat in one of the comfortable rooms the club provided for private dances. For seventy-five bucks, he got three songs. He wasn’t sure he could handle one.

The truth was, he had never bought a lap dance in his life. Watching a naked woman parade around in front of him just didn’t cut it, not unless he was taking her to bed.

But there was something about this particular woman. He wanted her. More than he could remember wanting a woman in a very long time. Maybe ever. He had a feeling it wasn’t going to happen—not without a great deal of trouble.

He was pushing her buttons, he knew. She wasn’t comfortable dancing for him. Hell, she wasn’t comfortable just being in the room with him, and yet he had a hunch the only way to reach her was to push her hard enough to cave.

So he walked into the small, dimly lit room he had paid for and sat down in the only piece of furniture inside, an overstuffed mauve velour chair. He took a long swallow on the fresh beer he’d picked up at the bar then set the bottle down on the table built into the arm. Leaning back, he made himself comfortable and prepared to watch the show.

“You’re kidding, right?” Babs stood with Amy outside the door to one of the private lap dance rooms. She had changed back into her red sequined G-string and the red sequined pasties that covered her nipples, proper attire for the show.

“It’s just a dance,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “We need this man’s help. I’m going to dance for him and then I’m going to see if I can hire him to help us.”

Babs stood there in her shiny blue wig, the fake hair thick, straight, blunt-cut and just a little longer than her own dark hair. She planted her hands on her hips, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

“Actually, it’s not a bad idea. Nothing’s going to happen. Tate’s got cameras in there. He gets out of line, you just yell, Bo Jing comes in and it’s over.”

“I don’t think he’ll get out of line.” She wasn’t sure why she felt that way, she just did.

“He’s a pretty cool customer, all right. I can’t see him turning into a lust-crazed maniac. On the other hand, sometimes the quiet ones are the ones you have to watch.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” But as she walked into the room and spotted John Riggs in the chair positioned in front of the fake parquet dance floor, her mind went completely blank and she couldn’t think of anything at all.

One of his big hands curled around the beer bottle sitting on the built-in table. He watched every move she made as she approached, but he didn’t get up from his chair.

“Just so you know, this is a first for me, too.”

That surprised her. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Why me?”

He took a sip of his beer. “You intrigue me. I want to take you out. I’m hoping once you realize how harmless I am, you’ll agree.”

He didn’t look harmless. He looked like a big, lazy cat ready to pounce at any moment. She thought of the help she needed to find her sister. In the time she had been in the club, she hadn’t accomplished much. Getting an appointment with that cheese-ball Kyle Bennett was the only real progress she had made.

The music started just then, saving her from having to make some sort of comment. She took a few steps away from him, turned her back and tried to fill her head with the heavy beat of the music, the thud of the bass, the rhythm of the drum, tried to relax.

It was a lot harder to perform in here than onstage, a lot more difficult to block out the image of John Riggs watching her every move when she knew exactly what he was thinking. Knew he was here because he wanted her in his bed.

The music swelled. She let her head fall back, felt her long straight hair brush against her bottom. Instead of blocking him out of her mind, she decided to go with it, set her sexuality free, dance for Johnnie Riggs, a man who attracted her physically as no one ever had.

She slid her hands into her hair and lifted it away from the back of her neck, turned toward him, let the hair slide down around her shoulders. His face was partially hidden in shadow, but she could see his eyes, read his hunger.

She moved toward him, stopped just inches away. Her breath rushed in and out, hot and sharp. She closed her eyes, let the music take over, arched her back, thrust out her breasts, and began to sway. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel him, feel the powerful lust he barely contained. Her body heated, softened, silently responded.

Dear God, she had never felt anything like it. She undulated, lifted her hair, turned and let it glide down her back, then spun away.

A few beats later, she sat down on his lap facing him, reached up and ran her hands down the sides of his face. She could feel the late night stubble along his jaw and it drove her crazy. He was hard beneath her, iron hard inside his jeans, and throbbing. For an instant, she couldn’t breathe.

She forced herself up, forced her body to move away, to fall back into the dance. She spun and shimmied, then returned to his chair. She sat down facing him again, her legs splayed over his. Something shifted inside her, loosened, expanded, and desire took over. When she draped her arms around his neck, the last of her inhibitions slipped away. Amy leaned forward and kissed him, just a soft melding of lips. It was against the rules to kiss a client during a lap dance and yet she did it again, another soft brush of lips that only made her want more.

Every muscle in his body felt rigid beneath her and yet the only thing that moved was the hot mouth gliding over hers, the lips that began to take instead of leisurely accept. She opened her mouth and his tongue slid inside, and the next thing she knew, his arms were around her, crushing her against him, the kiss blazing hot, deep and erotic.

His hand found her breast and the heat of his palm engulfed the fullness. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. A little whimpering sound came from her throat, and in some deep part of her mind, sanity began to return. Johnnie kissed her again, long and hard, and fear hit her. God in heaven, what was she doing?

Trembling all over, Amy broke the kiss. Her heart was pounding with a combination of desire and embarrassment. She had never behaved so insanely. And she had never wanted anything more than Johnnie Riggs.

For an instant their eyes locked, his hot and dark, hers wild and frightened. Then the oddest thing happened. Johnnie came out of the chair with her still in his arms and set her back on her feet.

At the same instant, the music ended, the silence in the room a second splash of cold water hitting her squarely in the face.

“Oh, my God,” she said, backing away from him. “Oh, my God.” She turned, started to run for the door. Johnnie caught her wrist, turning her toward him before she could escape.

“Easy, honey. Just take it easy.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t…I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s all right,” he soothed as if she were a frightened child. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again because she had broken the rules and she didn’t understand how it had happened. He led her back over to the chair he had been sitting in only moments before and urged her down in the seat.

“We need to talk,” he said, “but this isn’t the place. What time do you get off work?”

She started shaking her head.

“Listen to me, Angel. We’ll go out and have some coffee. I promise we won’t do more than talk, all right?”

Her nerves settled a little. This is the opportunity you’ve been wanting, she reminded herself. The chance to tell him about her sister and see if he would be willing to work out some sort of arrangement to help her. “I have to go back to work,” she said lamely.

“When does your shift end?”

“I’m…I’m on the early shift tonight. I get off at eleven.”

He nodded. “Good. That’s good. I’ll be waiting in the parking lot when you come outside.”

She just stared at him. Johnnie caught her chin and tipped it up, forcing her to look at him. She felt like crying and didn’t know why.

“Just coffee. I give you my word.”

Her throat ached. She had no idea why she believed him, but she did. He was a Ranger, wasn’t he? Surely Rangers didn’t lie. “All right.”

He bent and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you at eleven.” He didn’t say more, just left her there and quietly slipped outside the room.

Babs hurried in after him. Amy was still sitting in the chair. “Jesus, what happened? You look shell-shocked.”

Amy blinked to keep from crying. “I don’t know what happened. I completely lost control.”

“He didn’t…Riggs didn’t…”

“He was a gentleman. I was the one. I still can’t believe it. God, I’m so embarrassed.”

Babs started to smile. “Sounds like it went exactly the way we planned. When are you seeing him again?”

Amy glanced up. “What?”

“You’re seeing him again, right?”

Amy nodded numbly. “Tonight. After my shift. We’re going for coffee. He gave me his word we’d just talk.”

Babs seemed to approve. “Smooth, not too pushy. I think I like this guy.”

“I don’t know what it is, Babs, but there’s something about him.”

Her friend just smiled. “Honey, you can say that again.”

Johnnie slid behind the wheel of the Mustang, tipped his head back against the headrest and just sat there.

“Jesus.” He couldn’t quite catch his breath. He was still so hard he hurt and at the same time he felt completely drained. Watching Angel Fontaine was like waging a war with himself, a war he’d barely won.

He’d almost lost it tonight, but as hot as he’d been and still was, as hot as Angel had been—and man, the lady was on fire—something just wasn’t right. He had to know what it was and he was determined to find out.

He believed she would show up tonight. Angel was even more baffled about what had happened in there than he was. Whoever she was—and he was sure Angel wasn’t her name—she wasn’t used to the kind of desire that had hit them both tonight.

The kind that struck like lightning, turned into a blazing inferno and flat-out sucked you dry. In another minute, he’d have had her on the floor and been inside her. He still didn’t know how he had managed to hang on to that last shred of control.

Maybe it was his Ranger training. Maybe it was seeing the fear in her pretty blue eyes when she had realized how close they both were to losing complete control.

He raked a hand through his short, dark hair. He couldn’t figure her out and that was part of the attraction.

Later tonight, he was going to find out what was going on with Angel Fontaine.

Four

At the end of her shift, Amy changed into a pair of skinny jeans, tucked in a red print shirt, fastened a silver belt around her waist and slid her feet into a pair of red, open-toed high heels. At five foot one, she was shorter than nearly everyone. High heels gave her a psychological boost as well as a physical one and she almost always wore them.

She glanced in the mirror. She had washed her face and removed her stage makeup. She ran a brush through her hair and fluffed her bangs, fastened a small gold hoop in each ear, then applied a little blush, mascara and pale pink lipstick. Nothing too heavy. She wasn’t Angel now and she didn’t want to be.

Amy thought of her performance in the private lap dance room and felt a rush of embarrassment. What in the world had possessed her? During her few relationships, she had never been the aggressor during sex and basically preferred it that way. But tonight… Tonight something insane had come over her. She’d felt bold, empowered. She had practically attacked John Riggs right there in his chair.

Closing her eyes to block out the image, she reached for her small red leather purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. She couldn’t imagine what Riggs must think of her or how she could possibly explain. At the apartment door, she paused. Maybe she should wait, talk to him after a cooling-off period. It would certainly be easier to face him.

On the other hand, maybe this was the perfect opportunity. With a sigh, she pulled open the door. The man was taking her out for coffee, nothing more. He had given her his word and she believed him. This was the chance she needed.

Maybe.

She hadn’t thought past the part about trying to hire him. She would just have to play it by ear.

Babs met her as she crossed the backstage area toward the door leading out to the parking lot.

Babs propped a hand on her hip. “I talked to Tate. He says Riggs is an okay guy.”

Amy just nodded, trying to forget the feel of those hot, possessive lips moving over hers.

“I pressed the boss a little to see what I could find out and Tate told me Riggs is a good investigator but he doesn’t work cheap.”

“I had a feeling.”

“It never hurts to ask, right? You never know till you try.”

Amy drew in a breath. “I don’t know quite what I’m going to say, but I guess I’ll think of something.”

“Are you kidding? After that little performance you gave him, the guy is going to be toast.”

Amy thought of her behavior during the dance and closed her eyes against a blush. “I guess we’ll see.” She waved over her shoulder as she pushed open the door.

“I won’t wait up,” Babs teased with a grin, and Amy’s stomach knotted.

What would Riggs expect?

What would she be willing to do?

With a breath for courage, she stepped out into the parking lot and spotted him behind the wheel of a black Mustang. The car fit him perfectly, dark and powerful, dangerous and predatory. Her insides tightened.

Dear God, how far would she be willing to go to get John Riggs to help her?

Leaning back in the seat, Johnnie spotted Angel the minute she walked out into the night. He knew the instant she saw him. She froze like a deer in the headlights, and Johnnie didn’t hesitate, just shoved open the car door and came out of his seat, started striding toward her.

“I’m glad you came,” he said with a smile meant to put her at ease. “I know a little café just a couple of blocks away. We can get some coffee there.”

She nodded. He could feel the tension thrumming through her, figured if he didn’t get her out of there now, she was going to turn and run.

“It isn’t that far,” he said, setting a hand at her waist and urging her back to his car, not giving her time to change her mind. He led her around to the passenger door and helped her climb in, reached over and pulled the seat belt across her lap and fastened the buckle.

“Thank you.”

Always so polite. Almost prim. Angel Fontaine was about as far from his idea of a stripper as a woman could get. And yet he had seen her up onstage and she was hot.

Maybe that was the appeal. Sweet and hot at the same time—sort of like cinnamon candy.

He chuckled to himself as he slid behind the wheel. If Angel was a piece of candy, he’d be the man to eat her up.

Looking uncomfortable, she shifted in her seat. “About what happened tonight… I want to apologize. I’ve never—”

“It was only a kiss, Angel. Nothing to get upset about.”

She fell silent as he shoved the key into the ignition and the engine roared to life, then started to purr. He drove toward the café, pulled into the lot, which was full, but his luck was holding and a gray-haired couple in an old brown Buick was backing out. He parked in the space left behind, guided Angel inside, and they slid into an empty booth.

The Eatery had a kind of retro decor with pink-and-white vinyl booths and a long lunch counter with a row of round stools. The café had been there for years, had once been called Norm’s but that was a long time ago.

A waitress in a black skirt and white blouse showed up to take their order. Sheila, he recalled, frizzy blond hair and big boobs. He was kind of a regular, though he rotated his meal stops to keep his information channels open. In his line of work, you never knew what rumors might come in handy.

Sheila pulled a pencil from behind her ear. “Hey, handsome, what can I get you?”

He looked across at Angel. Damn she was pretty. More so, he thought, without all that makeup. He tried not to look at her mouth, since now he knew exactly how good she tasted. “What would you like?”

“Just coffee,” she said. “Cream, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Two coffees,” he said. “One with cream. Thanks, Sheila.”

They made small talk for the short time it took for the coffee to arrive. Angel poured cream into her cup and daintily stirred.

She looked up at him and smiled, but it looked a little forced. “I’m…aahh…glad you asked me to come here.”

“Oh, yeah?” Here we go, he thought. He’d known something was off. He had a hunch he was about to find out what it was.

“The thing is, I heard you were a private investigator.”

“Of sorts.” He took a drink from the heavy white china mug in front of him, set it back down on the Formica-topped table. “That why you agreed to the dance? You wanted to talk to me about business?”

Soft color washed into her cheeks. “That was part of it. I really don’t…don’t know exactly what happened in there. I just…I guess I got carried away.”

Amen to that. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I…umm…want to hire you.”

“You in some kind of trouble?”

Her eyes rounded. “Me? No! Of course not.”

“Of course not,” he said with a hint of sarcasm she seemed to miss.

“It’s my sister. Her name is Rachael.”

“Then it’s Rachael who’s in trouble.”

“I don’t know. A little over six weeks ago, Rachael disappeared. I talked to the police, of course. Babs says they haven’t tried very hard…you know…because she’s an exotic dancer.”

He leaned back in his chair, trying not to be disappointed that her real interest came in wanting something from him. “So you want to hire me to find her. Is that it?”

“Not exactly. I want to hire you to help me find her. I could do some of the work, and that way it wouldn’t cost as much.”

“Okay, I get it. You want to hire me but you don’t have any money.”

She sat up straighter in her seat. “Well, I have a little. Some savings from my job back home, but I’ve gone through a lot of it for my plane ticket and phone calls. I could borrow some, maybe a couple thousand. I get the feeling you don’t come cheap.”

She was right. He charged up to a grand a day, plus expenses. She looked across the booth at him, bit her plump bottom lip, and heat throbbed low in his groin.

Her fingers tightened around the handle of her coffee mug and the skin over her knuckles turned bone-white. “I thought…you seem to be attracted to me. I thought maybe we could…” She swallowed. “Maybe we could…you know…work something out.”

A jolt of anger slipped through him. It began to fade when he noticed her face had turned as pale as the hand that gripped the mug. He hadn’t pegged her for a prostitute. He looked at her and he didn’t buy it now.

Still, he could be wrong.

He stood up from the pink vinyl bench across from her. She had barely touched her coffee. He tossed down a five and a couple of ones, more than enough for the coffee and a tip, and hauled her to her feet.

“Let’s get out of here.” Angel didn’t protest when he caught her hand and led her toward the door, didn’t say a word as he guided her out of the coffee shop back to his car. But as she slid into the seat and fumbled to fasten her seat belt, he saw that she was trembling.

Johnnie fired up the powerful engine, slipped the car into gear and pulled out onto the busy street. It didn’t take long to drive the winding road up the hill above Sunset to the guesthouse on the estate that was his home. He used the remote to open the gate then turned into the long narrow driveway, pulled into the guesthouse garage and parked next to his Harley. Up the drive a little farther, the main house, a big white modern structure, edged out over the hill.

Angel flashed a look at the motorcycle as he helped her out, but she made no comment, just let him guide her up on the porch, waited while he unlocked the door, then walked past him into the entry. The lights of Los Angeles glittered in front of them through the wall of windows in the living room, a view that never failed to impress.

She stared in that direction. “It’s beautiful.”

He tossed his keys into the glass dish on the table in the entry. “I got lucky. I did some work for the lady who owns the estate. She’s older, feels safer having someone living in the guesthouse.” Eleanor Stiles was not only his landlady but also a very close friend. She was seventy and smart as a whip.

“Someone who was once an Army Ranger?”

He shrugged. “I suppose. My office is downstairs. I do most of my work out of the house.”

She looked calmer now, and yet he could feel her underlying tension.

“How about a drink?” he asked. “Maybe a glass of wine or something?”

He sensed her relief. “Wine sounds good.”

“White or red?”

“White…if you happen to have it open.”

The most polite hooker he’d ever met.

He opened the little fridge underneath the counter of the wet bar, took out an open bottle of chardonnay and poured her a glass, pulled out a Bud for himself and twisted off the cap. He carried the wine back to Angel, who stood in front of the window, staring out at the city lights.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? The lights go on forever.”

“I take it you aren’t from L.A.”

She shook her head. “Michigan.”

“Detroit?”

She steadied the glass, took a sip of wine. “Grand Rapids.”

Too old to be a runaway, but she was obviously new to the city. “So you came here to find your sister.”

She looked up at him with those big blue eyes. “Yes.”

Johnnie forced himself to concentrate. “Have you reported her disappearance to the cops?”

“I didn’t, but Rachael’s friend Barbara McClure called the police the day after she disappeared. They haven’t found her or even a clue as to what happened to her. I’m not sure they’re even still looking.”

He took a drink of his beer, set it down on a nearby table. Angel took a large, nervous swallow of her wine as he moved closer. Reaching out, he took the glass from her hand and set it down on the table next to his beer.

“So now you want to hire me to help you find her.”

“Y-yes…”

“And in exchange you’re willing to make a trade.”

She swallowed, nodded.

“I like this idea, Angel. I like it a helluva lot.” Then he hauled her into his arms, bent his head and very thoroughly kissed her.

Amy gripped Johnnie’s powerful shoulders and just hung on, reeling at the powerful jolt of desire that shook her. Hot lips, softer than they looked, moved over hers, nibbled the corners of her mouth. He deepened the kiss, coaxed her lips apart and his tongue slid inside.

Heat engulfed her; need curled in her belly. She wanted to have his hands on her, wanted him to touch her. She wanted him to make love to her. She had never felt this way before, never experienced this intense, mindless hunger. She wanted to give in to it, let him have what he wanted.

What she also wanted.

She pressed herself more firmly against him, felt the heavy weight of his erection. He was going to help her. In return, she was paying him with her body. It didn’t matter that she was selling herself like…like a prostitute, behaving like…like a whore.

Her throat closed up. A little sob got caught there. She felt his mouth against the side of her neck, trailing scorching kisses along her throat, and her eyes stung. His fingers worked the buttons on her blouse and tears welled.

She wasn’t a whore. She didn’t sell herself to strangers.

What about Rachael? What if she isn’t dead? The awful thought both she and Babs secretly believed. What if she’s in terrible trouble and there is no one to help her?

He kissed her again, long and deep, but the desire was fading, replaced by a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. The tears in her eyes slipped onto her cheeks.

Johnnie must have felt the wetness because he broke off the kiss and jerked away. “All right, that’s it!”

Hard fingers dug into her shoulders. Her head came up as he backed her against the wall and she stared into his dark, angry face.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “And don’t even think of telling me your name is Angel Fontaine.”

She shook her head, misery sweeping over her. She had failed Rachael, failed herself.

“I’m so s-sorry. I thought…thought I could do it. I didn’t mean to lead you on, I just…” Fresh tears welled and the sob locked in her throat finally escaped.

Johnnie blew out a breath and eased her back into his arms. “It’s all right. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to work.” He held her a moment, giving her time to compose herself, then moved away.

“I was going to tell you my name,” she said, brushing away a drop of wetness with the tip of her finger. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. I just…”

“You just what?”

“There’s something about you… I don’t know, I just… When I get around you, I can’t seem to think straight.”

A corner of his mouth edged up and some of his anger faded. “Go on, let’s hear it.”

She swallowed. “My name is Amy Brewer. I’m not…not a stripper. I’m…I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

Johnnie groaned.

“The part about my sister is true. After Rachael disappeared, I flew out here from Grand Rapids. Babs—that’s my roommate, Barbara McClure—she and Rachael worked together at the Kitty Cat Club. They were friends. Babs got me the job at the club. She helped me deal with my…my inhibitions and learn to dance—which wasn’t all that easy. Eventually, I got the hang of it. And then I saw you and I found out you were an investigator and we sort of came up with this plan.”

“This plan being for you to sell yourself to me in exchange for my services.”

Fresh tears welled. She wiped them away. “I guess so. It sounded like a good idea at the time, considering…”

“Considering what?”

She looked him in the face. “Considering what happened in that room.”

Johnnie’s eyes seemed to darken. There was no mistaking what she meant. She was attracted to him or she wouldn’t be sitting in his living room.

“Anything else?”

“There’s more, but it isn’t important now.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that?” He led her over to the sofa, as modern as the rest of the apartment, which had high, open ceilings, a sleek dark brown sofa and chairs, and everything perfectly in place. He was, after all, an ex-soldier.

He picked up her wineglass and handed it back to her, grabbed his beer, and sat down beside her on the sofa.

“Okay, tell me the rest.”

Amy took a fortifying sip. “Once I started my sister’s old job, I began to dig around. That’s the reason I came to L.A., to try to come up with information that might help me find her. There’s a man my sister dated before she disappeared. His name is Kyle Bennett. He’s supposed to be a movie producer. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m going over to his house for—”

“No way. I know Kyle Bennett and the guy is a scumbag. He’s about as much a movie producer as I am.”

“I kind of figured that, but it isn’t the point. The point is, my sister came to Los Angeles to try to get into the movie business.”

“Gee, there’s a good idea.”

“I know, but that’s what she wanted to do. So she might have believed Kyle Bennett could help her. If she was involved with him, maybe he had some part in her disappearance.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him.”

“He isn’t going to tell you anything. He’ll be a lot more likely to open up to me than he will be to you.”

“You’re a schoolteacher, remember? Not a cop. There is no way you should involve yourself in something like this.”

“It isn’t as bad as it sounds. Babs knows Kyle’s address and what time I should be back. If I don’t get home when I’m supposed to, she’s going to call the police.”

He just shook his head. “No way, no how.”

She set the wineglass very carefully down on the coffee table and stood up.

“You’ve been very nice, Johnnie. Especially considering the way I’ve behaved. Now I’d appreciate it if you would take me back to the club.”

“Shit.”

“I’m doing this. I’m going to find out what happened to my sister.”

He set down his beer and slowly stood up from the sofa. He was a big man, powerfully built, intimidating just standing there in front of her. She forced herself not to back away.

Johnnie looked down at her and his breath whispered out on a sigh. “All right. I’ll help you.”

Amy opened her mouth to tell him she had changed her mind about paying him with sex, but he cut her off.

“No strings,” he added. “I’ll do some digging, see what I can come up with. I’ll do what I can to find out what happened to your sister.”

She started shaking her head.

“What now?”

“I need to be involved in this. I owe it to Rachael. I can’t just sit back and do nothing.”

“Were you listening to what I said? You aren’t a cop. You aren’t trained for this kind of work.”

“I’m keeping my appointment tomorrow with Kyle Bennett. I might find out something important.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched. He must have noticed the mutinous set of her chin because he simply nodded. “Fine. You’re probably right about getting him to talk. But if I’m going to help you, we do things my way. Is that understood?”

He was an investigator. He knew what he was doing. She gave him the first sincere smile she had felt all evening. “Understood.”

“One last thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Sooner or later, I’m taking you to bed, but it won’t be because you owe me. It’ll be because the time is right and you want me as much as I want you.”

Her stomach contracted. Just looking at him made her want him but she knew he was right. Her mind wasn’t ready even if her body was more than willing. She didn’t reply. God only knew what she might say if she did.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he said. “Right now, it’s time for me to take you home. I think we both know what will happen if we stay here much longer.”

Ignoring a rush of embarrassment, Amy nodded and let him guide her out the door. Of all the endings she could have imagined for the evening, this wasn’t one of them.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

Five

Johnnie backed the Mustang out of the garage and headed down the hill. A freakin’ schoolteacher. Jesus, just his luck.

At least his instincts hadn’t been wrong.

He shifted in the seat, trying to get comfortable. He’d had a hard-on nonstop since the first time he had seen Angel at the club.

Not Angel, he corrected himself. Amy. Amy Brewer. Kindergarten teacher.

Christ, how much worse could it get?

“Nice car,” she said, drawing his attention back to the moment.

“Four-hundred-twelve horses under the hood of this little beauty.”

As they passed beneath a streetlight, he caught her soft smile. “When I was in high school, my dad had a Stingray. It was old, but it was hot. He was a mechanic, great with cars. Once in a while, he’d let me drive it.”

“You like cars?”

“I do…yes. I love speed. I like to go fast—when it’s safe. I like the sound a car makes when you step on the gas. I guess I picked it up from my dad.”

His lips faintly curved. The lady was just full of surprises. “So, your dad still around?” If he was, the guy had to be crazy to let his daughter get involved in something as dangerous as this.

“He died three years ago. He was cutting firewood. Tree split wrong. He was killed instantly.”

He could read the sorrow in her face. “That’s too bad.”

“My mom’s back in Grand Rapids. She didn’t want me to come out here.”

Imagine that.

“She’s afraid something will happen. She said losing one daughter was enough.”

He tossed a glance her way as he made the turn off Laurel Canyon onto Sunset and merged with the traffic. “Your mother’s right. Snooping around the way you’ve been doing…that’s dangerous business, honey.”

“Maybe, but so far I haven’t found out much of anything. I’m hoping tomorrow will be different.”

“What time’s your appointment?”

“Two o’clock at Kyle’s house. He lives in Bel Air so it isn’t that far a drive.”

“Bel Air, huh? Pretty ritzy for a scumbag. You got a car?”

“Babs is lending me hers.”

“I need your cell number. Write it down on a piece of paper.”

She pulled a pen out of her purse and scribbled the number on the back of a Kitty Cat Club napkin she dug out of the bottom.

Johnnie pulled into the parking lot and stopped beside the rear entrance. “If Tate gives you any trouble about being out with a customer, tell him I’m helping you with a personal problem. He knows what I do for a living. That should be enough to keep him off your back.”

“All right.” Amy handed him the napkin, opened the car door and got out. He rolled down his window as she walked around to his side of the car.

“I’ll call you late morning,” he said, handing her a business card. “We need to work out the details before you go in. And I need to talk to your sister’s friend Barbara. Can you make that happen?”

“Babs usually sleeps till noon, but I can get her up a little early.”

“I’ll call, set up a place for us to meet.”

She just nodded. “Thank you, Johnnie. I really appreciate this.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He watched her walk into the club and realized it bothered him to think of her working in there. She was a schoolteacher, for chrissake. She shouldn’t be dancing naked in a goddamned tittie bar.

He sighed as he turned the car around and drove away. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Except find her sister. Then he could send her sweet little schoolteacher ass back to Michigan where it belonged.

Amy usually slept late on her day off, but her nerves were strung too tight. Instead, as the sun came up, she dressed in a pair of white stretch Levi’s and a pink T-shirt, left Babs asleep in the apartment, and walked a block down the street to a little espresso bar called The Caboose.

“I’ll have a skinny double-shot latte,” she said to the barista, a dark-haired girl with braces who didn’t look old enough to be out of high school. With a chocolate biscotti in one hand and the coffee in the other, Amy sat down at one of the small square tables.

She reached over to the table next to hers and picked up an L.A. Times someone had left behind. She did a quick perusal, checked the local news, which was nothing but murder and mayhem, the weather, which never changed in sunny California, and the comics, which at least made her smile.

When she finished her coffee, she headed back to the apartment and found Babs up and dressed in jeans and an orange tank top. Babs was extremely big busted so no matter what she wore, she looked top heavy, as if she would topple onto the floor if she leaned too far over.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Amy said.

“My cell phone rang and woke me up,” Babs grumbled. “Wrong number, can you believe?”

“Why didn’t you just go back to sleep?”

“You said the Ranger wanted to talk to me. I figured I might as well get up and get ready.”

Last night, Babs had still been awake when Amy got home. Her friend had been worried, she knew, though Babs would never admit it. Amy had told her all the gory details, how she had made a fool of herself by reneging on her sex-for-work proposal and how John Riggs had again behaved as a gentleman.

“Johnnie was really great last night,” Amy said. “I was starting to freak and he knew it. He didn’t push me. He agreed to help anyway.”

Babs scoffed. “Don’t expect the same treatment from Kyle Bennett. Your sister said he was a real horse’s ass.”

Amy grinned, having no difficulty imagining her outspoken sister saying something like that. The grin slid away. “I’m not looking forward to meeting him, especially not at his house. I feel a lot better knowing Johnnie is going to be helping us.”

“You can say that again.”

Amy paced over to the window. The room they shared wasn’t glamorous, their only view the parking lot below. Still, she felt safe here, with Bo Jing and Tate to look after them, Dante and the rest of the crew. In the beginning, she had worried that someone Rachael had worked with might have been responsible for her disappearance, but Tate screened his employees well and after she got to know the men she worked with, she didn’t believe they’d had anything to do with it.

Along with that, no men were allowed upstairs, which was one of the reasons the girls liked living there. They could work, pay cheap rent and save their money, and not be hassled by drunken Kitty Cat patrons.

Amy walked over to the kitchen counter, where Babs was making coffee. “Do you think he’ll be able to find out what happened to her?”

Babs pressed the start button on the coffeemaker. She knew what Amy was asking. “In a city this size, women disappear all the time. Some of them are never seen again.”

A cold chill slipped through her. “You mean their bodies are never found.”

“I’m sorry, honey, but yeah. That’s what I mean.”

“We pretend she’s still out there, but I’m not sure either of us really believes it.”

“Oh, she’s out there. We just don’t know if she’s alive or not. Until we’re sure one way or another, we’ll do whatever it takes to find out.”

Amy felt better just hearing the words. They wouldn’t give up—not until they knew what had happened. She could handle Kyle Bennett. He was just a man and their plan was a good one. At least it was a place to start.

And now she had John Riggs to help her.

Johnnie climbed the short flight of steps and shoved through the front door of the redbrick building on North Wilcox Avenue. The Hollywood Community Police Station handled La Brea, Sunset, Hollywood and a half dozen surrounding communities.

First thing this morning, he had run a check on Amy Brewer. Looked like she was exactly what she said—a kindergarten teacher from Grand Rapids. He groaned. Last night’s hot kiss popped into his head and he thought how much he still wanted her, bit down on a curse and forced his mind back to business.

He’d also run Rachael Brewer’s name, and read the few newspaper articles about her disappearance he’d found on the Net and anything else he could find about her. It was a start, but not much help.

Making his way over to the counter in the police station, he recognized Officer Gwen Michaels working behind the front desk.

“Hey, Gwen.”

She looked up at him and a smile broke over her face. “Johnnie! You devil, where you been? And don’t tell me you’ve been staying out of trouble, ’cause that just ain’t happenin’, honey.”

Johnnie grinned. “Trouble’s my middle name, Gwen. You know that.”

“Sure do. So what can I do for you, J-man?” Officer Michaels was in her twenties, black and gorgeous. And a damn fine officer on top of it.

“Is Detective Vega around? I need to pick his brain a little.”

“I think he left a while ago, but let me check for you.” She rotated her stool toward the computer on the desk in front of her, checked the monitor. “He’s out on a call, not due back until the end of the day.”

“Leave him a message, will you? Ask him to give me a call when he gets in?”

“No problem.”

“Thanks, Gwen.”

“Take care, J-man.”

He chuckled. She always called him that. He wondered why he’d never asked her out. Probably because she was a cop. When he got off work, police business was the last thing he wanted to think about.

He headed for the door, wishing Vega had been in but figuring he could count on the detective’s help. He didn’t get much resistance from the LAPD. In fact, he could usually depend on their cooperation with just about anything. His younger sister, Kate, had been an LAPD patrolman. Four years ago, Katie had died in the line of duty during a bank robbery. At the time, Johnnie had been in Mexico on some shit boat-recovery job for J. D. Wendel, one of the dot-com billionaires. The eighty-foot, million-plus Lazzara was chump change for Wendel, but the man wasn’t about to let one of his employees get away with stealing it from him.

As Johnnie walked back to his car, he remembered returning to the States to find out he’d lost the sister he adored and his chest tightened. Katie was the only real family he’d had. He sure didn’t count the deadbeat dad who’d raised them in a crappy apartment off Los Feliz Boulevard.

Max Riggs only worked hard enough to keep the power turned on and put a little food on the table. The rest of the time he was hustling some sucker out of his paycheck, or drinking and gambling with his buddies down at Pete’s bar. With their mother long gone and never to be heard from again, Johnnie and Katie were left to fend for themselves.

He’d finally gotten over his mother’s abandonment, though as a kid, he’d often wondered what he and Katie had done to drive her away.

As he grew older, he liked to think he’d had some part in how well his kid sister had turned out. He had worked two jobs to buy her the clothes she needed for school. After he joined the army, he’d sent money for city college, where she took classes in police science and finally landed the spot she so badly wanted on the force. Katie had been well respected in the department, intelligent and competent, a young woman dedicated to her job.

Officer Kate Riggs had been part of the police family, and with her death in the line of duty, forever would be.

Which made him family, too.

Sort of.

His Mustang sat at the curb. Johnnie slid behind the wheel and fired up the engine. Sooner or later, he’d talk to Vega, who wasn’t just a good cop but also a friend. In the meantime, he’d see what information he could pry out of Rachael’s sister and her friend.

Amy’s pretty face popped into his head, only she wasn’t Amy, she was Angel, flaunting her beautiful, mostly naked body up onstage. He could remember every delicious curve, every swing of her perfect little ass.

Johnnie closed his eyes, forcing the image away. It wasn’t Angel he was helping. It was Amy, a freakin’ kindergarten teacher.

Johnnie cursed.

Six

Amy’s cell phone rang. She ran over to the kitchen table, dug it out of her purse and pressed it against her ear. “Hello?”

“I’m on my way to the Sunset Deli. You know where it is?” Johnnie’s husky voice made her stomach flutter.

“I know it. We eat there sometimes.” It was on the opposite side of the street just half a block from the club.

“I’ll meet you there in ten minutes. Bring your roommate along and bring me a picture of your sister.”

“Okay, we’ll see you there.” Amy ended the call and turned to Babs, who was finishing the last of her coffee.

“I take it that was Mr. Hot,” Babs said.

Amy nodded. “He wants us to meet him at the Sunset Deli.” Amy picked up her sister’s acting portfolio, a book of photos Rachael used to take to auditions. “Let’s go.”

Babs took a last swallow of coffee, set her empty mug down on the kitchen counter and grabbed her purse. Amy slung the strap of her white leather bag over her shoulder and they headed for the door. She still had on the white jeans she’d worn that morning, but had changed out of her sneakers into strappy high-heeled sandals, and a pink silk blouse that tied up in front, showing her midriff. Kyle would be expecting an exotic dancer. She had to look at least a little like one.

It didn’t take long to reach the deli, a place they occasionally went for lunch. As they made their way between the tables, Johnnie stood waiting at the back of the room. She could feel his eyes on her, dark and intense, taking in every curve, and her stomach did that same nervous flutter. He pulled out a couple of chairs around the wooden table and she sat down, setting the portfolio in front of her.

Amy tried for a smile, thought about what had happened between them last night, and her face heated up. She fixed her attention on Babs. “This is my friend Barbara McClure. As I said, Babs was Rachael’s friend and roommate.”

“Hello, Johnnie.” Babs flashed him a bright white smile.

Johnnie just nodded. “Babs.” Pulling out another chair, he sat down himself. “If we’re going to do this, I’m going to need as much information as I can get. You ready for that?”

Both of them nodded.

“Good, then we might as well get started.”

Like a lot of places on Sunset, the deli had been there for years. The wooden floors were old and warped, the tables battered and scarred. Cured salami and loaves of crusty bread hung on the walls, and the smell of roasting meat and baking bread filled the air.

As Johnnie reached over and pulled the photo album toward him, a waitress in a dark green apron with Sunset Deli stamped on the front appeared to take their orders: a bagel and cream cheese for Babs, pastrami and rye for Johnnie. Amy ordered coffee with cream. No way could she possibly eat with John Riggs sitting across from her with his biceps bulging, a tight black T-shirt stretched over his massive chest, reminding her what she had missed out on last night.

“You’re not hungry?” he asked.

Amy shook her head. “I had a little something earlier.”

He cast her a glance that said he wasn’t convinced. “Let’s start at the beginning.” His intense gaze held hers. “First off, as long as you’re in this, you’re Angel. Amy Brewer is still in Michigan as far as this investigation goes. You want answers, you’ve got a helluva better chance of getting them if you’re Angel Fontaine, not Rachael’s sister. Just an acquaintance. The thing is, I don’t want anyone finding out you’re playing detective. All you’ll do is piss someone off, and if it happens to be the guy who…had something to do with her disappearance, you could be next. You got it?”

“All right.”

“I’ll need one of these photos.”

“Take whatever you need,” she said as he opened the portfolio. “I had some extras made.”

He slid a four-by-six glossy out of the plastic sleeve, the photo of a beautiful girl with shoulder-length mink-brown hair and pale green eyes. The angle of her head gave her smile a hint of mischief.

“Pretty girl,” Johnnie said, examining the picture.

Amy felt a tightening in her chest. “Rachael’s beautiful. She was homecoming queen in high school. She always had her pick of the boys.”

Johnnie studied the photo as if he were trying to see deeper than the pretty smile and glossy dark hair. “How long since you last saw her?”

“Not since my dad’s funeral. About three years. Rachael’s twenty-eight. She left Grand Rapids when she turned twenty-one, right after she finished city college. She came back to visit a couple of times, but it always ended in a fight with Mom. Rachael was smart. My parents wanted her to finish her education, but all Rachael wanted was to be onstage. She got the lead in a couple of high school plays, then did some local theater, and that was it. She believed she had found her calling. She was determined to become an actress.”

“Well, she was onstage,” Babs drawled, “but the Kitty Cat Club isn’t exactly what your sister had in mind.”

Johnnie’s mouth edged up, then he returned his attention to Amy. “How about phone calls, email, that kind of thing?”

“We talked on the phone a few times a year, but it was mostly about superficial stuff. I didn’t know she was working as a…a dancer until I talked to Babs. There’s a computer in the office downstairs. The girls use it for email. She said she had a job as a cocktail waitress. I guess that was kind of the truth.”

“What about boyfriends?”

“She never mentioned anyone special. She never talked to me about her boyfriends or anything like that and I never talked to her about mine.”

Johnnie sliced her a glance. “You got a guy back home?”

There was more to the question than it seemed; she could see it in his eyes. Amy shook her head. “We broke up a couple of years ago. I’m not seeing anyone now.”

Johnnie seemed to relax. “Any other family members out here?”

“No, just me, and I’ve only been here the past couple of weeks.”

“How about friends of hers from the past? People she knew back home?”

Amy shook her head.

“Anything about her you can think of that might help me find her?”

“I don’t know…we drifted so far apart over the years.” Amy smiled sadly. “Rachael could really sing… A voice like a songbird, you know? Only she wasn’t interested in a singing career. She wanted to be a serious actress.”

Johnnie was making mental notes, she could tell. “Anything else?” he asked.

“Only that she wasn’t the type to just go away and not tell anyone.”

“I’m sure you believe that, honey, but as you said, you don’t really know your sister that well—not anymore.”

It was true. Sadly. She should have come out to California sooner, tried to rebuild the close relationship they had once shared.

The waitress arrived with their food, her coffee and two glasses of iced tea. Johnnie stuck the photo into his back pocket, picked up his pastrami sandwich and dug in. Babs slathered her toasted bagel with cream cheese and jelly, tore off a bite and began to nibble. Amy added a little cream to her coffee and managed to take a sip.

“Who’ve you been talking to in the department?” Johnnie asked around a mouthful of pastrami and rye.

“A woman detective, Lieutenant Carla Meeks. I talk to her pretty much every day. She says they haven’t come up with anything new.”

“Sometimes making a pest of yourself works. Sometimes it’s just a distraction.”

She glanced down at the table. “I know.”

Johnnie turned to Babs. “What did Rachael do before she started working at the Kitty Cat Club?”

“She was a waitress down at Milt’s Coffee Shop. But working at the club paid a lot better, and she wanted to save some money.”

“What for?”

“I think she was hoping she’d get an acting job and if she did, she wanted to have enough put away to get a place of her own. I know she did casting calls whenever she got the chance. As far as I know, not much ever came of it.”

“She dating anyone you know of—besides Kyle Bennett, I mean?”

“I knew about Bennett, but she was only seeing him because she thought he might help her get a break. I know she and her mother never got along. I think she wanted to prove something to her.”

That was probably true, Amy thought with a pang. Rachael had desperately wanted her parents’ approval, but it never came. After their dad’s funeral, the split with her mother had only gotten worse.

“What about Bennett?” Johnnie asked.

“I told her he wasn’t for real,” Babs said, “but Rachael had a lot of ambition. She did what she thought she needed to do.”

“So she was sleeping with him.”

“I’m not really sure. I think she might have been playing him the same way he was trying to play her. The month before she disappeared, she kind of clammed up, you know? I figured she was seeing someone else, but she wouldn’t talk about it. She only went out with Kyle a handful of times. She rarely mentioned where she was going or who she was going out with.”

“Any problems with any of the customers? Anyone she blew off who might have had a grudge?”

Babs shook her head, her dark, chin-length hair sliding around her cheeks. “Rachael kind of kept to herself. She and I were pretty good friends, but she didn’t tell me everything. She was popular with the customers. Her stage name was Silky Summers. Everyone called her Silk.”

Babs had told Amy that. Still, hearing it now made her see her sister in a way she hadn’t before, as a woman who did exotic dances for a living, someone who could be made to disappear without much trouble and never be seen again. A trickle of unease slipped through her, reminding her that she was doing the very same thing.

Johnnie finished his sandwich, devouring it with manly enthusiasm and finishing the last of his fries. He waited impatiently while Babs finished her bagel, then shoved back his chair and came to his feet.

“We need to get going. Time’s slipping away and Amy and I have a few things to work out before she meets Bennett.”

Her stomach sharply contracted. She glanced down at the pink-and-silver watch on her wrist. It was only costume jewelry but it was pretty, a birthday gift from Rachael last year. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

The women stood up from the table while Johnnie took care of the bill, then he walked them out the door. As they stood on the sidewalk, Babs dug her car keys out of her purse. A little metal palm tree dangled from the end.

She handed the keys to Amy. “Be careful. I don’t have any insurance.”

“Jesus.” Johnnie shook his head and raked a hand through his short, dark hair.

Amy’s fingers tightened around the keys. She drove a little Honda back home and it was insured. Hopefully, that would cover any problems but she wasn’t really sure. “I’ll be careful.”

Babs waved and started walking back to the club, and Johnnie led Amy toward his car, parked in the lot next to the deli. He pressed his key to unlock the Mustang then opened the door. “Get in.”

Amy slipped into the passenger seat and Johnnie rounded the car and slid in on the driver’s side. Reaching across her, he opened the glove box and pulled out a padded envelope. He tipped it over and a silver, heart-shaped locket fell into his big hand.

“I want you to wear this. There’s a microphone inside. I’ll be able to hear everything you say and whatever’s going on inside the house. If you get in trouble, just sing out.”

Amy glanced up. “You’re going to Bennett’s house with me?”

One of his dark eyebrows went up. “You thought I was going to let you go into that creep’s place on your own? I told you that wasn’t going to happen last night.”

“Yes, but—”

“I drove by there this morning. Expensive area, plenty of parking on the street. I won’t be far away if you get into trouble.”

The nerves returned. “Surely you don’t think…think he’d…he’d do anything to hurt me?”

“You never know with a weasel like that. Just remember I’ll be close enough to hear what’s going on.” Johnnie swung the locket over her head and fastened the catch on the silver chain. Just the brush of his fingers against the back of her neck sent goose bumps over her skin.

She glanced in the mirror. “My earrings are gold. They don’t match.”

“Take them off,” he said.

Amy unfastened the small gold hoops and stuck them into her purse. She reached up and fingered the locket. “You have no idea how grateful I am for this.”

The edge of his mouth faintly curved. “Don’t worry, when the time comes, you can show me just how grateful you are.”

A little curl of heat settled low in her stomach. He hadn’t forgotten about last night.

Amy tried not to be glad.

Seven

She had driven Babs’s beat-up blue Chevy a few times before, just little jaunts to the store or the drive-through for some snack they wanted. Driving the car to Kyle Bennett’s house was a far different thing.

Amy took a deep breath and stuck the key into the ignition, the metal palm tree key chain clanking against the dash. She put the car in gear, pulled onto Sunset and drove west toward Bel Air.

During their brief phone conversation yesterday, Kyle had given her directions to his house. Following Sunset, a tight four-lane with everyone going too fast, she eventually reached Stone Canyon Road, turned right, then made a left onto Bellagio and continued up the winding streets until she came to the address he had given her. Every once in a while, she caught a glimpse of Johnnie’s black Mustang in her rearview mirror, and knowing he was back there kept her from turning the Chevy around and speeding back down the hill.

She wouldn’t, she knew. Though her nerves were tingling and her stomach felt like a ball of snakes. She was committed to finding Rachael, no matter what it took.

Amy slowed, checked the address stenciled on the curb in front of the house and pulled the car over. The residence, a single-story Spanish-style home, was nice but not pretentious, the kind of house she might have expected his parents to live in instead of Kyle.

Turning off the engine, she sat for a moment collecting herself, then grabbed her bag, opened the door and climbed out of the car. The place was well kept, the plants and shrubs along the brick walkway leading up to the house neatly pruned and watered.

She took a quick glance behind her but saw no sign of Johnnie. He would be parked around the corner out of sight, she figured. At least he was out there somewhere.

“I’m walking toward the front steps,” she said into the mic hidden inside the locket, figuring she was still far enough from the windows no one would see her talking to herself. She steadied her nerves as she pushed the doorbell and heard it chime somewhere inside.

It didn’t take long for the door to swing open. A smiling Kyle Bennett stood in the doorway.

“Come on in.” He was dressed in designer jeans, loafers and a yellow Izod knit shirt, his sandy hair neatly combed. He was casually GQ, exactly what she had expected.

Amy walked into the Spanish tiled entry noticing a heavy wooden chandelier overhead, and Kyle closed the arched front door.

He surveyed her head to foot. “You look just as good in clothes as you do out of them. That’s definitely a plus.”

She swallowed, not happy with the reminder he had seen her all but naked. “Is…is everything ready for the screen test?”

“My camera guy is running a little late, but he’ll be here soon. Why don’t we go into the studio and I’ll fix us something to drink?”

She let him guide her through the house into what looked like his study, done in dark wood paneling with a wide, ornately carved oak desk, and a dark brown leather sofa and chair. A camera on a tripod pointed toward the sofa, apparently where Bennett planned to film the audition.

“Have a seat,” he said.

She sat down on the couch, nervously smoothed her palms over her white jeans.

“What would you like to drink? Glass of white wine, maybe, or something stronger? How ’bout I make you a cosmo?”

Amy shook her head. “A Diet Coke would be good…if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“No trouble. I just figured you might want something to help you relax in front of the camera.”

“I think…think I’d do better if I wasn’t drinking anything alcoholic.”

His smile looked more feral than friendly. “How about some orange juice? It’s pretty much all I’ve got.”

“That would be great.”

He walked over to the bar in the corner and began fixing their drinks. A blender sat on the back bar next to a row of mixes, and a pink silk geranium in a small woven basket. A couple of padded leather stools sat in front of the bar.

Kyle returned with their drinks, handed her the orange juice and sat down on the sofa beside her. He lifted his glass. “Here’s to a great test today.”

Amy lifted her glass and he clinked his against hers. She took a swallow and then another, hoping it would help calm her nerves. “You know, a friend of mine came here for a screen test,” she said, easing into the subject of her sister.

One of his sandy eyebrows went up. “That right?”

“Silky Summers. She worked at the club before I started.”

“Oh, sure, I knew Silk. I tried to help her.” He shook his head. “It was sad, really. Silk had big dreams, but I’m afraid she didn’t have much talent.”

“Is that right?” Amy thought that was probably a lie. Rachael was good at most everything. “She always wanted to be an actress.”

“They all do, sweetheart. But most of them just can’t cut it.” He smiled. “Not like you. I’ve got a good feeling about you, Angel. I’ve got a hunch you’re going to show real promise.”

She took another sip of juice, buying herself some time. “I wonder what happened to her? Silky, I mean. You haven’t heard from her, have you?” She yawned behind her hand, feeling a little tired, and wished she had slept better. “I mean, she thought you could get her into show business. I figured she would try to stay in touch with you.”

He shrugged his shoulders, which were slim and made her think of Johnnie’s thick shouldered, muscular build.

“Haven’t heard a word,” he said. “The police asked me about her, you know. I told them I hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks before she disappeared.”

“She didn’t say anything, then…? About where she was going?” She felt like yawning again, but managed to resist.

Kyle leaned in closely. “What’s your interest in Silk?”

Amy tried to shrug, but her shoulders barely moved. “She owed me some money. I’d like to…get it back.”

He relaxed at that. “Stick with me, kiddo, you’ll make plenty of money.”

She looked up at him and tried to smile, but her eyelids felt heavy.

“Now that I think of it,” Kyle said, “she did go out with a guy I knew. Kenny Reason. He’s a DJ down at The Rembrandt Club. I introduced them. Maybe Kenny’ll know where you can find her.”

Amy blinked up at him owlishly. “Thanks.” The more she stared, the fuzzier his features became. She started frowning. “I don’t know what’s…what’s the matter with me but…I’m starting…starting to feel really funny.”

Kyle smiled kindly. “You’re probably just nervous. Why don’t you lie down for a few minutes? I’ll wake you up when my camera guy gets here.”

She didn’t want to lie down, but her mouth wouldn’t move to form a protest. Instead, she let him help her to her feet and the next thing she knew, she was leaning against him, letting him guide her down the hall. She caught a glimpse of a big king-size bed, realized in her foggy brain that something was terribly wrong.

“Johnnie…” she whispered, and prayed he could hear her as the world went suddenly black.

“Son of a bitch!” Johnnie was out of the car and charging down the sidewalk. He raced across Bennett’s front yard, darted around the corner into the side yard, ran toward the rear of the house and up the back porch steps where he could break in without being seen.

The door was an older style with a curtained window. He pulled his Beretta from where he’d stuffed it into the back of his jeans, used the barrel to break the glass pane and reached inside to turn the lock. No alarm went off as he opened the door. He kicked his way through the shattered glass on the Spanish tile floor and rushed toward the bedroom, figuring that was the mostly likely place Bennett would have taken her.

The minute Amy had begun to slur her words, he knew what was happening, knew the weasely little bastard had loaded her drink.

The door at the end of the hall was closed. He paused when he reached it. Hearing Bennett’s voice in a one-sided conversation, he clamped down on the rage swelling inside him, turned the knob but found it locked. He raised his heavy boot and kicked the door open.

He aimed the pistol at Bennett. “Move, you little prick, and I swear I’ll blow your head off.”

Leaning over the bed, Kyle froze. Johnnie’s gaze shifted to Amy, who lay on her back on top of the mattress, completely unconscious. Bennett had unbuttoned her pink blouse, giving him a view of the plump cleavage above her push-up bra. He’d unzipped her white jeans, but that was as far as he’d gotten.

“Move away from her. Now.”

Bennett held up his hands as if they could stop a bullet and backed away from the bed. Just beyond it, the closet doors were folded open, revealing a wall filled with kinky sex toys: padded handcuffs, a leather headdress, a roll of duct tape, and every shape and size of dildo imaginable.

The rage returned, so thick and hot he could barely see. His finger itched where it curled against the trigger.

“Who are you?” Bennett demanded, but his voice shook. “What are you doing in my house?”

Johnnie lowered the pistol, shoved it into his pants behind his back. He moved into the room, over toward the bed. “Rape’s against the law, buddy, or hadn’t you heard?”

Bennett kept his hands in the air, trying to ward off the anger rippling toward him in waves.

“Take it easy, okay? This isn’t what it looks like. Angel came over here on her own. We were just having a little fun.”

“That so?” He looked down at Amy and felt a pinch in his chest. Now that she was there, he couldn’t call the police. For chrissake, the lady was a goddamn kindergarten teacher. The last thing she needed was a sex scandal. Whatever kind of roofie Bennett had given her would knock her out for eight to twelve hours. He needed to get her out of there.

His gaze shifted back to Bennett and his rage boiled back to the surface. If Amy had come on her own, Bennett would have raped her. It took every ounce of his will to not beat the guy into a bloody pulp. Instead, he strode to where Bennett cowered against the wall, grabbed his shirt and started dragging him toward the closet.

“What are you doing?” Bennett’s weak struggles were almost funny. “Get away from me. Leave me alone!”

“I’ll leave you alone, you freak.” Johnnie reached for the padded handcuffs hanging on a peg on the back wall of the closet, clamped them onto Bennett’s slim wrists, then lifted him up and draped the chain linking the cuffs together over a peg on the wall.

Bennett hung like a landed fish. “You can’t do this!”

“Yeah?” Reaching into his boot, Johnnie pulled out his Ranger knife and flipped it open. Bennett’s eyes turned into watery, frightened orbs as Johnnie held up the gleaming six-inch, serrated blade.

“Oh, God. Don’t hurt me! Let me go!”

“Not likely.”

Bennett closed his eyes as Johnnie started cutting off his clothes. It took only minutes to have the bastard naked except for his socks and shoes. Johnnie reached up for one of the dildos. He knew where he’d like to shove it, but then again, Bennett might like it.

Instead, he stuck it into the man’s mouth, tore off a strip of duct tape and slapped it over the end to hold it in place. Satisfied Bennett wouldn’t choke to death or have trouble breathing, he grinned.

“The cops are gonna have a real laugh when they come to your rescue, buddy.”

Turning toward the bed, he reached down and fastened the buttons on Amy’s blouse, zipped her jeans and lifted her into his arms.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you out of here.”

He flashed a last ruthless smile toward Kyle Bennett. “Have fun—kiddo.”

Closing the door behind him, Amy snuggled against his chest, Johnnie carried her down the hall. Knowing a woman’s most valuable possession was her purse, he ducked into Kyle’s office, grabbed her small white bag, and left the house.

He was taking the little dancer home with him where once again, he wouldn’t be able to touch her.

God had an amazing sense of humor.

Johnnie glanced at his heavy chrome wristwatch for the twentieth time. Ten hours. Amy had been out like a light for ten freakin’ hours. He wanted to go back and tear Kyle Bennett’s head off. The guy deserved a far worse punishment than he’d gotten. Johnnie would have been happy to rip him apart limb by limb if the little pervert hadn’t been so puny.

Instead, after he had brought Amy back to his house, he had used one of the disposable phones he kept on hand to call the police. He had given them Bennett’s address and told them a man was in trouble and needed their help. He couldn’t help grinning when he thought of the look on the officers’ faces when they found Bennett naked and trussed up like a pig with his own kinky toys.

He’d been tempted to call Vega, let him in on the fun, but he had more important work for his friend. He needed to talk to Rick in person. He wanted answers to his questions about Rachael and he had a better shot at getting them face-to-face.

In the meantime, he was keeping close tabs on Amy, regularly checking her pulse and breathing, making sure there weren’t any unforeseen complications aside from the powerful hangover she was going to have when she woke up.

He opened the bedroom door and looked down at her lying on his bed. He had imagined her there a dozen times but not like this. Johnnie sighed. He hadn’t taken off her clothes. Though she’d been dancing nearly naked in front of a roomful of men, he had a hunch she would prefer to keep her clothes on, no matter how uncomfortable they might be. She was still sleeping soundly, he saw, her long blond hair spread around his pillow like a sleek gold curtain. He had taken off her high heels and tossed a blanket over her bare feet.

He started to close the door and return to the living room when he saw her stir.

Slowly, Amy opened her eyes. It seemed to take Herculean effort. When she moved, her body ached all over. She felt groggy and disoriented, her brain mushy and her stomach queasy. She must have been sleeping the sleep of the dead. Her gaze surveyed the bedroom: white walls, black bedside tables with silver lamps on top. A black dresser with silver handles. There were photos of motorcycles and fast cars on the walls. None of it looked familiar.

With a panicky gasp, Amy jerked back the blanket that covered her, her last memory one of Kyle Bennett leading her down the hall to his bedroom.

“Easy, baby. You’re safe. Everything’s all right.” Johnnie’s deep voice washed over her from a few feet away and her fear began to recede. She saw him, then, big, dark and menacing, standing at the side of the bed.

“Where am I?”

“My house. I brought you here after Bennett drugged you.”

“Oh, my God!” She shoved herself to an upright position and pain slammed into her head.

“Take it easy.” Johnnie reached out and eased her back down on the mattress. “You’ve been out for nearly ten hours. You need to take it slow.”

“What…what happened?” She looked down, saw she was wearing her clothes. “He didn’t…didn’t…?”

“He didn’t have time to do much of anything. I was there, remember? Bennett put a roofie—that’s a date-rape drug—in your drink. I came in just a few minutes after he took you into his bedroom.”

She closed her eyes, trying to replay the scene, but her memory was completely blank. Still, Johnnie had been there, so nothing terrible had happened. She felt a sweep of relief.

“What happened to Kyle? Did you call the police? Oh, my God, I could lose my teaching job.”

“You could lose your job if someone back home finds out you’ve been working at the Kitty Cat Club. But you don’t have to worry. I handled Bennett myself and no one knows you were ever there.”

She glanced at the biceps bulging beneath his T-shirt, thought of what might have happened if one of those powerful arms had connected with Bennett’s face, and her eyes widened. “What…what did you do to him?”

Johnnie grunted. “Nothing permanent—unfortunately. But the police found him naked and handcuffed in a bedroom full of kinky sex toys, so I don’t think you’ll be seeing him at the club for a while.”

Kinky sex toys? Her stomach rolled. If Johnnie hadn’t gone with her, Kyle would have been using them on her while she had been unconscious.

“I need to get up,” she said, feeling suddenly sick. “I have to use the bathroom.”

Johnnie reached down and took her arm, helped her sit up and swing her legs to the side of the bed, but the minute she tried to stand, nausea hit her.

“Oh, God.” Clamping a hand over her mouth, she bolted for the bathroom, bent over and threw up what little there was in her stomach. Her hands were shaking as she flushed the toilet. She washed her hands, then cupped water in her palm and rinsed her mouth. In the mirror above the sink, she saw Johnnie standing behind her in the open doorway. He pulled a washcloth off the towel rack and handed it over.

“Wash your face. You’ll feel better.”

Amy took the cloth from his hand, waited until he stepped back, and then closed the door. The last thing she wanted was for John Riggs to see her being sick.

Fortunately, the cool cloth helped. By the time she came out of the bathroom, she felt a little better. Johnnie was waiting, one thick shoulder propped against the wall a few feet away.

He shoved off and came toward her. “You’re getting a little color back in your face. Feeling any better?”

She nodded, but sank back down on the edge of the bed. “If you hadn’t been with me, Kyle would have raped me.” She looked up as another thought struck. “Do you think he did that to Rachael?”

“Babs said Rachael dated him a few times. Your sister had been working at the club for a couple of years. She was probably too savvy to fall for Bennett’s tricks.”

“Unlike me,” Amy said glumly.

“You’re a schoolteacher, honey. You’ve never been around guys like that. At least you found out what you’re up against. You can let me handle things from here and—”

“Wait a minute!” She shot up off the bed, felt a jolt of pain in her head and sank back down. “You don’t think this changes anything? I’m finding my sister, Johnnie. I’m not letting some weirdo like Kyle Bennett keep that from happening.”

“Listen to me, Amy. You’re in way over your head with this. What happened today should have shown you that.”

She bit her lip. “Maybe Bennett killed her. Maybe he drugged her and something went wrong. Maybe she died and he had to get rid of her body.” Imagining her sister dead, she felt a sweep of pain mixed with anger. Amy steeled herself against it. “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Anything’s possible. Look, I’ve got a friend in the homicide department, Detective Vega. I’m hoping he’ll let me take a look at your sister’s missing persons file. I’ll find out what the police know about Bennett’s involvement with Rachael, and find out who else they might be looking at in regard to her disappearance.”

She nodded, careful not to move too fast. “All right, that sounds like a good idea.”

“I probably shouldn’t encourage you, but if it makes you feel better, you got a name from Bennett before you passed out.”

“I did?”

“Kenny Reason. He’s a disc jockey over at Rembrandt’s.”

“Rembrandt’s? I don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s a nightclub, not a strip joint, fairly upscale clientele. Bennett said your sister dated Kenny for a while.”

“She must not have mentioned it to Babs. Maybe Mr. Reason will know something that will help.”

“Maybe.” Johnnie glanced down at his watch. “It’s getting late. If you’re feeling well enough, I’ll take you home. If you’d rather, you can spend the night in my guest room.”

Amy shook her head. “I need to go home.”

Johnnie didn’t argue. This was one time sex didn’t seem to be on either of their minds. Spotting her purse on the dresser, she rose carefully from the bed, walked over and picked it up. “Whenever you’re ready.” She slung the purse strap over her shoulder. “I really appreciate what you did today. There’s no way I can ever thank you enough.”

A hot gleam appeared in his eyes. “Our business isn’t finished. The next time you’re in my bed, honey, I promise you won’t be sleeping.”

Eight

Johnnie called Rick Vega first thing Friday morning and the detective agreed to meet him at the station. As she had the day before, Gwen Michaels sat behind the front desk. When she spotted Johnnie walking toward her, she smiled.

“Vega is expecting you,” Gwen said. “You know where to find him.”

“Thanks, Gwen.” Heading down the hall, he waved to a couple of beat cops he knew, turned the corner and pushed through the doors of the detective bureau. The place was well lit, lined with rows of desks, each with its own computer, and always humming with activity as cops came and went. Rick motioned him over and Johnnie sauntered in his friend’s direction, then sat down in the chair beside the desk.

“Heard you were in here looking for me yesterday. I meant to call, but things got crazy.” Vega was handsome as sin, about the same height as Johnnie, with gleaming black hair slicked back from his face and smooth dark skin, a bachelor who spent too much of his paycheck on the perfectly tailored suits he liked to wear.

“Not a problem.”

“Must be important if you’re back again today.”

“I need a favor, Rick.”

Vega scoffed. “So what’s new?”

Before he’d been promoted to detective in the homicide division, Rick had been his sister Katie’s partner, which was how he and Rick had become such good friends.

“I need to take a look at a file. Girl reported missing a little over six weeks ago. Name’s Rachael Brewer. She worked over at the Kitty Cat Club.”

Vega frowned. “Brewer…Brewer…that name sounds familiar.”

“At the club, she used the name Silky Summers,” Johnnie added.

Rick shoved up from his chair and walked over to speak to Mitch, a balding older guy, who after a departmental shake-up had just been reassigned as Vega’s new partner. Mitch said something and Rick headed back to his desk, his strides long and confident, not a wrinkle in his perfectly pressed navy blue suit.

Nine

On the way back to the club, Amy wandered along Sunset into a couple of trendy dress shops. The boutiques were designed for young women, the prices on the top edge of affordable. The clothes—lots of black leather and lace, short skirts and plenty of bare skin—were hardly her style, but it was fun to look.

A hot little number caught her eye. At home, she would have been embarrassed for anyone to catch her admiring it, but this was California. She was a different person here, freer, more open to new ideas. Eventually, she would go back to being the simple, conservative young woman she was before, but for now, for this one brief moment in time, she was Angel Fontaine and she could do anything she pleased.

She went home with the sexy black outfit tucked in a Mitzy’s Boutique shopping bag, wondering if she would ever wear it.

As she walked back into the club, she spotted Johnnie sitting at the bar, his intense gaze finding her all the way across the room. He looked dark and rugged and amazingly handsome, and her stomach lifted alarmingly.

This early in the afternoon, the club was mostly empty. It got busier as the sun went down. The Sunset Strip came alive at night.

Johnnie stood up as she approached and she felt a little dizzy at the sight of all that masculinity so nicely packaged in black jeans and a T-shirt.

Johnnie grinned. “Hey, Goldilocks.”

She had almost forgotten her hair, forgotten that too much gel had turned her long, sleek strands into a riot of curls. She reached up and touched it, made a face at the springy texture.

“It’ll wash out,” she said glumly.

“I thought maybe you were going to change your act, bring in a couple of guys in bear suits.”

“Very funny.” She managed to climb up on a bar stool, though being so short, it wasn’t easy. Johnny sat back down on the stool next to hers.

“How you feeling?”

“Normal again. Better than I should be feeling…considering.” She looked across at Dante, who mopped the top of the bar in front of her with a clean white towel. “I could really use a Diet Coke…if you wouldn’t mind.”

“You got it, Angel.” The handsome Latino grinned, then turned to Johnnie. “You wanna beer or something?”

“No thanks, I’m working.”

Amy sighed. “So was I. That’s what happened to my hair.”

Johnnie reached out and slid a hand into her bouncy blond locks. “This, I gotta hear.”

But Amy didn’t reply. Transfixed by the feel of his fingers slipping through the heavy curls, she just sat there like a cat being stroked and wanting to purr. She felt his eyes on her, intense now, sensing her interest, the heat beginning to build between them. She wanted this man. Maybe it was time to do something about it. Maybe she should—

Dante set an icy glass of diet soda in front of her and walked away, and Johnnie’s hand slid free of her hair.

Amy swallowed. “I…ummm…went to see Rachael’s hairdresser. I wanted to see if maybe she’d heard some gossip or something that might help us. Getting my hair done was the only excuse I could think of to talk to her. The curls were her idea.”

Johnnie chuckled. “Do any good?”

“Sherry—that’s the stylist—said that Rachael was seeing a couple of different guys. One of them was named Ken. I figured Kenny Reason. The other man’s name was Danny.”

“Danny. No reference to a Danny in the police reports.”

“You saw them?”

He nodded. “My sister, Katie, was a cop before she died. Her former partner is a friend of mine.”

“You have…had a sister?”

He nodded. “She was killed during a bank robbery. She was a really great kid.”

She reached over and caught his hand. “Oh, Johnnie, I’m so sorry.” He ran his thumb over the back of her hand and a little tremor went through her.

“Katie always wanted to be a cop,” he said. “She was doing the job she loved, but she was way too young to die. She deserved to have more time.”

She let go of his hand, though she didn’t really want to. “Your sister is gone and now so is mine. It isn’t fair.”

“There’s still hope we’ll find Rachael.”

She took heart at that, managed to smile. “Yes, there is.”

“Because of what happened to Katie, I get to call in a favor now and then. I got a look at Rachael’s file and I talked to Lieutenant Meeks. She pretty much hates you, by the way.”

Amy laughed. “I know I’ve been a nuisance. I figured the squeaky wheel and all that.”

“Doesn’t always work.”

She took a sip of Diet Coke. “So what did Lieutenant Meeks tell you?”

“Not much. Mentioned a real estate agent named Peter Brand, but according to the report, he came up clean.”

“Nothing else?”

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, I’m not exactly on the lieutenant’s favorite persons list, either.” At her inquisitive look, he held up a hand. “Don’t ask.”

Amy smiled. “You mean she didn’t fall prey to all that Johnnie Riggs charm?”

He flashed a crooked grin. “You think I’m charming?”

“Maybe. I think you can be very sweet at times, even if you won’t admit it.”

“Sweet! You think I’m sweet?”

She laughed. “You were sweet last night. You came to my rescue. You took care of me when I was sick. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have been in serious trouble.”

“I’m not sweet. How do you know I didn’t ravish you when you were at my mercy?”

Her smile returned. “I don’t think that’s your style.”

Johnnie reached out and touched her cheek, just a featherlight brush of his fingers, yet goose bumps rose beneath her skin.

“You’re right,” he said. “I want you wide-awake when I take you. I want you to know exactly what I’m doing to you.”

Amy couldn’t breathe.

He reached up and playfully tugged on one of her curls. “In the meantime, no more detective work, okay?”

The curls bobbed as she firmly shook her head. “I’m not quitting. No way, no how.”

Hearing his own words played back to him, Johnnie smiled.

“In the past two days,” Amy continued, “I’ve found out more than I have in the past two weeks. I need to talk to Kenny Reason, and I need to find out who this Danny person is.”

“I’ll talk to Reason, see what he has to say.”

“I want to go with you. He might say something that clicks with me, or I might think of something to ask him you wouldn’t.”

When he started shaking his head, she caught his arm. “You said Rembrandt’s was a nightclub, an upscale place. If I’m with you, I won’t be in any danger.”

“I don’t like it, Am—Angel.”

“You said you’d help me.”

“I’m doing my damnedest, honey.”

“Please, Johnnie. I’ve got to do this. I owe it to Rachael.” She looked up at him, trying to work her womanly wiles the way the other girls did. “Please…”

He sat there for several long moments, then gave up a sigh of defeat. “All right, damn it, you can go. But we need to keep moving on this. Can you get off early tonight?”

One of the girls had called in sick, so she was working a split shift. “I’m off at ten.” She had to be back by midnight, but she didn’t want him to have an excuse not to take her.

“All right, I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Rembrandt’s. Until then, try to stay out of trouble.”

The afternoon was slipping away. Johnnie had a half dozen calls to make on cases he’d been working and paperwork to do back at his home office. Instead he sat next to Amy at the Kitty Cat bar.

“Listen, I need to talk to Honeybee. You know where I can find her?” He told himself he was still working, even if he wasn’t getting paid for it.

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