Читать книгу Against the Night - Kat Martin - Страница 8

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.