Chapter Two
“Yo, Reese!” shouted a glistening, near-naked man over the screeching women swarming Dallas Heat’s stage.
Reese Landon paused inside the male strip club’s entrance and waved at Nash Hawkins, the joint’s hottest dancer. Her eyes widened at the sexy outfit barely covering his banging body: a black cowboy hat, boots and ass-less leather chaps.
Giddyup.
Every cord, tendon and muscle seemed carved from marble. Her lips quirked. Marble with a spray tan. And baby oil, she amended. Every cowgirl’s fantasy; a damn masterpiece. One you could touch…
Dallas’s elite male revue aimed to please.
A slow R & B tune throbbed inside the inviting, neon-lit space. The sensual sound wove through the warm, musky air and pulsed off its polished floors and mirrored walls. A sea of dollar bills waved overhead.
Home sweet home.
Reese zigzagged through the horde, light-headed. Being here again, after all this time, squeezed the strength right out of her, squashed it into a wad and tossed it away.
Nash leapt off stage, earning a protest from his fans, and grabbed Reese around the waist. “Good to see you, darlin’. Sorry about your dad.”
She peered up at her father’s top draw, a little breathless. After twelve years, Nash hadn’t changed a bit. Same tangle of black hair, piercing green eyes, and a bronzed, hard body designed to drive women wild. Beneath all that hotness also lurked a secret dork who’d played Mario Kart with his employer’s lonely daughter before his performances.
“Thanks. Good seeing you too.” Though not quite so much of him…she pinned her eyes above his broad shoulders. Who could manage a coherent conversation with an oiled Adonis? Not her, especially as his new, temporary boss.
Reggie, their DJ, waved from his soundstage. The current tune transitioned into The Weeknd’s “Earned It,” winning him feminine squeals of approval. He fiddled with his earpiece then folded his arms across his large Hawaiian shirt. Dark sunglasses obscured his eyes.
Nash’s shoulders rippled in an apologetic shrug. “Better earn my keep. Will you stick around? Have a drink after?”
Reese nodded. “I’m managing the club until Dad’s back.” Saying it out loud twisted her stomach and made her return real.
A slow smile spread across Nash’s handsome face. “Always told him you’d come home. No matter what you said.” He backed away, and hysterical women fell over themselves as they got up close and personal with his impressive rear view.
He vaulted onstage and gyrated to the beat, alternating arms forward and back, pointing at one screaming woman after another. And when the cacophony reached glass-shattering levels, he doffed his hat with a wink and thrust his hips into it. Hard.
The air rained green.
Reese maneuvered through the hyped women grooving beside zebra-patterned chairs. Nash hauled up one wearing a bride-to-be sash, wrapped her legs around his waist, then bent her backwards while she and her hell-raising group whooped and hollered.
Dallas Heat: edgy entertainment, where good girls came to be very, very bad…
Or, in her case, where a very bad thing happened to a good girl…
At the bar, a smooth-chested stud wearing a cowboy hat and low-riding jeans raised a Jack Daniel’s bottle. With his brown hair buzzed on the sides and overlong bangs obscuring half his lean face, he resembled a young Johnny Depp. “Looks like someone could use a drink.”
“Sounds good.” Anything to ease the pounding in her temples and the ache in her heart.
What if her dad didn’t recover from his wounds? What if the doctors and her uncle were wrong and her father’s temporary state of unconscious became permanent?
What if he never woke from his coma?
“You’re Pete’s daughter, right?” The hard-body’s pecs flexed as he held out her glass. Brown eyes sparked behind lashes long enough to look fake.
Seriously.
Where did her father find all these hot guys? 1-800-STUD?
She slid onto the stool, lifted the drink and sniffed. Her eyes closed in appreciation at the familiar woody smell. It whisked her back home with her father and mother. She was ten, flush from her first solo dance recital performance.
“Here’s to our prima ballerina.” Her father clinked his tumbler against her smiling mother’s wine glass, whiskey splashing over its side. “Someday she might even be as good as her old man.”
“Let’s hope not,” her mother groaned, then mouthed “Never” at Reese.
“What are you saying?” her father blustered, mock outraged.
“That I didn’t marry you for your moves,” her mother teased, and they’d dissolved into laughter when her father struck a corny disco pose.
A week later, a doctor diagnosed her mother with breast cancer. Eighteen months later, she was dead.
Liquid dripped onto Reese’s knuckles, jolting her back to the here and now. She downed the double shot, and her eyes watered as her throat caught fire.
“How’d you know who I am?” she managed once the burning died down. At least her migraine eased and the painful memory faded.
“Nash’s hug.” The bartender refilled her glass. “He doesn’t get that close unless money’s visible.”
A short laugh escaped her. Given the club’s perennial financial struggles, her father would approve.
She sipped her drink and thought of her earlier hospital visit. Wearing a thin gown and surrounded by buzzing machines, his head bandaged from a gunshot wound, her larger-than-life dad appeared diminished. Not the man who’d once shrunk her with his withdrawal and ultimately his abandonment after her mother’s passing…when she’d needed him most…when they’d needed each other.
Powerlessness washed through her. She’d left the aggravating emotion behind when she’d fled Dallas twelve years ago, broken and questioning her father’s love. Now it swaggered back as if the years traveling with her contemporary dance troupe, learning to defend herself, becoming self-reliant, feeling safe, had been a sham. Just a temporary reprieve. A Hollywood set on rollers.
“How long have you worked here?” she asked, more out of politeness than anything else. Her mind was pretty much done for the night, shorted out; nothing left but a dial tone.
“A few months. I’ll be heading back to TMU for football training at the end of the summer. There’s a couple of my teammates.”
She followed the bartender’s pointing finger and stared, slack-jawed, as two mammoth young men swaggered on stage. Their matching six-pack abs rippled above low-riding football pants, partially unlaced at their bulging crotches.
The bartender cupped his hands around his mouth. “I’m their starting fullback,” he shouted over the rising crescendo of female catcalls.
She lifted her glass to him. “Cool.”
The whiskey flowed down her throat. Smoother this time. The tart oak taste went straight to her head, fast. She fanned her face with a cocktail napkin and tossed back a handful of nuts. How long since she’d eaten?
Her uncle Tom phoned just after midnight. Between packing, a long flight and time in the ICU, she hadn’t had a meal in over sixteen hours. Better rethink the third drink the solicitous bartender poured.
“No, thanks.”
After sliding him a generous tip, she hitched her slipping purse strap over her shoulder and strode to the door leading to the upstairs office. The treads swayed beneath her unsteady legs. She gripped the rail and gritted her teeth.
Get it together, girl.
You’re not a naïve eighteen-year-old anymore. This is the last place you want to be, but you’re in charge now. No one can touch you like last time…and get away with it…
Would her newfound strength stand up to the tests awaiting her?
A giddy disco tune drifted from below. She pictured a line of slick, dripping men twirling umbrellas in front of their leather G-strings. The women screeched when the DJ hit the thunder-and-lightning sound effect. Dallas Heat rained men. No doubt about it.
But it also attracted trouble.
She glanced at her watch when she reached the top landing. Eight o’clock. A couple of hours to sort through paperwork before she supervised the floor.
Her father’s desk chair creaked and swiveled when she dropped into it. She tugged her hair free of the elastic holding her topknot and let her waves tumble over her shoulders. Tipping her head back, she rested it on the cracked leather. Before her mother succumbed to breast cancer, she’d made Reese and her father promise to take care of each other, a vow she’d broken when she’d run from Dallas.
And her father hadn’t fulfilled his pledge, either.
I had no choice then, Ma, but I’m stronger now, she vowed silently. I won’t let you down.
The sooner she uncovered her father’s shooter—someone in his questionable inner circle, she suspected—the sooner she’d convince him to retire and leave Dallas.
If he woke up.
No matter what, he was her dad; she didn’t want to lose him too.
A fresh wave of grief washed over her, suffocating her.
You promised…
She grabbed for a breath. Then another. In through the nose. Exhale from the mouth. In. Out.
When her heartbeat settled, she straightened and peered around the cramped office. How little had changed. She pictured her younger self gluing together school projects on its commercial gray carpet and felt the soft, sagging cushions of the cream upholstered sectional as she’d fallen asleep there, waiting for her father. The sweet-tart taste of Fig Newtons, the open carton positioned beside the coffeemaker, returned to her. They were her father’s favorite and often her dinner when he forgot to feed her.
Forgot her.
A light blinked on the phone atop her dad’s laminate-topped desk. Another message from the police, she guessed. They’d left plenty on her cell. She’d stopped counting after ten. There wasn’t much she could divulge without potentially incriminating her father. After an assault that left her betrayed by those she trusted most, she didn’t trust law enforcement. Wielding a letter opener, she tore through the first piece of mail. No. She’d figure out who did this on her own, and when she did…
Another envelope spilled its guts at her stab, her mind on the 9mm Glock in her father’s safe. She’d hoped to escape this life, but it’d dragged her back anyway.
She caught sight of an old family picture. Her mother’s green eyes, so like hers, stared back at her. Accusing. Looking at her felt like pressing a bruise. Reese flipped the picture down and eyed the safe’s numbered keypad. Hopefully, Dad still used her birthday as his combination.
Whoever had messed with her family wouldn’t get away with it this time. There’d be no escaping the storm she unleashed.
* * * *
A brisk knock sounded a couple hours later. Reese rubbed bleary eyes and minimized a puzzling bank statement on her father’s laptop. “Come in!”
A tall, well-built man sauntered across the threshold, his lithe, animal grace drawing her eye. Kept her looking. He halted a few feet from her desk and the left side of his mouth rose before the right in a roguish smile, revealing slightly pointy canines and C-shaped dimples in lean cheeks. His smooth, caramel-colored skin got her wondering how he’d taste.
Oh. My.
He was the definition of eye candy.
“Ms. Landon?”
“Yes?” She shoved her messy hair behind her ears and tried not to stare. Try being the operative word, since she failed miserably. Despite a slightly crooked nose, pronounced jaw, and strong forehead over watchful blue eyes, his rugged features added up to an arresting face. He moved like a dancer but resembled a boxer, the strange, heady combination sending her blood somersaulting in her veins.
“May I?” He gestured to the door.
“I prefer it open, Mr.—”
He ran a hand over his close-cropped dark hair. “I’d rather keep that to myself with the door open…listeners lurking.”
Her breath stalled. The wolves circled already. Was he her father’s shooter? He resembled a hit man. The kind of guy movie scripts referred to as “the muscle.” Was he here to collect money her father owed? Her dad had borrowed from loan sharks before.
Reese snatched up her phone. “I’d like two coffees in my office now, please.” Her eyebrows rose at the man’s startled expression. She covered the mouthpiece. “Cream? Sugar?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking like she’d caught him off balance. Good. Maybe she had. Either way, he couldn’t attack her with beverage service arriving any moment.
“Black.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of well-worn jeans, the faded material riding low on narrow hips.
“Two black coffees, thanks.” She set the phone in the cradle and pointed to the chair in front of her father’s desk.
He slid into it, dwarfing the piece. “I’d appreciate a moment with you in private, Ms. Landon.”
“I’m sure you would,” she answered smoothly, doing her best to act like she spoke with petty criminals every day. He might not be one. Yet something about him—an electricity, the way his eyes lasered in on her—made her jumpy and aware, maybe even a little afraid, if the goose bumps on her arms were any sign.
“What can I do for you?” Her fingernails dug into the desk’s soft underside. The wall safe caught her eye.
Suddenly, a badge appeared in his hand. The metal gleamed, sharp and bright, against his calloused palm. In the next instant, it vanished. What the hell? She’d never met an officer who looked like a thug before. Just the clean-cut, starched-uniform types.
One who’d acted like a criminal, she amended.
The bartender arrived, carrying a small tray with steaming mugs of coffee. A red rose in a bud vase bloomed beside them. He shoved a cup at the stranger then smiled wide as he handed Reese her coffee and presented her with the flower.
“To brighten your day.”
“Thanks.” She buried her nose in the fragrant bloom, mind racing. Did she want her employee to stay or go?
When her gaze lifted, she met the police officer’s eyes. Humor sparked in them at her bartender’s cheesy bow and, despite her wariness, the twinkle disarmed her.
“That’s all—ah—” Shoot. She didn’t know the guy’s name.
He swung his empty tray by his side. “I’m Bryan, with a y, though there’s no question about me. I’m a sure thing.”
She sputtered on her sip of coffee, and the cop’s lips twitched. Did this crap actually work on women?
“Good to know, Bryan with a y,” she said evenly. “I’ll call if I need anything else.”
He flipped back his tousled bangs and squinted at her, Blue Steel–style, before stalking from the room. She blew out a breath and shook her head. Bryan came on stronger than the coffee.
“The guy’s got game,” the officer observed smoothly, then gulped his drink, a playful look in his eyes.
“Do you think he practices those lines or comes up with them on the spot?” She clamped her mouth shut. What the hell was she doing joking around with a cop?
He lowered his coffee and grinned. “To achieve that degree of sophistication, I’d say no thought whatsoever.”
Laughter bubbled inside and bulged her cheeks as she held it back. She had to give it to the officer, he was funny…but he was still a cop, she reminded herself.
The officer’s face grew sober. He pointed at the door again. “May I? What I have to say is sensitive.”
She nodded, wary but intrigued. He was a strange mixture of business and play, turning those sides of himself on and off at whiplash speed.
Another fortifying gulp of coffee perked her up, the bitter black starching her spine. Whatever this cop had for her, she was ready.
Bring it.
“What can I do for you, Officer—” she asked after he’d checked the area beyond her door, closed it, and resumed his seat.
“Knight. Blake Knight. I’m a detective with the Dallas Police Department’s narcotics unit.”
She set down her mug. “Interesting uniform…” And a sexy one, considering the way his white tee stretched across his broad chest. The fitted shirt revealed taut, shifting abdominals whenever he moved, or breathed, or—oh, God. Was she staring? Again? She forced her eyes upward and caught the alluring sparkle in his eyes. Yep. She’d been staring.
Busted.
“Glad you like it.” His deep rumble of a voice filled the room, amusement edging each word.
Get a grip, girl. She pulled her chair closer to the desk and lifted her chin.
“So, you’re the one who’s been calling me all day.” She arched an eyebrow. “Can’t take a hint?”
“I don’t take no for an answer.” His deep blue eyes sunk into hers.
A shiver of awareness danced down her spine at his calm, assured expression. She sensed a lethal force behind that easy smile. A man who took what he wanted and caught what he chased.
If she was his target, though, he’d be disappointed. Time to turn the tables and pursue the information she needed. “What can you tell me about my dad, beyond where and when he was shot?”
“Without a witness, there isn’t much. My officers are following up on a few leads. That’s all we’ve got for now.”
“Thanks for the information-filled update. Be sure to have Bryan validate your parking on the way out.” She returned her attention to her dad’s computer and tapped its keyboard by way of dismissal, frustrated at Officer Knight’s caginess. He had to know more than he said.
“I’m leading a steroids-ring investigation in this area,” he continued without missing a beat. “We’ve recently lost our informant.”
“What does this have to do with my family?”
He drummed his fingertips together, his eyes unreadable. “Your father was our informant.”
Shock waves ran through her.
“S-say that again.”
“Your father agreed to cooperate with us.”
A haze clouded her vision. “And why would he work with you?”
“Because we threatened to shut down the club for serving minors.”
She bolted to her feet, her body shaking. “You’ve been blackmailing him? Making him cooperate in an investigation that could get him killed? Do you know how far he’ll go to keep this club afloat? Since my mother passed, this is all he has.”
And me, though he’d never seen it that way, no matter how hard she’d tried snagging his attention, winning his approval. Maybe if she caught her father’s attacker, things would finally change between them, and she’d have the loving father who’d practically disappeared after her mother died. The one she missed, wanted and still needed.
“Please. Calm down, Ms. Landon.” He spread his hands, the cursory gesture not reassuring her one bit. “And accept my sympathies for what happened to your father.”
Her teeth ground together. “I need answers, Detective, not your pity. I’m assuming you’ve connected your case with my dad’s attack?”
He nodded. “I can’t share much, but yes. I need your help.”
“You’re asking for favors but won’t give me anything in return. In what universe does that work?”
When he leaned in close, unease swept through her. More than his impressive height and build, something in his bearing spoke of back-alley fights and knives in the dark. “Assassin” fit him better than “officer.” Maybe he wasn’t as different from Officer Bates as she thought. They faced each other for a long moment, separated by the desk, their breaths coming short and fast as they stared each other down.
His wide shoulders lifted and fell. “Justice is all I care about. Fairness isn’t a consideration.”
“Bryan with a y would get more cooperation from me than you,” she fired back.
“Bryan isn’t going to catch your father’s shooter, is he?” He angled his face, jaw tight.
She didn’t so much sit as her legs buckled. “No,” she admitted at last. “Though there isn’t much I can tell you, either.” Or not a lot that she would. If she let them snoop around the business, serving minors might be the least of the offenses leading to Dallas Heat’s shutdown.
Officer Knight propped a sneaker over his opposite knee. “A uniform will be down to question you about your father. I’m after something else altogether.”
She stopped fiddling with the loose knob on the desk drawer and stared at him. “And what would that be?” Despite her best attempt, her voice came out hushed, a slight quiver on the end. If he didn’t want information, it’d be something much more dangerous.
His tense expression grew uneasy, shamefaced. What appeared to be embarrassment softened his brutish face.
“I need a job.”