Billi Jean (40 page)

Drew’s partner, a bear of a red-haired man named James Mateo, strolled into the room and sat down in the closest chair. “You ready for this one?”

Drew looked up from his sketch. “This one what? We knew the bastard couldn’t stay underground for long. We just gotta prove he’s the one who took McCall down and put him in the dumpster.” He shuddered thinking about the photos of Randy hacked up and left to rot behind the gentlemen’s club.

James crossed his legs and flipped open his notepad. “True. Randy was one hell of an officer, even if he chose the damn stupid name of Slade as a cover. Tiny’s always looking to make a quick buck. You think he’s shaking down the girls? It was a stroke of genius to send you and Nester in as customers. You know the lay of the so-called land and Tiny thinks you’re clean. As clean as a bouncer in a strip club can be.”

Drew added some details to his drawing and frowned. The woman in the sketch had begun to take on the features of the elusive female from down the hallway in his decoy apartment building. The soft-spoken brunette with the sparkling ice-blue eyes. The girl who lugged the enormous art portfolio down to the parking lot each morning. The one whose smile warmed his heart on the coldest evenings. The one woman he wanted to get to know better, preferably naked…and she had no idea.

He ground his teeth together. With this new undercover operation, any meeting with the sweet-natured female was out of the question. At least, not under the pretence of the truth.

“Is she your new girlfriend?”

Drew crinkled his brows. “No. I can’t get with her.”

James elbowed Drew’s ribs. “Why the hell not? If she’s as hot as your scribble there, then you’d better hit that.”

Drew shook his head. “I can’t get involved while undercover. You know the rules as well as I do. Plus, if Carlie found out she’d kill me.”

James slapped the pad on the wooden desk. “Bullshit. She walked away from you to screw around with Troy Balleswicz over in Vice. She doesn’t deserve your second chances. So what’s this chick’s name?”

Drew tossed his pen onto his own graffiti-decorated desk. “You’re right. I don’t owe Carlie anything, but Wallace put her in the Silver Steel as one of the dancers—Gold Dust Woman, if I’m not mistaken. If I get the security detail, then I gotta work with her. She’ll make life hell for any other female in my life. I don’t need that kind of crap right now.”

James folded his arms. “You didn’t answer my question. What’s Scribble’s real name?”

“I’m not sure what her real name is. They have stage names.” Drew raked his fingers through his hair. “I still haven’t worked up the nerve to speak to her. She’s quiet and always on the move. I can’t pin her down unless she’s at the club and I don’t want to spook her by coming off as a pervert or another guy wanting to cop a quick feel.” He averted his gaze from Mateo. “Trust me… If I could, I would ask this girl for a private dance.”

Lieutenant Frank Wallace strolled into the room with retired Detective Ross Malsam in tow. James dug his elbow into Drew’s ribs again. “When this is all over, you got a month of vacation time coming. Why not hunt her down and tag that?”

Drew frowned. “Tag that? How about I just learn her name and see what happens from there?”

Wallace cleared his throat. “If you’re done chatting, ladies, I called you two in here for the Silver Steel operation.”

James shrugged and grabbed a pen and notebook from his bag.

Drew groaned and half-listened to the directive. His dream girl ruled his brain.

“Gentlemen, the drug problem in the west end is getting worse. After the discovery of McCall’s body, we’re not taking chances. Salazar ‘Tiny’ Balthazar’s targeting the girls in the exotic clubs. Two are missing and one is confirmed dead. Alwyn, I want you to work the security detail as a transfer from the Pink Pussy Cat Club in Chatsworth. Kenworth supplied me with a list of the dancers and Malsam has given me the accompanying photographs.”

Ross Malsam handed each detective a manila folder. The former officer swept his comb-over across his forehead and frowned. His brown eyes darkened. “Drew, Tiny knows your reputation from the PPC and wants you personally. He’s always got something up his sleeve, so keep on your guard double time. I lost McCall. I don’t want to replace you too. Mateo, you’ll come in for an interview tonight as a bartender. Harry’s looking forward to the help. Questions?”

Drew flipped through the stack of pictures. Most of the women wore too much makeup. Their hair fluffed around their faces. Forced smiles painted their lips. He knew each girl and their particular dance styles, not that he cared. He rolled his eyes until he came to the last image. His breath caught fast in his throat.

Mateo elbowed Drew. “That’s your girl. According to the dossier, her stage name is Judy Blue Eyes, but her real name is Jude Nelson. Looks like a sweet thing. Innocent, ya know?”

Drew shook his head and drank in her details. Kohl-rimmed blue eyes sparkled and her pale skin shone with the honest smile on her crimson lips. Ringlets cascaded from the crown of her head and swathed her pink-tinged cheeks. “She looks too innocent to work in such a dive.”

“I’m sorry, Alwyn. Is there a conflict?” Wallace asked. “You have the best inside information on this operation. McCall was your friend. If you have any issues, then you need to get out now. Your work as Ramon Decker is essential.”

Drew closed the folder. He glanced at Ross. “No conflict. I’ll be fine. It’s just different to see the dancers I pretended to ogle as real people.” Sure, he’d be fine if he could stay a decent distance from Jude. A voice in the back of his mind didn’t agree.

She’s your salvation.

As Wallace returned to his directive, Drew slipped Jude’s photo from the folder. He prayed she didn’t remember him and, if she did, he hoped she wasn’t involved in the drug ring. He needed to trust one insider.

Or maybe he simply wanted her.

Shit
.

An hour later, Drew headed out of the office and into the parking garage. He craved space, speed and chrome in order to get into character as Ramon Decker—bouncer and all-around hard-ass.

“I am Ramon,” he chanted. “I am Ramon, the bouncer and tough guy extraordinaire. I have to believe it so they’ll believe it.”

Instead of the elevators, Drew chose the exercise and fresher air of the stairwell. His days as a beat cop had enticed him with wide-open spaces and room to move. Now that he’d become a detective, he coveted his freedom—it reminded him of his time on the farm when he’d had no commitments. He liked having space to work within the team, though, rather than carrying the entire load on his shoulders as he had as a child.

When he opened the door to the second level, his cell phone rang. He knew the ring tone—Carlie Kenworth, his most recent ex-girlfriend. He stopped on the landing to answer her call. Since their acrimonious split six months ago, he’d refused to talk to her and she ignored him unless she wanted something. Now, circumstances were forcing them to work together and get along.

He used his cold, authoritative voice. “This is Alwyn.”

Carlie was the type of woman who never knew when to give up and walk away, especially when she was the one to cause the problems. Carlie hated competition. He couldn’t forget that her jealous streak was a country mile wide and violent. Although she was a stunning woman with statuesque legs, perfectly coiffed bleached blonde hair and high cheekbones, her downfall was her selfishness.

He didn’t
have time for her shenanigans. A raw shiver ran the length of his spine. Bile rose in his throat. Carlie had a tendency of showing up when he least expected her…like right then.

She giggled. “I know who you are, silly.”

“What do you want, Carlie?”

“Are you alone?”

“Nope.” He leaned on the wall of the parking garage.

On her end of the line, she snorted. “Who are you with? Anyone I should know?” The question served as a thinly veiled reference to the reason they’d split up—she’d cheated on him with another officer on the police force.

Drew glanced through the window in the steel door out at his motorcycle. It was a used Harley that had needed restorative work when he’d bought it. After his brand of TLC, the machine gleamed like it was brand new. It was his pride and joy.

“You’ve never met,” he said smoothly.
And you never will…

“Can you come over?”

He gritted his teeth. “Are you drunk? We have a major case going that you can’t screw up because you’re angry.”

“I’m just looking for a good time before we go back undercover.”

Drew rolled his eyes. “Carlie, honey, we broke up. You didn’t want me then, but now you do? Look, I’m a good detective, but I need a few clues. What’s changed?”

“I can admit my mistakes,” she purred. “Letting you go was my biggest. You’re a great catch and a compassionate lover.”

“I see. Why do you
really
want me there?”

So she could rip out his heart and stomp it into the floor? Or maybe sleep with a co-worker and then laugh because he’d taken offence? Yeah, he felt sorry that she was lonely, but not that he’d walked away. A man could only take so much emotional abuse.

“I’m making martinis and thought you could share the drinks with me. I’ve been lonely without you.”

“Really?”

“I want to reconnect with
you
. We had such great times together and I miss the way you made me scream. No one has ever been able to match you—not even Troy.”

Drew rolled his eyes again. He’d made her scream all right. She’d screamed from when he’d walked in the door until the minute he’d walked back out. Her language made the most vulgar individuals look tame by comparison. She could just stick with the other officer—he’d had enough.

“Well… Think about it.” She blew a kiss into the phone.

Drew groaned. “Much as I like your company, I’ll pass.”

“But—”

He cut off any further argument when he snapped the phone shut and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “I know I have to work with her, but I really need to block her personal calls.”

Drew took a breath of fresh air. As he burst through the parking garage door, three rows of vehicles ranging from family to sleek sports cars belonging to his co-workers welcomed him like silent sentries. Silence was exactly what he desired after the irritating call from Carlie.

The early September evening was cool and almost abrasive on his skin. The setting sun gave the chrome on the bike an orange glow. He sat astride the leather seat and gripped the handlebars. Being on the bike made him feel powerful and sexy. Drew needed to feel manly and desired
. Jude
. She brought out his virility. He revved the engine. She stirred him, and yet she was the one woman he couldn’t pursue. The situation reminded him of something his buddy Ned used to say.

What kind of fool messes up a good thing?

A man with a dick for brains.

Drew laughed without humour at the pun and took in the sights of the main drag to clear his mind. He wasn’t afraid of women—quite the opposite. He liked most women. But the right woman, the one who turned his world inside out, didn’t seem to exist.

Was there any woman who could love him without screwing him over? He’d had Nat, Wren, and Carlie… None of those women had flipped the switch. They had labelled him a failure and a cold-hearted man. After so much rejection, he’d begun to believe he would end up alone, like his father.

He tried to dislodge the depressive thoughts in his head. Forget women and relationships—look at the scenery and blend into the job.

Drew considered the buildings and neighbourhoods of his home town. Closed restaurants, lumbering factory buildings and abandoned furniture stores littered the area. He shook his head. The big box retail shops had moved out to the more prosperous edge of town, leaving the main city to decay. What had been a booming urban area thirty years prior was now a sad, empty and dilapidated shell of its former self. Green space was at a severe premium.

Economic healing? Not here… Concrete and crime were everywhere. All of which he remembered clearly from his beat cop days.

Drew’s humour masked his unhappiness. Just like his birthplace, he felt like a broken-down shell of his younger self. Used and abused.

He remembered when Carrington Falls had been a thriving area for oil and steel. Now it looked like a sad excuse for a ghost town with all the buildings boarded up or turned into seedy bars and strip clubs. It was cold and distant, just like his heart. So much for being a warm place to raise a family, like it used to be. Not anymore. He couldn’t make himself feel what wasn’t there.

Drew swung his long legs off the bike and turned to the setting sun. The slight warmth heated his face. Determination coiled around his brain as he locked the bike in the storage unit and strode towards the Nissan across the parking lot. For Randy and the other fallen officers, he’d nail the murderer and shut down the drug ring. “I am Ramon Decker and I’m here for the job of bouncer.”

With renewed spirit, Drew became Ramon and drove the battered black car to the strip club. He was a regular customer and tonight he’d become a part of the inner group.
Time for sex with no strings or feelings—just cold distant sex and hot chicks willing to shake it. Time to kiss up to the bad guy so I can stick his ass in jail
.

He walked along the crumbling black asphalt of the parking lot, past the cool red brick façade and neon signs shouting
Girls, Girls, Girls
, and
XXX Shows
, into the foyer of the Silver Steel.
Here’s to the next benchmark in my life.

* * * *

Jude Nelson stood at the back of the dressing room and stretched in front of the mirror. Nude except for the flesh-coloured thong, she proceeded to examine every inch of her body to see what she could manipulate on stage to be sexier. In her opinion, she saw a plain woman with average looks.

Jude knew she wasn’t exactly the ideal specimen for an exotic dancer. Diminutive at a mere five feet two inches, she sported size C breasts and curvy hips. Far from fat, she saw herself as voluptuous in a smaller package.