SEAL’s Desire (8 page)

Mitchell’s pulse quickened. “Rocco say anything about it?”

“No, the rumor was she left to go back home. But she told me she didn’t have any family. Her parents were killed in a car wreck and she didn’t have no brothers or sisters.” She leaned forward and squinted into the mirror. “On her own, she was. I offered to let her stay with me. She moved her stuff in and slept there a couple nights, but then nothing.”

Mitchell applied lipstick to her mouth, pretending the information meant little to her. “Are you sure she didn’t lie about her family?”

“That’s just it. She left everything there. A picture of her and her parents. I looked them up on the internet. There was a news article about the crash and the names all matched.” Dixie Lee turned and spread out her hands. “Why would she leave all her stuff? And she had a wad of cash from her tips in a bag beneath her mattress. No way she’d go off without that.”

Mitchell touched Dixie Lee’s arm and lowered her voice. “You think Rocco took her?”

Dixie Lee shrugged, glanced over Mitchell’s shoulder and froze. “You should use some of this body glitter. The customers like it when our cleavage sparkles.” The older woman pressed a bottle of glitter into her hand.

Candi walked by, her eyes narrowed. “I’m on first tonight,” she announced with a flip of her hair. “You two will dance together. And give the audience a little girl-on-girl action.”

“Who made you queen bee?” Dixie Lee stood with her arms crossed over her full breasts.

“Look, Rocco tells me what he wants and I pass it along. You know…pillow talk.” She looked down her nose at Mitchell and Dixie Lee. “He likes me.”

“For now,” Dixie Lee muttered under her breath.

Mitchell caught her words and apparently so did Candi.

“What do you mean
for now
?” Candi demanded, planting both hands on her hips.

“Just that.” Dixie Lee’s chin rose. “He’ll keep you around until he’s bored or annoyed. I think he’ll hit annoyed first.”

Candi lunged for Dixie Lee’s platinum blond hair and pulled hard, jerking back the woman’s head. “Take it back, bitch!”

Training kicked in. Mitchell, grabbed Candi’ hand and bent back her thumb. “Release Dixie Lee or I’ll break it.”

Holding onto the fistful of hair, tears welling in her eyes, Candi sank lower. “Let go of me, you fuckin’ whore!”

Exerting a bit more pressure, Mitchell smiled at her grimly. “You first.”

Sweat popped out on Candi’s forehead and finally, she let go of Dixie Lee’s hair.

Mitchell released her hold on Candi’s thumb. As soon as she did, the woman swung.

Mitchell dodged, gripped her arm and dragged it up behind her, shoving it high between her shoulder blades. Then she pushed her up against the wall. “Try it again and I’ll break your pretty little nose. You won’t win with me, Candi, so don’t even try.”

“Rocco will have something to say about this.”

“I hope so. Then he can take it up directly with me. I don’t take orders from his whore.” Mitchell gritted out the last word and shoved the woman away from her. “Now, get out of my face. I have to apply body glitter.”

Candi rubbed her arm, glaring.

Mitchell darted toward her as if ready to attack her again. “Go!”

“You’ll be sorry you messed with me.” Candi scooted away, cursing all through the dressing room until she slammed the door at the end.

Dixie Lee dragged a brush through her hair, shaking her head, her lips pinched into a sad frown. “Honey, you just made yourself an enemy in Miss Candi.”

“And I should be worried?”

“That girl has a mean streak, and she plays dirty.” Dixie Lee held up her hands. “Just saying. If I was you, I’d watch my back and carry a big stick. Or better yet, a nine-millimeter Beretta.”

Maybe now I’m getting closer
. Mitchell edged toward the older woman. “Dixie Lee, is Rocco involved in anything other than this club?”

Dixie Lee’s eyes widened and she shot a look over her shoulder. “Sweetie, some questions we just don’t ask around here. And that’s one of them. Excuse me, I got tables to wait.” The woman left her standing in the dressing room.

Mitchell’s heartbeat banged against her chest. This was it. She was in the right place. She could feel it in her bones.

Based on Dixie’s warning and her reluctance to point any fingers at Rocco, he had to be at the bottom of the disappearances. She squared her shoulders and resolved to make her move that night.

The first dance music of the evening started. Candi would be on stage, which would keep her busy while Mitchell set her sights on Rocco.

*

Remy sat in
the back seat of Irish’s SUV surrounded by Fish, Irish, and Nacho. “You all know what’s at stake.”

“Got it,” each man said, one at a time until all in the vehicle had sounded off.

“We’re online,” Swede called out through the radio headset. “Comm check.”

“Fish, here.”

“Irish.”

“Nacho.”

From the group in the second SUV parked twenty feet away came voices across the radios.

“Tuck, here.”

“Dustman.”

“Big Bird.”

When the last member of the team reported in, Remy added his. “Gator, here. I’ve got a visual on the van and, Swede, I read you loud and clear.”

“Good. I have the target up on the monitor. She’s approximately forty yards to our east, which places her in the rear of the club.”

“The commander isn’t going to be happy when he realizes we appropriated all this equipment from supply,” Tuck observed.

Remy fought against a wince. “He will probably be pissed we didn’t include him on the operation, more so than for using the unit’s toys.”

“Especially if he hears we were at the Naughty Ladies Lounge,” Big Bird added.

“Hopefully, he won’t find out. Besides, we only took the radios,” Nacho said. “Swede has the main firepower in the van.”

Fish shook his head. “Where’d he get all that stuff?”

“It’s a hobby of mine,” Swede said into their headsets. “You guys collect guns. I collect computers and surveillance systems.”

“And we’re damned glad you do.” Remy grinned. SEALs lived their work.

“Kinda creepy, if you ask me,” Irish said.

Remy pressed the fake mustache he’d applied to his upper lip, hoping the semi-permanent glue held throughout the night. He didn’t want to get into it with Mutt and Jeff, the bouncer thugs from the night before. “Here’s to Operation Stripper.” He pushed open the vehicle door and climbed out, straightening the sweat jacket he had on over his black long-sleeved T-shirt. At the door to the club, the bouncer frisked him beneath his arms and down his back, searching for weapons or drugs.

Thankful he’d opted for a small handgun strapped to the inside of his calf, he stood still, waiting from the bouncer to get personal and move down his legs. If he did, he’d knee the bastard in the face, drag his ass behind the dumpster and go inside without being felt up by the man again.

The bouncer stopped at his back pockets, nodded and jerked his head. “You can go in.”

Remy waited just inside the door for his teammates. Once they’d all cleared the entrance, they worked their way through the tables to the front by the catwalk upon which the dancers strutted their stuff.

“How soon until Mitch goes on?” Tuck asked.

“I don’t know.” Remy’s gaze scanned the room for Mitchell.

A woman with bright red hair, wearing a police costume that would make her mother cringe, strutted out on the catwalk, turned and bent, showing the crowd her pale, white ass, separated by what appeared to be dental floss of a G-string.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Nacho pushed forward. “I always wanted me a redhead.”

“You’ll have to look for it somewhere else,” Tuck said. “That woman most likely is a brunette.”

“Hey, it’s
my
fantasy. Don’t poke holes in it.” Nacho removed several bills from his pocket and hurried toward the stage, waving them at the woman.

She slowed, turned to face him and dropped to her haunches, spreading her knees wide, exposing her satin-covered crotch. Leaning forward, she presented her barely covered breasts, crammed into a sequined bra that pushed them up and together.

“Yeah, baby.” Nacho tucked a bill into her bra. “What’s your name,
senorita
?”

“Candi.” She blew him a kiss, pivoted on her heels and straightened her legs, hiking her ass in the air while balancing her hands on her knees.

Nacho hooted and tucked a bill into the strap of her G-string at the top of her butt crack.

Remy muttered, “Focus on the mission, Sanchez.”

“We have to blend into the crowd,
amigo
,” Nacho responded with a wide grin.

Irish clapped a hand to Remy’s back. “The man has a point. Gator, lighten up, we’re supposed to be having fun.”

They were right. Remy rolled his shoulders and forced a smile to his face.

“Now you’re scaring me.” Irish laughed out loud. “You might want to lose the crazy grin.”

After they claimed a table, Remy glanced around the club, counting the number of men who appeared to be bouncers. One for each corner of the bar, two more, one at either side of the stage where the women performed. A man sat at a table in an area of the club with raised seating. He was surrounded by scantily dressed women and he had an unlit cigar in his hand.

Had to be Rocco Hatch.

The man’s dark hair was slicked back from a low forehead and he stared across the room at the dancer on the stage, ignoring the women around him. The two men flanking his table were the guys who’d followed Remy after Mitchell had dropped him off the night before.

Remy returned his attention to the stage. “Rocco Hatch at four o-clock on the raised seating area with his harem and goons.”

A waitress stopped at their table.

The men ordered a couple pitchers of beer. When the waitress left, Dustman’s gaze followed her. “I can’t swear by it, but isn’t that woman with the long curly blond hair wearing the dominatrix, biker chick costume our Mitchell?” He turned back to the woman on stage.

Remy let his drink napkin drop to the floor and bent to retrieve it, glancing behind him as he did. His heart skipped several beats and then raced on.

Mitchell wore thigh-high shiny black boots, a black leather mini jacket and a corset pushing her breasts up so high they looked like they might pop out of the contraption at any moment…Yowza, she was hot! And she was headed for Hatch.

Irish let out a low wolf whistle. “No wonder I didn’t recognize her last night. Holy shit. She’s so damned hot, I got an instant hard-on.”

His jaw tightening, Remy reminded the team, “She’s undercover. Have some respect.”

“I got a shitload of respect for her. Eight inches of respect.” Irish grinned.

Big Bird backhanded Irish hard to the gut. “In your dreams. In case you’ve forgotten, she’s Brewsky’s ex, God rest his soul.”

The team paused in remembrance of their fallen comrade.

A familiar twinge of guilt shadowed Remy’s conscience. He pushed it aside and concentrated on the operation.

“Who knew,” Irish muttered, his gaze focused on the stage. “Just saying. I would give my left nut for a girlfriend who looked like that.”

Nacho fidgeted, having given all his dollar bills away to Candi, he lifted his mug of beer and sipped. “Any idea when the action will start?”

Dustman glanced behind them and jerked his chin. “I’d say it’s starting.”

Remy stared across the table at Nacho, while following Mitchell’s every move in his peripheral vision.

She wrapped her arms around Rocco’s neck from behind and bent to nibble on his ear. Her actions appeared as if she was pushing for favor with the man.

He lifted his hand and cupped her face, turning to kiss her.

“Fucking bitch,” the female voice sounded from the stage in front of them.

Remy turned toward the stripper who’d been introduced as Candi.

She stopped dancing, her gaze locked on Rocco and Mitchell, her brown eyes narrowed into slits, her fists clenched at her sides. Before the song ended, she spun and marched off the stage. A moment later she appeared on the barroom floor, striding toward the raised seating area.

The woman could be trouble. Remy angled his chair toward the action.

Irish clapped his hands together, a grin spreading across his face. “I believe we’re about to witness a cat fight, if that chick has anything to say about it.”

Big Bird nodded. “My money’s on Mitchell. I saw her take Brewsky down one night when they were wrestling.”

“Yeah, she’s tough, but Candi looks like she can hold her own,” Nacho said.

Before Candi reached the group of people in the raised seating area, Rocco stood, glanced at his goons and jerked his head toward the advancing woman.

The two bouncers stepped between her and Rocco.

She said something, but the music was loud enough to drown her words.

Rocco ignored her, held out his arm for Mitchell and led her toward a door near the side of the stage.

Don’t leave
. Muscles tense, Remy started to rise.

Irish stuck out his arm, pushing him back into his seat. “You gotta let her work this operation from her angle. For all you know, she’s just getting ready for her turn on stage.”