Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club #4) (3 page)

“Wait, let’s talk about—”

I slammed the bedroom door in his face, wincing at the noise, but it was worth it. A heartbeat later I had my pillow mashed on top of my head, shutting out the world.

At mid-morning the Starbucks was surprisingly empty. I grabbed a muffin and a cup of coffee, then dropped down into a seat across from my handler, Shane.

“Not much to report,” I said. “The guy Nina took last night wasn’t connected. I didn’t hear anything of interest, but I’ll log it all tomorrow.”

Shane blinked. “Good morning.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Morning.” I crammed a chunk of muffin in my mouth.

He gave me an easy smile. Shane was a good guy, who never bristled at my direct attitude, but also called me on my bullshit. I had a lot of respect for him, and trusted him literally with my life.

I’d been working this undercover assignment for a year, but it felt like a lifetime. It was a pretty good gig, and certainly better than my last. My days were free to work the desk at the bureau and help out, and in order to keep up appearances, I got salon treatments and a shopping budget on the government dime. I would have rather spent time at the shooting range or in the field, but after Nevada . . . I was lucky to land another primary assignment so soon.

The bureau didn’t have options. I’d gone through undercover training at Quantico, had experience, and I’d relocated to the windy city after the major bust in Reno. When the opportunity to get someone inside the blindfold club arose, I wasn’t just the best choice for the Chicago branch, I was the only one.

I’d changed to my middle name and taken the fake last name of Wilson, and Shane always used it. We met out in public, so it was easier this way for him not to slip.

“What about the other girls?”

I shook my head. “Nope. No fish on the line.”

That was what this operation was all about, catching the little fish in our net, and getting them to bait the hook for larger ones. The evidence I’d collected during my undercover work had already assisted in a half-dozen investigations for multiple branches of law enforcement, but the truly big fish still eluded me.

Congressman Victor Bennett. Shane and I both believed he was as dirty as they came, which was saying a lot for ‘Crook’ County, but the Congressman’s people were loyal. We had no concrete evidence, and still hadn’t found anyone willing to flip on him.

“It’s only a matter of time,” Shane reminded. “One of Bennett’s aides or an alderman he’s worked with is bound to walk through the doors.”

“Sooner would be better.” The bureau typically capped undercover roles at a year, although they’d let this one run longer. Even if what Shane said was true, it could take weeks to secure the little fish’s cooperation and verify their testimony. Pulling together all of the elements to support a corruption charge, one that would stick, was a lengthy, tedious process.

“You okay?” Worry edged Shane’s eyes.

“I’m fine.” I turned my coffee cup on the tabletop. Since Shane was my handler, I needed to make sure he had all of the information, including my personal life. Most of my undercover work overlapped with my regular life. It was the easiest way not to get caught in a lie. “When I came home last night, I caught Matt with another woman. So . . . that’s over.”

Shane shifted in his seat as he visibly struggled with an appropriate response. “Jesus. How are you—”

I waved my hand. “Fine.”

He digested the information further. “Lemme get this straight. He brought another woman back to the apartment you live in?”

“Fucked her right on the couch we bought together.”

“I would have thought he’d be smarter than that, seeing as how he’s a doctor.”

“He even had the nerve to blame it on me.” My gaze drifted away from the empty table I’d been staring at, and shifted to the older man across from me. “Matt said I was too detached and cold.”

Shane’s expression gave too much away. He agreed at least a little with Matt’s assessment, but tried to hide it.

“Wow,” I said. “You would have been horrible at going UC.”

My handler’s shoulders straightened and he took a long breath. “You want me to lie to you? You’re smart, so you know you’re a little rough. And, Regan, that’s okay. If I was in your situation, I wouldn’t know how to deal either.” Shane’s expression was serious. “You could talk to someone about it, if you don’t feel comfortable talking with me.”

That was pointless. “Talking won’t change what happened.”

“You’re wrong. It’ll change the way you feel.”

Except I didn’t feel anything. I shook my head. “I did my required time with the Undercover Safeguard Unit.” What more did they want from me? “I was cleared.” I could see Shane wasn’t convinced. “If I feel like I want to talk about it more, I’ll let you know.”

“All right.” The muscles along his jawline tightened. Was he biting back more he wanted to say? “Anything else I should be aware of?”

“No. We could have done this over the phone and I wouldn’t have ruined your Sunday morning with the wife.”

His lips tugged into a half-smile. “Are you kidding? Kelly’s thrilled to have the leverage over me. She’s got big landscaping plans for the front yard, and I’ll have to help execute. Plus, it’s hard to do a visual eval on the phone.”

“I’m
fine
,” I groaned. It’s not like it was Shane’s fault—the request for a check-in had likely come from above.

“Okay, then.” He finished his coffee and stood. “You want me to give Dr. Douchebag a hard time?”

It came from him like a big brother watching out for his sister, although I didn’t have anything to compare it to. I only had sisters. And I wasn’t sure if Shane was joking. It would be easy to pull Matt aside and ruin his afternoon.

“Please, don’t waste your time.” I stood and downed the last of my coffee. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get to the landscaping.”

He faked a scowl. “My back hurts already.” He took our empty cups and tossed them in the trash. “Keep me in the loop.” It was the catch phrase that had developed between us, our way of saying goodbye.

“Of course.”

For a while Payton McCreary was the queen of the blindfold club, the Madame who stood behind Julius and ran it all. He’d had big shoes to fill when Joseph sold the club and went legit, so Payton had stepped up to help in the transition.

It’d been five months, and now that Julius finally had the swing of things, we saw less of her.

The other girls talked about Payton like she was a legend. She’d started the club with Joseph and been his original girl, but all that was in the past. She’d quit the club, moved away, and came back engaged a year later. She managed the club from time to time to help Joseph out. She got Julius on his feet, and now only filled in at the club when a sales assistant was sick. Usually she filled in for me.

I was surprised to see her in the dressing room on Saturday night. Of all the women at the club, she was the one I gravitated toward. Payton was intelligent, friendly, and what I liked most about her—direct. I tried not to look down on the people at the club, not just because of the breaks it gave us in so many cases, but the people here weren’t actively hurting anyone.

It was illegal, but I didn’t see the world only in hard black and white.

“Hey, stranger,” Payton said, smiling my direction as she set about changing into more professional clothes. Judging by her jeans and t-shirt, she’d probably gotten the call last minute.

“Hey.” I smiled right back at her. “How’s wedding planning going?”

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “You’d have to ask my mother.” Her hands unbuttoned the jeans and pushed them down her long legs. “I keep telling Dominic we should have gotten married in Japan.”

Payton had lived overseas with her fiancé for more than a year. “Why didn’t you?”

A sigh came from beneath her t-shirt as it was pulled off. “Our families want the big wedding. Dominic does, too.”

I gave her a skeptical look, followed by a grin. “Aw, he’s a romantic.”

She snorted. “You have no idea.”

As she reached for the dress on the hanger, I caught the flash of something black on her hip. Her tattoo. The small characters rested below her waist, by a hipbone. I’d seen it during my job interview. Joseph had led me to believe Payton had returned from Japan newly single and eager to work at the club, only the man who walked in to negotiate for her was clearly her fiancé.

“That’s Japanese?” I asked.

She nodded. “Dominic’s idea. He has one too, because he’s so
romantic
.” She laughed softly, but sobered a little. “I kinda like it. I mean, knowing I’ve got his mark and he’s got mine on him.”

My muscles tensed. I had another man’s mark on me, a permanent reminder of what had happened. I couldn’t get it removed.

But . . . what if I could change it?

It was a ridiculous idea.
You fucking hate needles, remember?
I shoved the line of thinking away. I did hate needles, but maybe I could kill two birds with one stone. Change the reminder and kill the fear.

“Where’d you get it done?” I asked her, my throat tight.

“In Japan. Why?”

The scared part of me was relieved, urging me to forget about it. “Just curious, you know, if I was thinking about getting something—”

“Did you ever see Joseph’s tattoo?”

I gave her a plain look. The only way I would have seen it was if I’d messed around with him, as so many of the girls here did before he met his girlfriend.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, her voice teasing. “I forgot you’re a prude. Anyway, his tattoo is fucking amazing. He knows a guy. You want me to ask Joseph for his number?”

It’s just a phone number
, I told myself. You don’t have to do anything with it, but keep your options open.

I shrugged. “Sure, thanks.”

Chapter

THREE

White textured paint covered half the walls, and then gave way to black gloss. Beneath my feet, black and white checkerboard tiles. The space was an art gallery, not a tattoo parlor. Pin lighting illuminated pictures, some framed and some photo canvases. This place was upscale and sexy. Had I written the address down wrong?

A slender black man, the bare dome of his head gleaming like it had been shined to a finish, rose from a desk in the back of the room. He smoothed down the line of buttons on his dress shirt and flashed a friendly smile.

“Can I help you?” His voice was pleasant.

I glanced at the enormous art piece hanging on the wall to my right, which was a hunk of twisted metal, both copper and silver wrapped around each other.

“I’m not sure I’m where I’m supposed to be. I’m Regan. Are you Silas?”

“Ah, no.” The man smiled and checked his watch. “He should be here any minute.”

Okay, I was in the right place, but where were the chairs and the different designs on the wall? How the hell was I going to pick something without options? My gaze slid away from the patterned metal sculpture as I struggled against the unease. The worry about the needle and the pain was a thick sludge, churning in my belly.

The faster this Silas got here, the faster I could get through the tattoo. I hated this jittery, agitated feeling. Weak. “Do you have some designs I can look at while I wait?”