Chances Are(14)

Holy hell, he was in trouble.



Roddy Rawlins was a short, stubby man with a raspy voice, tobacco-stained teeth and wise eyes. Without any seeming sexuality in his gaze, he assessed Angela as an employee and nodded approvingly.

“I understand you have pole dancing experience?”

“Yes.” Experience might be stretching it a bit since she’d never danced in a club. This would be very different from the gym where she had taken her classes. However, she had two things in her favor—skill and confidence. Her instructor, a former exotic dancer, had told her she was a natural. And though Angela knew she was far from perfect, she had the confidence to see this through. Would some of it make her uncomfortable? Absolutely. But in this case, the end definitely justified the means.

“Mr. McCall assured me you would fit in well. Normally I wouldn’t have room for another dancer, but one of my ladies quit two days ago. You can take her spot.”

“I brought my costume and music. I’m prepared to go on tonight.”

“Excellent.” He beamed approval and then, all business, leaned forward and said, “House rules are simple but strictly enforced. Customers aren’t allowed to touch, other than a hand slipping money into your garter or panties. Tops come off, bottoms are optional. Your call.”

Though she wasn’t looking at him, she felt Jake’s body tense up. Would he see her differently once she began to dance? And if so, would that be a good difference or bad? She gave a mental shrug. There was no point in worrying about that now. Besides, catching this lunatic trumped damaging their non-existent romance.

“How comfortable are you with lap dances?” Roddy asked.

The thought of sitting on some stranger’s lap and rubbing up against him sent shudders through her. There was only one man she wanted to do that with. “It’s something I’d prefer not to do. Is that all right?”

“Sure, but be prepared to get requests because most of the ladies offer this service. It’s a good money maker.”

“Maybe it’ll make her seem more mysterious and less approachable,” Jake said. “Something like that could piss off the killer.”

Roddy nodded slowly. “That’s a possibility. Half of my customers are regulars who come in two or three nights a week. The other half includes men on business trips, bachelor parties, and the occasional passerby who want entertainment with their alcohol. But we state clearly on our marquis that lap dances are available for an extra charge.”

“Is pissing him off the right way to go?” Angela asked.

Jake shrugged. “Could be. If he gets so anxious he can’t control himself, he might make a mistake. It’s worth a try.”

“Then it’s a go. No lap dances for…” Roddy turned back to Angela. “What’s your stage name?”

Silly, but this had been the most difficult thing to decide. A name could have a visceral impact on the killer, forming the image of what he wanted her to be in his mind. Would calling herself one thing instead of another make him see her as his next victim or scare him away to go after someone else? In the end, she’d decided she was over-thinking and had come up with something easy that worked for her.

“Dark Angel,” she said.

“Excellent. We don’t have anything similar right now. Our ladies get along well. There’s the occasional blow-up, but most of the time, they’re focused on giving the best performances possible.”

“How many times will I dance each night?”

“Twice if everyone shows up. Three times max.” Roddy turned to Jake again. “And your role is new owner. Right?”

Jake nodded. Martin Tabor, the owner of Club Drago was an acquaintance of Noah’s. Tabor had agreed to make it appear he’d sold the club to an American businessman. Jake’s presence would simply look like a new owner enjoying his newest business acquisition.

“I’ll stay in the audience, walk around a bit. It’ll give me a chance to assess everyone without seeming suspicious.” He tilted his head toward Angela. “My top priority is making sure she stays safe.”

Roddy nodded. “That’ll work fine but I’ve got one question, mate.”

“What’s that?” Jake asked.

“Are you going to be able to handle it when men make sexual comments about your woman?”

Why would Roddy assume she was Jake’s woman? She was about to explain that this wasn’t the case when Jake muttered, “I’ll handle it.”

Angela swallowed a gasp. No denial that she wasn’t his woman. And the grimness of his tone gave her shivers. Whatever Jake’s reasons for not wanting to take their relationship to a sexual level, he definitely had strong feelings about having other men seeing her nude.

Roddy nodded. “I’ll hold you to that. I want this killer caught too but having you disrupt business is out of the question.”

Business was business, both she and Jake understood that concept.

She stood and held out her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Rawlins. We’ll do our best to have no impact on your business.”

For the first time Roddy gave her a look of pure lust, his eyes oozing up and down her body like thick slime. “Oh, I think you’ll have an impact on the business but it will all be very good.” If possible, the tone of his voice was even slimier than his look.

Wanting to put their discussion back on a business-like basis, she chose to take his words as a compliment. Maintaining a pleasant and neutral expression, she kept her hand outstretched.

The sleazy expression disappeared and Roddy smiled congenially as he gave a firm, business-like handshake. “You’re going to do just fine.”

It had been a test. Angela was glad she had passed it.

“What time do I go on and where’s the dressing room?”

“You’re on at nine and then at ten-thirty. Be back here by seven-thirty. That’ll give you some time to get a look around and the chance to meet the other ladies before your first performance.”

She felt Jake at her back as they left Roddy’s office, went through the club and out into the early evening. Traffic was at a fever pitch with car horns blaring and the occasional zoom of a vehicle that managed to get out of the gridlock.

“You want to get some dinner or go back to the apartment?” Jake asked.

Go back to the apartment so soon after what had happened earlier? No freaking way. “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

The relief on his face obvious, he said, “There’s a good Italian restaurant a couple of blocks up.”

Angela silently followed him down the street. She shouldn’t be hurt that he didn’t want to go back to the apartment. This job was not about her unrequited love, it was about saving lives. The sting of his rejection would fade. This was her first LCR op and she was determined to do the best job she could. Jake was her partner and handler. To expect something more from him was not only unprofessional, it was silly. She was out to catch a killer, not get laid.

With that cemented in her mind, she managed to carry on a halfway intelligent conversation about the various Italian recipes she’d learned in a cooking class. So intent on acting as if nothing was bothering her, she hardly noticed that the discussion was all one-sided.



How are you going to handle men making sexual comments about your woman? The question reverberated through Jake’s head. The fact that Roddy had read him correctly should bother him but he had bigger concerns. The brief taste the man had given of just one slime-ball stare made him realize he wasn’t as detached as he had told himself he would be. Jake was a born protector—a trait that had occasionally driven Teresa crazy. He knew the vile things people could do to each other and had wanted to keep her safe. In the end, he had failed miserably.

Protecting Angela was going to be doubly difficult. Not only would he have to restrain himself from going after the men in the club, he also had to be on the lookout for the crazed madman who might want to kill her. And his feelings for her, whether he wanted to admit them or not, weren’t the mildly affectionate ones he told himself he could allow. The things she made him feel were gut deep and full of all the emotions he’d denied himself for years.

But they had to be shoved back, out of the way. These kinds of feelings weren’t something he could allow, especially on an op.

They walked into the small mom and pop Italian restaurant he’d eaten at a couple of times when he’d been vacationing here. Angela had chattered nonstop since they’d left the club, seemingly unaware of his lack of words.

They were seated and had placed their order before Jake spoke. Wanting to get the discussion back to an easygoing non-confrontational status they’d developed over the last few months, Jake said, “I ate here a couple of times when I was on vacation. I think you’ll like it.”

Stupid to forget that Angela was the queen of confrontations.

Leaning forward, she seared him with her eyes and said softly, “So, am I your woman, Jake?”