Her Reluctant Hero: A Romantic Suspense Boxed Set Page 12

  “Who’s asking?” one of the bodyguards demanded.

  “I’m Isabella.” She didn’t take her eyes from Jorge, but he betrayed no reaction. “I’m looking for Santiago.”

  Jorge stepped back and gestured toward the door, for her to precede him. She resisted the urge to look back over her shoulder, to get Alex’s approval, before she nodded, ducked her head and walked into the darkness.

  The scent of stale alcohol, sex and sickness assaulted her the minute she walked in the door. Though the bar and the three stages, all with poles, were familiar. There was something about this place that made her feel filthy, beyond the three silent men watching her.

  She put her hands on her hips, though she wanted to wrap them around herself to hide herself from these men. She tossed her hair and looked up at Jorge.

  “Where is he?”

  “What makes you think I know?”

  “He told me to come here, told me you’d help me hook up with him,” she said, thinking on the fly. “I need to find him. I’m running out of money.”

  “What did you say your name was again?” Jorge leaned against a barstool and looked her over.

  She swallowed. She’d told them her real name. What if Santiago had spoken to Jorge about her, for real? What if he dragged her back to Honduras without her son?

  “Isabella,” she said, not as confidently this time. She hoped using her own name wasn’t a mistake. But she was getting desperate now, and perhaps if Santiago knew she was looking for him, he’d show himself.

  He reached out to curl her hair around his finger. “What would you want with an old man like Santiago?”

  She stumbled mentally. She didn’t think of Santiago as old—late forties, maybe. Jorge was definitely not younger, or as well groomed. “I told you, I’m running out of money.”

  Jorge inclined his head toward the pole on the center stage. “I think I know how a girl like you can earn some cash. You can show us what you have. It’s a much easier way to make a living than by answering Santiago’s beck and call. I pay very well.”

  What she wanted, but she needed barriers. She was alone in here with these strangers who made their living off women’s bodies. She scrambled for an excuse. “I’m not dressed for it, and I’d really much prefer finding Santiago.”

  Jorge studied her critically. “Come back tonight.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Come back tonight and dance for me. If I like it, I’ll tell you what I know about Santiago.”

  She gritted her teeth, wanting to demand that he tell her now, that every moment counted. But if Jorge was like his cousin, he would never respond to the threats of a woman. Maybe Alex could force him, but could she risk Jorge clamming up because she sicced a Ranger on him?

  Could she risk that he was telling her the truth now? That he would tell her something if she stripped for him?

  That he even knew anything to tell?

  She had to take the chance. “What time do you want me?”

  She’d been in there a long time, too long. Alex shoved open the car door and reached for the clutch piece at his ankle. Hell, the minute she’d disappeared behind that door, his skin had started crawling. He didn’t want her out of his sight. He definitely didn’t want her with that scumbag. What had she been thinking, going behind the door with that man? She would end up back in her Honduran prison.

  He checked the area—almost dead this time of day—checked his ammo and got out of the car, edging around the building that fronted the street, moving toward the one set back, the one Isabella had entered.

  When he protested this might be to risky, that Santiago might haul her back to Honduras, she’d said she didn’t care if Santiago caught her and sent her back, as long as she was with her son. But what kind of life was it for the kid? How long before Santiago started turning the boy against his mother?

  She was taking a risk he didn’t want her to pay.

  Gun at the ready, he headed toward the door, mentally taking in possible places for cover out here—trash can, sign, car, if he could get back to it—trying to picture the place inside. Bar, tables, three guys—maybe more. Who knew what these men were doing here at this hour? It sure as hell looked like they were coming for a meeting.

  He reached the door just as it opened and Isabella stepped out. He managed to carry through—instead of aiming the gun at her head, he kept moving and tucked the weapon at the small of his back, flipping his shirt over it to hide it.

  She startled, but he motioned her to be quiet and stepped behind the door, out of sight.

  Damn, she was a good actress, because if the men behind her hadn’t seen her start, they would never know he was here. She looked back at them with a toss of her head.

  “I’ll see you at ten.” She closed the door.

  Keeping half his attention on the door and the other on the sashaying form of Isabella making her way to the car—okay, maybe seventy-thirty, and not weighted in the right way—Alex followed her.

  Only when he sat beside her did he see her shaking.

  “What happens at ten?” He turned the key in the ignition.

  “I come back, dance for him, and he tells me what he knows about Santiago.” She covered her mouth with a shaking hand, her attention outside the car as they pulled away from the curb.

  “Dance? You mean strip?”

  She turned dark eyes to him—darker than usual, anyway. “That’s what kind of place it is. That’s what kind of girl I am.”

  He wanted to tell her that she wasn’t that kind of girl, but he was too pissed. “You didn’t think it could be some kind of trap? He tells you to come at ten, he tells Santiago to come at ten, and there you go.”

  “Of course I thought of that. I’m not as stupid as you think.”

  Okay, she was defensive.

  “How do you know he knows anything?” he asked, swallowing back all the comments he wanted to throw at her for being an idiot.

  “I don’t. But we don’t have anything else, do we?”

  “No.” Unless O’Malley had turned up something with the credit cards. “I’ll call, see if they’ve found anything from talking to the waitress.”

  She relaxed a little and nodded as he dialed. O’Malley picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Anything on Guillermo Morales?” Alex asked with no preamble.

  “The waitress couldn’t ID him from pictures, but the credit cards have only been in use for a couple of weeks, which is enough to make us think it’s Saldana.”

  “Still, would he be that arrogant?” Alex asked. “Does he not know we’re after him?”

  “He’s been more cautious in the past,” O’Malley admitted. “But we’re not taking the chance. We have his spending patterns. Should be able to track him down from this in a matter of hours.”

  Unease prickled along the back of Alex’s neck. Damn, he wanted this to be over but, “He wouldn’t be dumb enough to have a spending pattern.” He glanced at Isabella for confirmation.

  She lifted a shoulder, uncertain.

  “We’ll know in a few hours,” O’Malley said stubbornly.

  “Call us,” Alex ordered. “As soon as you know one way or another.”

  O’Malley muttered something that might be agreement, and disconnected. Alex scowled and tossed the phone to the bench seat between them.

  “You don’t think it’s him,” she murmured.

  “I think you were pretty scared that night. You wanted to see him, wanted to find your son,” he amended quickly when she opened her mouth to protest. “I think it’s the wrong guy.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, and he braced himself for what she might say, but she remained silent. He glanced over to see her staring out the window through her tears.

  “You don’t have to dance tonight.”

  “I screwed up with this thing, I need to make it up.”

  “This is not your job.”

  She whipped her head around. “Finding my son is my job. No one else will
keep looking for him the way I will. If I have to dance to find him, then I will.”

  It was his turn to suck in a breath. “I’m coming with you.”

  She shook her head. “How would that look?”

  “They won’t know I’m with you. They don’t know who I am.” He hoped. “I’ll be in the audience.”

  She sucked her lower lip between her teeth. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ll be there to make sure they don’t take you anywhere you don’t want to go.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to dance in front of you.” Her voice was muffled behind her hand.

  He snorted. “That’s what you’re worried about? Your stripping ability?”

  “You have weird ideas about my body—”

  “What, that it should stay covered?”

  She glared. “I don’t think I can act naturally with you there. I have to be able to convince them to confide in me.”

  “I’m going to be there,” he insisted.

  She squeezed her eyes closed. “If Santiago is there, and you catch him, you’ll ask him where Hector is first, right? Will you promise me you’ll do that?”

  He stared straight ahead and resisted the urge to reach for her, to reassure her. All he could do was blow out his breath. “I promise.”

  Chapter Ten

  “What’s the signal?” Alex quizzed as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, layering on eye makeup. In the harsh bathroom light the dark eyeshadow made her look hard, but maybe that was only the determined look in her eyes.

  She flicked her gaze to his in the mirror. “Seriously, Alex, I’m not an idiot.”

  “No, but you’ve never done this before. You could get nervous. That’s not out of the realm of possibility, right?”

  She gave her attention back to her mascara. “No, it’s not.”

  “So the signal?”

  “I pull on my bra.”

  “Not the straps, but the band.” He inspected the peach-colored lacy garment critically. It cupped her full breasts, but allowed anyone looking to see her dark nipples beneath. “Are you going to take it off?”

  “Not if I can get away with not,” she said. “I’ll have to see what the other girls are doing.”

  “Because it will be hard to tug on it if some lecherous old guy has it wrapped around his head.”

  “I know.”

  “So if Jorge says he’s taking you to Santiago or Hector, you tug at the band.”

  “I know,” she said through her teeth, tossing her eyeliner back in her makeup case. “I’ve got it.”

  She pushed out the bathroom past him to go to the closet. She pulled out a cream-colored slinky knit dress, inspected it and slipped it on, tying it at her waist like a robe. As far as he could see, that was the only fastening.

  “Nervous?”

  She scooped her loose hair back from her face. “I haven’t danced in four years.”

  “I’m sure it’ll come back to you, easy as riding a pole.”

  Her body went rigid and she whipped her head around. “Can we call a halt to that? Just for tonight, can’t you be on my side?”

  Her voice was choked, making him wonder when the last time anyone had been on her side. He nodded once, burying his concern. How come he could trust the men in his company but couldn’t bring himself to trust her?

  “I don’t like this plan. It’s needlessly risky.”

  “Noted.” She slipped her bare feet into incredibly high strappy sandals.

  “Bella—”

  “You can get back to me on this when someone you love is missing,” she said sharply. “Now, this is hard enough without me having to worry about you. Are you going to take me or not?”

  Something in her voice had him reaching for her, curling his fingers into a fist and withdrawing before he said, “What you’re doing—it’s very brave.”

  “I’ll do anything to get my son back,” was all she said.

  He stepped back, toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  She was silent on the ride over, but gave him a small smile before climbing out of the truck to go into the bar. Alex hung back, waited about fifteen minutes before he followed. They were the longest fifteen minutes, unable to track her and what trouble she could be getting into.

  He paid his cover and passed through the metal detector. When he walked into the club, dark except for the lights around the bar and the spotlights on the stage, he scanned quickly for danger, aware that he was being scanned as well. He noted Julian in one corner, looking disreputable with a scruffy beard and Dave in a seat by the right stage, across the room from Julian. Dave had let his hair grow, so he didn’t look as military as Alex. Sergeant Major Danes was at the bar.

  Jorge was nowhere in sight. Alex hoped he wasn’t in the back harassing Isabella. He hoped he wasn’t in the back doing anything else to her, either.

  No, Isabella wouldn’t sleep with Jorge without knowing he had information. At least, Alex hoped she wasn’t that desperate.

  He scanned the stages. Three women danced, but none could hold a candle to Isabella.

  What the hell was wrong with him that he was comparing strippers to her?

  Alex walked to the bar, every nerve alert. He ordered a beer from the overweight shaggy bartender who passed him the bottle and didn’t even look up. Alex paid and turned back toward the stage, tilting the bottle so the liquid cooled his throat. The beer did nothing to ease the knot in his stomach. Damn, he hadn’t been this nervous about an operation in years, but he’d never had a civilian involved before.

  He didn’t want to choose a table till he knew which stage Isabella would be dancing on.

  A stick girl wandered off stage and the pulsing of a Black Eyed Peas song began. Alex took a seat at the edge of the middle stage when Isabella strode from behind the curtains. With a flip of her hair and a flick of her wrist, her dress dropped away, no preamble. She wrapped both hands around the pole and did a twirl, rolling her hips clad in those lace panties. To his left, he heard a wolf whistle and felt heat rise in a surge of protectiveness. She dropped till her ass touched her heels, her body still circling the metal pole. With a display of unsuspected athleticism, she lifted herself and faced the audience, her body undulating, her breasts, so damn high in that bra, nearly touching the pole. On his right, a man groaned and Alex clenched a fist.

  As if she knew how crazy the action would make him, she started making her rounds of the stage, shaking her tits at that one, her ass at another, holding still only long enough for them to tuck ratty dollar bills into her thong with their grubby fingers.

  He hated this. He hated the overwhelming urge to snatch her off the stage and wrap her back in that dress. Haul her out of here. He ground his teeth together so hard he couldn’t even hear the music anymore.

  Then she was in front of him, legs straight, palms on her thighs, and bent forward. Her cleavage was deep, sexy as hell, but his gaze was drawn to her knowing eyes. Keeping his gaze on hers, he tucked a bill between her breasts, careful not to touch her smooth skin.

  A flick of her eyes and then she rose, twirling, undulating, turning her back to the pole and sliding down it, her knees falling apart, opening herself up to him, sliding her hands down her thighs and back up again, drawing attention to what was his.

  The thought was strong, surprising him, tensing every muscle in his body in fight mode. Only the person he wanted to fight was himself.

  God, she was stunning, and arousing, and she was dancing for him now, turning her back, bending over almost to the floor, her ass in the air. He wanted to glide his hands over the curves there, over her thighs, wanted to bend over her and nip her throat as he plunged into her. He indulged himself in the fantasy, was aided when she turned her head to look back at him, hair tumbling over one shoulder, eyes telling him she knew what he was thinking.

  With a snap of her back and her neck, she ended the song with a flourish, to raucous applause. She smiled and sp
un on the ball of her foot, dipped to snatch up her dress before she disappeared behind the curtain.

  Christ. He struggled to keep his expression neutral, preferring to focus on that than on the conflict of arousal and protectiveness.

  She emerged from behind the curtain with a swagger. She didn’t look at him, avoided the touch of her admirers with skill, and walked over behind a curtained area at the opposite end of the room from the door.

  Crap, why hadn’t he gone to look over there? Of course Jorge would be all Wizard of Oz, segregated from the general clientele but with a clear view of the stage. No telling who was with him.

  Alex started to rise, but met Julian’s eyes. The younger man shook his head and leaned back in his chair, showing Alex he had a better vantage point without drawing as much attention.

  Didn’t matter. Tension ran through Alex’s nerves like live wires. She was only behind the curtain, but she may as well have been behind a brick wall. And he had nothing to protect her.

  Minutes passed, then more minutes. Alex’s gut tightened painfully. Making his decision, he pushed to his feet and went over, ignoring Julian’s glare. He stumbled on purpose, playing the drunk, and ducked behind the curtain.

  Sitting at a semicircular table, Isabella was snuggled up against Jorge. She looked up sharply when Alex staggered back, and he saw the panic in her eyes, followed by an expression that assured him she had everything under control.

  What it looked like she had was her hand on Jorge’s lap.

  “Sorry, man. Trying to find the bathroom,” he muttered.

  Jorge pointed through the sheer curtain to a giant neon sign behind the right stage.

  “Dude, sorry.” He gave Isabella a long look, then headed off. Walking away was hard, so he turned back. “Great dance,” he said, and turned away.

  He continued his drunk act into the bathroom, where Danes joined him.

  “Smooth,” the older man said.

  Alex shook off the criticism. “I had to see who was back there.”

  “What she was doing?”

  “Nah, that—she’s doing what she has to do.” He tightened his jaw, because he had expected to see her bartering for information with her body. He still wasn’t sure what he would have done if she had been.