Deadly Desire (Riley Jenson Guardian 7)

He nodded and motioned me into the hallway. I walked out, oddly relieved to be out of that room and away from Hanna Mein. She wasn't a threatening or intimidating person in any realistic way, and yet there was something about her-something other than her magic-that made my skin crawl.

Maybe it was simply that blankness in her eyes.

The rest of the club turned out to be a larger echo of the hallway, at least when it came to color and feel. The main room was dominated by a large stage that reached into the center of the room, lined with several rows of chairs. Tables and chairs were scattered around the rest of the room, and a large redwood bar dominated the far end. There were a few customers scattered about, some being tended to by dancers, some watching the blonde on the stage, and others standing at the bar getting drinks or talking to the waitstaff. The sports bar had billiards tables and a huge TV that dominated one wall. There were G-string-clad ladies here, some playing pool with the customers, others simply sitting down and chatting. There was no stage here, and no lap dancing happening. Some of the women were even wearing sporting-type tops-although they were skintight, and barely covered their breasts.

The show room was smaller than the main room, and it had no tables. Just a large stage surrounded by seats, all of which were empty.

"Shows don't start until ten," Matthew said, obviously noting my surprise. "We don't start getting the main crowd in here until at least nine, so it's not worth the expense of opening this room until then."

"Do the dancers here make much money?" I didn't really care, but it seemed the sort of question someone like CC would ask.

"Plenty. A lot of men prefer the titillation factor of flesh glimpsed under clothing over full-view flesh, and they are prepared to pay big to get it."

He led me into another hallway, this one larger than the one off the foyer. Half a dozen doors led off it and each one was labeled-schoolroom, Arabian nights, boardroom, and so on.

"The fantasy rooms, obviously," Matthew said. "These are all prebooked, so if a customer wants a private dance, he has to go up to the bookings office to get the room and dancer of his choice."

"Are matching costumes expected?"

"Yeah, but you can buy them in-house if you haven't got anything appropriate with you. It's only a basic materials charge."

"Then I'll be expected to get them for tonight?"

"If you dance as well as your resume boasts, then there's going to be a demand, so yes." He opened a door marked Staff Only, ushered me through, then began pointing to the various doors leading off the small foyer area. "Back here you have a staff lounge, locker room, and bathroom. The door to your left goes through to another office area and the costumes department. Perhaps you'd better go see them first. When you're ready, walk up to the main room and ask for Candy. She'll run through the rest of the rules for you."

"Thanks for tour," I said.

He nodded, but before he could turn and leave, someone behind us said, "Matthew, why has the schoolroom been cleared of any bookings for tonight and tomorrow night? Is there a problem with it?"

The woman's voice was sharp, almost angry, and for a moment I froze. Not because I feared the sudden rise of tension in the room, but because the voice was all too familiar. This was the woman who'd spoken at the warehouse-the crow who controlled both the zombies and the hellhounds.

Matthew turned around and I followed suit, knowing I had little other choice. If I walked away, it might look odd. But her seeing through the disguise and recognizing me was a distinct danger. She'd have seen me in the old factory when her creature was chasing Joe, and even if crows had bad eyesight at night, Liander hadn't changed my looks that much.

Still, I'd trusted his work in the past and it had never led me astray, so I carefully set my features into a look of cool curiosity.

The woman who'd appeared was small, almost fragile looking, with a shock of black hair and yellow eyes that looked oddly inhuman. Her cheeks were sharp, her nose long and angular, and her mouth thin. Not a woman who smiled much, I thought.

And she was in a wheelchair. Just like the woman who'd confronted Mike.

We had yet another connection.

"There's no problem, Ms. Hardt," Matthew answered. "Hanna told me not to book the room at all. Apparently a special has been requested, but she's not entirely sure what night."

Jessica Hardt-the other owner of Meinhardt's-grunted softly, and something flashed through her eyes. Something that resembled frustration and anger combined. "She didn't mention it to me." Her gaze slipped to me, and she frowned suddenly. "Who are you?"

"CC Buttons, ma'am," I said, suddenly glad I had the modulators. She'd heard my voice in the factory and would have recognized the sound of it.

"She's on trial for tonight," Matthew explained. "Amber's called in sick, and Freddie's been given a week off work, at least."

Jessica continued to frown, her sharp gaze racking the length of me. Her fingers tapped against the arm of he chair, the movements as brusque as her voice. "Do we know each other? Because you look familiar."

"I've only just arrived down in Melbourne, but I have worked other clubs interstate. Perhaps you've seen me onstage sometime?"

"I doubt it." Her gaze went back to Matthew. "Open the schoolroom up for bookings. I'll go talk to Hanna."

And with that, she rolled away. I let go of the breath I'd been holding, and glanced at Matthew. "What's a special?"

Matthew grimaced. "Usually some dirty old vampire who likes to get his rocks off by watching younger girls simulate sex. They pay big money for the privilege, so Hanna tends to allow it. Jessica doesn't like it, though."