Deadly Desire (Riley Jenson Guardian 7)

Why I wasn't getting that surge of awareness I had no idea, but right now, that wasn't important. Seeing what was beyond that door was.

I leaned further, placing a hand on his leg to support myself. Felt the muscle and the strength underneath the stained and ratty pants, as well as a surge of electricity and awareness that just about short-circuited every sense I had. I hadn't been wrong. This was definitely Kye.

"You owe me a hundred," I said softly, making it look like I was whispering sweet nothings when all the time I was eyeing the hallway.

It wasn't much. Just a short, concreted area that led to another large door, this one metal. A vault, not a sorcerer's secret place of mischief.

The guard shifted and I flicked my gaze to Kye, who was looking at me like I was nuts.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, still sounding like a man who drank and smoked too much. A voice modulator, obviously.

I slipped my shoe back on and rose. "Of course you do," I said, stepping past him then stopping to add softly, "and that door is not our target. Meet me in the sports bar at eleven."

He didn't check his watch. Didn't do anything but scowl at me. I smiled and headed for the stage to do my floor show.

By the time I'd finished, Kye had gone, but that didn't surprise me. With the first door out of contention, he'd probably already moved into position to check out door number two.

I could only hope he stank less when I found him again, or I wasn't going to be able to talk to him long, let alone do the promised lap dance.

Although now that he knew I was onto him, he might very well change his look. He might be on the prowl for his targets, but I didn't think he was above providing a challenge in the process.

For the next few hours, I continued my shift in the main room, chatting up customers, giving them lap dances, earning money, and fending off the occasional grab. When I'd finished my second stage show, I headed to the staff lounge for my break and to eavesdrop on the local gossip. To date, the topic of conversation had consisted mainly of bitching about the customers and very occasionally about other dancers. I was sipping my coffee and only half listening when one of the busty blondes said, "God, wasn't the boss in a bitch of a mood last night? I'm glad she hasn't turned up tonight."

The other blonde-who I only knew by her stage name, Sammy-snorted softly. "I could hear her screaming all the way down in the dressing rooms. Do you know what happened?"

The blonde sniffed. "Rumor is that she had a special lined up and the girl didn't appear. She took her frustrations out on a customer in another room and beat him up pretty bad."

"One lawsuit coming up." Sammy shook her head, though her expression was one of amusement more than disgust. "I thought she'd given up dancing."

"Apparently she likes to keep her hand in." The blonde hesitated, then leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, "She likes the younger ones, so she's always on hand to help out when we have some young bucks in."

"She can have the young ones. They're all hands and no damn cash. Was an ambulance called?"

"No. And the cops didn't show, either, so it couldn't have been more than a few slaps."

"So why did they shut the room down? It's been out of action all day, apparently."

I continued to look at the paper, but I wasn't really reading anything. Instead, I reached out telepathically, linking lightly with the blonde's mind. I delved stealthily but deeply into her memory centers, fishing though quickly until I caught the images she was talking about. I wrapped around them, drawing them into me, remembering them as she remembered-not only seeing and hearing, but smelling.

What I smelled was blood. Lots of blood.

Hanna Mein hadn't injured. She'd killed.

So, did that mean the couple she'd slaughtered had been nothing more than a last-minute substitution for the special that had been canceled? Or had they been just another release for the anger, as the man she'd danced for-then killed-had been?

I continued to sort through the blonde's memories, but she hadn't actually seen anything. She'd been stopped at the doorway, and had gotten the information from the guard stationed there.

I withdrew and flipped over the page as I took a sip of coffee.

The blonde shrugged. "It was due for refurbishment. Now there's a new chaise lounge and a fresh coat of paint on the walls." She glanced at her watch and rose. "I get to christen the new surrounds in five minutes."

"Give him hell and make him pay," Sammy said with a grin.

"Always do, love, always do." The blonde dropped a kiss on the other woman's cheek then walked out.

I finished my coffee, rinsing the bitter dregs in the sink before heading down to the change rooms to get into my other outfit for the evening-a soft striped silk that looked like something a jockey would wear, except that it didn't fully cover my breasts. Every time I raised my arms even slightly, out the girls popped. And even though there were plenty of women walking around without covering tops of any kind, the outfit had proven to be extremely popular with the guys despite its impracticality.

The sports bar was half full, which wasn't bad considering it was a Monday night. There were a heap of men sitting at the tables near the big screen, watching some boxing match, but there were many others playing pool or simply chatting with various dancers at the other tables. The name of the game in this room wasn't pool or chatting, but getting the customers to spend money on drinks, or interested enough to spend big in the fantasy rooms.