Deadly Desire (Riley Jenson Guardian 7)

"Yeah. I've been in Melbourne a few weeks, and money is getting short."

She pressed a button, and behind the door to my right, a buzzer sounded. "It's a nice place to work. Money's good, and the clientele are usually well behaved."

"Do you dance much yourself?"

She nodded. "Mainly just on the weekends. The clients tend to be more cashed up."

The door to my right opened before I could say anything. A short, thick-set man in a blue suit gave me a polite nod, then said, "Cecily Berg?" When I nodded, he added. "I'm Matthew. This way, please. First door on the left."

He opened the door wider, and stepped to one side. The hallway beyond was long and narrow, the plain beige carpet matching the walls, and both of them in need of a little loving care.

The first door on the right was a security room, lined with cameras and several burly guards who were keeping an eye on things. The next two doors were closed. The first door on the left led into an office area. As soon as I walked in, I felt the magic. It was only faint, little more than a pinprick of energy that swirled across my skin ever so briefly, but it was there nevertheless. And it felt bad. Just like the stuff in the murdered vampires' homes.

A brown-haired, green-eyed woman looked up as I entered, then gave me a polite smile and rose.

"Cecily Berg? Hanna Mein. I'm the manager here."

And one of the owners. But while the scent of roses and bad magic might cling to her like a barely there cloak, she wasn't the woman who'd been in the warehouse with the hellhounds or who'd sent the zombie after Joe. But her scent was the same as the one in the homes of all our vamp victims.

And like the woman at the front desk and the security guard who'd escorted me here, she was wearing a nanowire.

I took her outstretched hand and shook it politely. Her skin was cool, her grip neither firm nor weak, but somewhere in between. Which-according to the Directorate psycho-babble they occasionally like to lob on us-meant she was a woman confident in herself, and not needing to prove anything. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Please, have a seat." She indicated the comfy-looking chair on the right, then sat down and picked up some papers. "You have excellent references."

"That's because I've worked at some excellent clubs."

"We did check your reference for..." She paused and glanced at the paperwork "... Lulu's. She said you don't do pole work."

I hesitated. "To be honest, I'm just not very good at it."

"The owner did say you were in demand for both lap and private dances."

"I'm a werewolf. It's a rarity in a strip club, and Ms. Vanderberg did play that angle up a little."

Hanna smiled, but her green eyes were neutral. I was getting absolutely nothing from this woman on either a sensory or an emotional level. Nothing except that swirly magic that itched at my skin.

"So tell me, why does a werewolf become an erotic dancer for mainly human clubs?"

I smiled. "Because I'm only half wolf, and because it's a damn good way to make money-as long as you work for the right establishment."

"And you think Meinhardt is one such place?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

She nodded again. "We never employ people without a night's trial. Are you willing to work tonight?"

"Sure."

"Excellent. There are no house fees. We simply work on an eighty-twenty split here-in the dancer's favor-which as you'll know is rather generous. Bar receipts are not included in your take, however."

Which is probably why they could afford the generous split. From the little background included in the file Liander had handed me, the bar-or rather, the overpriced booze-was where a lot of money was made.

"We run a main bar, a showgirl's bar, a sports and billiards bar, and the fantasy rooms," she continued, "and our dancers rotate between all of them except the showgirl's room. Only our most experienced dancers entertain there. We expect two on-stage performances if you're in the main room, and lap dances outside those times."

"Do you have privacy booths or rooms?"

"Certainly. We call them the fantasy rooms. Our patrons seem to prefer the various fantasy settings."