Deadly Desire (Riley Jenson Guardian 7)

I left, grabbing the bag of burgers on the way out. Of course, traffic was hell and it took me forever to get back home. By the time I'd showered, changed, and caught a cab to the club, I was a good hour late.

They weren't happy, but I mollified the night manager somewhat by promising to make up the time working a couple of extra hours on the following, and busier, Friday night.

I changed into my almost nonexistent dance gear and shiny stiletto heels, and headed into the main room. I checked the board to see my stage times, and saw that I'd been allocated shifts in both the main room and the sports bar. Which would enable me to have a closer look at both the locked doors while keeping an eye out for our two murderers. Who, according to the minds I'd briefly scanned, hadn't been seen at all during the day.

Fate was obviously giving me a break for a change.

The crowd in the main room was smaller tonight, but no less noisy, and the bartenders seemed to be running to keep up with the drinks orders. I couldn't immediately spot Kye, nor did I get that surge of awareness that suggested he was near-although that didn't mean he wasn't here. He could have been in one of the other rooms. I talked to various patrons as I made my way around the room, dancing for some and having drinks bought for me from others-a practice management encouraged because that's where the real money was-all the while working my way toward the locked and guarded door.

There was an old guy sitting at the table nearest the door, and for a moment I thought it might have been Kye. He was the right height and had the same broad shoulders, but this guy's hair was a matted brown, and he reeked of booze, stale sweat, and humanity. I doubted even a werewolf as stoic as Kye would stand that odor for very long. Besides, the sharp awareness that always warned of his presence, even if it didn't pinpoint a location, was absent.

At any other time, I might have avoided the old guy like a plague, but he happened to be sitting in the perfect position to study the door more closely without raising suspicions.

I walked around the table so that I was upwind of him, then pulled out a chair and sat down beside him.

"Don't want a dance," he said, voice sharp and crackly. "I ain't gonna pay you anything, girlie, so you can just be off and harass someone else."

I was about to ask the old grump what the hell he was doing here if he didn't want any personal attention, but the guard was in earshot and I doubted they'd be happy with a dancer bad-mouthing the customer. Even a grumpy, stinky, old one.

So instead I took off a shoe and rubbed the ball of my foot. "I'm actually just giving my feet a rest. But if you mind, I'll move on."

He harrumphed. "I ain't buying you a drink, either. Not at them bar prices."

I continued to rub my foot, surreptitiously studying the door lock as I did so. It wasn't only fingerprint coded, it had an iris scanner as well. Which in itself wasn't a problem, except that all the guards wore nanowires. I might be able to get past them and force him to open the door, but it would mean a concerted effort on my part, and that would certainly be dangerous considering that the cameras were constantly checking out the room. A dancer standing still apparently concentrating on nothing was sure to attract attention. Which meant I'd have to find a way to short the cameras out first-all without raising an alarm in the security room.

No easy task, whichever way I looked at it.

I sighed and glanced at the old man. His brown eyes were still regarding me suspiciously, and they had an oddly flat look about them. Contacts, I thought, for no particular reason. And wondered again if it was Kye.

After all, it'd be just like him to go for a disguise that he knew would turn me off. And he had told me a number of times he didn't want a lap dance.

"So, do you come here often?" I leaned back on the table to ensure his view of my breasts was unobstructed by the short, gauzy jacket I was wearing.

"First time," he said, his gaze sweeping my body then moving away swiftly. Pink tinged his cheeks.

If it was Kye, he was a damn good actor.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Don't mind the stage shows." His gaze raked me again, and he licked his lips. I couldn't smell his excitement. Couldn't smell anything except that overriding, unwashed, boozy scent. "Don't like all the table attention, though."

"It's part of our job to talk to all the customers." My gaze moved past the grumpy old fart as one of the money men moved in our direction. The various club tills were regularly cleared out of big notes-a result, I'm told, of the club being hit by robbers within the first few weeks of its opening. If he was heading this way, then maybe the vaults were behind door number one rather than any sort of secret magic chambers.

"Just as it's a part of your job to wrangle money out of them," the old guy said. "But you ain't wrangling anything out of me, young lady, so you might as well not waste your time."

I shoved on my shoe and switched feet. "As soon as my feet stop aching, I'll leave you in peace."

"Well if you wore sensible shoes, sore feet wouldn't be a problem."

"Sensible shoes aren't pretty," I said, my attention more on the guard than on what the old guy was saying. The money handler had reached the door, and the camera above me whined as it began to rotate. I glanced up, watching it do a complete circuit of the club. Only when it had finished did the guard press his hand, then his eye, against the scanners.

There was a pause, then several clicks, before the door opened ponderously. I leaned sideways a little to catch a glimpse of the hallway beyond, and saw the old guy do the same.

Saw his intent expression.

And knew, without a doubt, that it was Kye.

I'd seen that intentness too often now to mistake it.