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  Problem being, at twenty, Brandon hadn’t been much more than the boy Sergei was. Competitiveness was all part of growing up, learning the game, testing out the waters. They won. They lost. They won some more. In the end it didn’t really matter. But the brother who had stormed through that door a minute ago had taken one look at Natalya and reacted with a man’s fury.

  A man who knew exactly what he wanted and no longer had to play the game. He chose. And clearly, he’d chosen her. No holds barred, he’d fight to the death to win this prize.

  Brandon might not know it yet, but any other guy within ten feet of his angry gaze would have recognized all the warning signs.

  “Yoo-hoo, Sergei? Are you in there?” Natalya rapped a light fist on his chest.

  Blinking, he glanced down at her and realized she’d been talking to him. Waiting for his response. He took one look at the door and switched languages, doubting anyone in the building—save for Dmitri’s hired guns—would understand his words. “He’s not Iskatel´.”

  She drew back, frowning. “What?”

  “Moretti’s not Iskatel´.”

  “I told you earlier about my conversation with Kate. You can’t just dismiss the possibility.”

  Completely exasperated by her refusal to see what stood right beneath her nose, he reached across her body to her desk and picked up her phone. He slapped it into her palm. “Think about it. If he were Iskatel´, he’d know you’re engaged to Dmitri, yes?”

  She nodded.

  “Then tell me why the hell Dmitri’s puppet would refuse you personal calls?”

  Her green eyes turned as wide as saucers, and he knew he’d made one point she couldn’t argue.

  Fourteen

  B

  randon chewed on the inside of his cheek as he weaved his way through the club toward Aaron’s post at the end of the bar. He’d swear he knew that face, accent or not. Maybe it was a case of the “everyone has a twin syndrome,” because he damn sure had never met a Sergei in his life. But, man. The name sat on the tip of his tongue. He sidestepped around a waitress and gave her a cordial nod. Forty minutes to showtime. Eleven days until the asshole made his move on Kate. Brandon had pissed away two by allowing Natalya to fog his mind. Rachel’s murderer hovered right beneath their noses, and by the end of tonight, he intended to be one step closer to hauling the bastard to jail.

  He’d start with putting his new man to use. Give him a minor information-gathering job and feel out his dependability. If he botched it, Brandon won the ability to send him packing. If he proved trustworthy…

  Brandon didn’t intend to think about that.

  A swathe of long blond hair coming through the front door caught his attention. He stopped to give Kate the first genuinely warm smile he’d felt all day. Sweet Kate. Why couldn’t his dick have become obsessed with her? She was smart. Funny. Kind-hearted. And she had the best damn kid known to mankind.

  Her smile didn’t hold the same brightness it usually did. As she approached, he noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes that her false eyelashes and electric blue eye shadow failed to disguise. Tight creases framed her dainty mouth. Suspicion clouded over him. Had the killer approached her?

  He intercepted her path to the backstage dressing rooms. “You all right?”

  She pushed her hair over her shoulder, stood taller in her casual sandals, and attempted her usual good cheer. “Yeah, why?”

  Not working. She might be sweet and kind, but she couldn’t lie for shit. Thank God. In two days’ time, he’d had more circular conversations to last a lifetime. He arched a disbelieving eyebrow and cupped her cheek in his palm. His thumb brushed over the swollen tissue beneath her right eye. “What’s keeping you up at night?”

  Her laugh was forced. She twisted out of his reach and shook her head. With one fingertip, she nudged her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Just stress. Derek’s been full of it this week.”

  Another lie. But whatever she was hiding, she didn’t intend to reveal. Brandon’s frown returned.

  Before he could press her for answers, she took a step backward. “I’ve got to hurry. I’m running late.”

  A sly glance at the clock behind the bar proved yet again, she spoke false. Four thirty on the money. Just like every night. He let it slide. He’d dig deeper tomorrow when he stopped by to pick up Derek. “We’ll burn off some of his steam tomorrow. I talked to my buddy over at MGM, she’s going to let Derek help feed the lions.” At the sudden paling of her face, he hurried to add, “Not in the habitat, Kate. He’s going to help the trainers prep. And then, after the official feeding’s over, they’re going to let him go back and bottle feed a cub.”

  Relief restored the color to her face. “You about gave me a heart attack.”

  “I’m not stupid enough to let a child get in with lions. In case I get caught up here tonight, I’ll be by around ten.”

  She glanced sideways with a distracted nod. “I’ll have him ready.” The forced smile returned as she backed up another step. “Gotta get dressed.”

  Strange. Damned strange. Kate didn’t usually clam up when something bothered her. He watched her walk to the dressing room. Sergei and Natalya exited as Kate entered. One foot still in the doorway, Natalya looped her arms around his neck and gave him a tight hug.

  Brandon’s gaze narrowed, and his jaw tightened. That man was asking for a fist between his teeth. He’d been three kinds of a fool to hire him, knowing Natalya spent her nights in Sergei’s bed. He might be the best damn guard they could hope to find, but Fantasia didn’t have room for both of them.

  One night. See how it goes. He’s Aaron’s responsibility.

  Yeah. Aaron’s responsibility. He’d introduce Sergei to Aaron, tell him what he wanted accomplished, and be done with the buffoon. Khitrovo might be his employee, but a job didn’t equate to friendship.

  He straightened as Sergei headed directly for him. Deciding he’d rather not walk the short distance to the bar in the man’s company, Brandon struck off alone. He pulled up a stool beside Mayer and dropped one hip on the leather cushion. “There’s your new man.” He inclined his head toward the advancing Russian.

  “I figured.” Aaron’s gaze slid to Brandon’s, bright with unspent laughter. “How’d the show go?”

  The look Brandon shot his best friend had cowed criminals who considered guns natural extensions of their hands.

  “That good?”

  “Knock it off, Mayer.”

  Luckily, Aaron couldn’t say any more; Sergei reached his destination. He thrust out a hand, which Aaron heartily clasped. “Welcome aboard, Khitrovo.”

  “Good to be here.”

  The thick accent scraped Brandon’s nerves. He motioned to the bartender, signaling for his usual, start-of-the-night, rum and Coke.

  “I want you on the wall, there.” Aaron pointed to the left-hand corner nearest the stage. “If anyone sticks so much as a finger on that floor, you haul ’em back.”

  Sergei nodded as Brandon’s drink slid in front of him. Brandon downed it in one deep gulp, savoring the pleasant burn that spread through his belly. The ice cubes, however, only reminded him a long night waited ahead. A night that would eventually end with one Natalya Trubachev leaving with her Russian lover.

  He signaled for another and swiveled on his stool, putting his back to Sergei.

  “You get three breaks. Eight, eleven, and two. Spend them how you want, but if I catch you with a one of our girls on the clock, you’re outta here.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Of course it wasn’t a problem. He got his own private show nightly. Brandon grumbled low. Christ, he was jealous! Thirty-five years, and for the first time in his life he was experiencing that malignant cancer. How pathetic.

  Determined to beat the green beast back into its corner, he twisted around to look Sergei in the eye. “There’s something I want you to do tonight.”

  With a nod, Sergei accepted unhesitatingly.

  “I want a full report of
who pays for a lap dance in that section and who gets multiples. I want to know the girls—description’s fine—and the guys.” That ought to choke him up. Brandon wasn’t certain he could even keep the tally for the entire night. He could observe and notice trends, or oddities, but track all the girls for twelve hours? If Sergei could pull it off, he deserved the job.

  “Understood.”

  Aaron slid off his stool as Brandon’s second drink arrived. He urged Brandon to the office with a jerk of his head. “I need to see you before we open.”

  Thank God for small miracles. If they weren’t working this damn case, he’d spend the rest of the night behind that office door. Collecting himself—not sulking. Absolutely not licking his wounds and nursing a battered ego. He jumped off his seat and strode two steps away.

  “A word with you, Moretti?”

  The no-nonsense tone to Sergei’s question stopped Brandon in his tracks. He bristled. Here it came. The conversation where Sergei warned him away from the pretty girl and Brandon had to inform him to piss off. He knew it would happen, he just hadn’t expected it to occur before the night even began.

  Slowly, he turned around.

  Aaron clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Sergei’s emotionless stare held Brandon’s. “I’m only going to say this once, and then it’s not going to be an issue between us again.”

  Brandon felt his entire body slowly tighten. From his toes all the way up to the base of his skull, his muscles cinched together. One wrong word, and they’d all snap. “Spit it out,” he ground out tightly.

  “I’m not, have not ever, and never will be, fucking Natalya.”

  The statement nearly knocked Brandon sideways. Stunned speechless, he could do no more than open his mouth, shut it, and blink. He’d made an ass out of himself. A monumental ass. For what?

  Nothing.

  Fuck.

  Wordlessly, he pivoted and left Sergei to assume his duties.

  Eating crow was something entirely new to him. On some deep level, he knew he owed both Sergei and Natalya an apology. But on an even deeper level, he recognized that apologizing would acknowledge that his interest in Natalya went further than a casual romp through the sheets. He could try to tell himself otherwise all day long. When it all boiled down to cold hard fact, if he wanted one solitary night with the auburn-haired beauty, he wouldn’t have fixated on a kiss.

  He wasn’t quite ready to admit that to himself, let alone a man he’d just hired, and certainly not her.

  Nope. He wouldn’t touch that subject. Because the other cold hard fact he couldn’t avoid was that he didn’t know a damn thing about Natalya, and she remained a key person of interest in his current investigation.

  His head began to pound. He squeezed his temples between thumb and middle finger and pushed open his office door. Right about now, he’d give everything he owned for ten minutes of peace.

  Aaron’s grim expression said he wouldn’t find it now.

  Sighing, Brandon dropped into his chair, slugged back his second drink, and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. “What’s up?”

  “I called Rory to see how he was doing this afternoon. He’s pretty beat up.”

  Brandon waited. Aaron hadn’t dragged him into his office to discuss their partner’s emotional meltdown. No, this was lead-in to something bigger. Something that pricked the hairs on the back of Brandon’s neck and laced his lungs closer together.

  “We got to chatting about the case.” Aaron passed a hand over his chin, his expression thoughtful. “We overlooked something major, man.”

  The prickling at the back of Brandon’s neck inched down his spine. He dropped his foot to the floor and leaned his forearms on his desk. “And that would be?”

  “Well, I can’t say we really overlooked it. We just didn’t see it. Rory did while we were talking. It may be insignificant—you know the turnover with dancers is high.”

  “Spit it out, Mayer.”

  He scratched the back of his head, took a deep breath. “Each club hired a new dancer two weeks before a body turned up on the Rim.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Brandon exhaled.

  “It could be coincidence, Bran.”

  “Coincidence my ass. Do we have names? Descriptions? Anything?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Brandon’s gut rolled over. He should have listened to his instincts. Instead, he’d invited a stranger into the tidy circle he intimately understood. Two strangers. One with a suspiciously clear file. He might as well have tied Kate to the street corner with a sign that read free.

  “Listen. We don’t know for sure. I know there’s… something between… you and Natalya.”

  Unwilling to hear any more, Brandon lifted his hand to beg his partner off.

  Aaron delved ahead, oblivious to his silent request. “You’ve done undercover a long time. Play it. Get close to her. Find out what she knows.” He paused on an indifferent shrug. “Can’t hurt. If you find out she’s clean, all the better.”

  If she were clean. A big if, considering the alarms buzzing in his head. If she weren’t…

  Brandon shut the thought down before it could solidify. That promised to be a calamity. One he couldn’t guarantee he’d walk away from unscathed.

  “You’re the only one who can,” Aaron continued in his matter-of-fact, good-observant-cop tone. “None of us are gonna get close to her, that’s for damn sure. Not if she’s waltzing into your office and peeling off her clothes.”

  Against Brandon’s will, his gaze pulled to the corner of his desk where she’d stood, her body trembling, her lips less than a breath away from his. The memory of how good she felt against his hand, the tight way her wet pussy had squeezed as she edged closer to orgasm engulfed him. Her soft moan filled his ears.

  Kiss me.

  A new tightness invaded his body, this one far more uncomfortable than the compression of anger. With it came a hollowing in his gut, a void aching to be filled. By her. With her.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Aaron.” Meritable, but he couldn’t ensure he possessed the ability to remain objective. He wanted Natalya too damn much. With Kate’s life on the line, and Rachel begging to be laid to rest, he couldn’t risk an inability to see in black and white.

  Aaron shook his head. “It’s a damn good idea, Moretti. It’s the only solid lead we have.”

  Falling against the back of his chair, Brandon raked both hands through his hair. No matter how much he wanted to protest, Aaron was right. With eleven days left, and no more information than they’d possessed when they left Sadie’s, they didn’t have many other options.

  He expelled a heavy sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

  Fifteen

  B

  randon worked the floor for the next several hours, schmoozing with the regulars and attending to a stream of issues that were all designed to keep him distracted from what he really needed to be doing—monitoring the crowd from a distance, where he could observe subtleties he couldn’t up close. Between the waitresses dropping orders, bartenders pouring too heavy, and Jill doing her damndest to distract him every time he found a moment to stand in a corner alone, he hadn’t had time to think about the conversation with Aaron. Not really. It hummed around inside his head like an angry hornet in hot pursuit, but he kept a careful distance from that agonizing stinger.

  Jill’s knee drifted between his thighs as she wiggled closer to his side. Her palm rested on his chest, petting him like he were a puppy she’d picked up at the pound. “C’mon, baby, it’s been so long. You know Kate can’t be as dirty as I can be.” Her fingers wandered down his chest to slide over his indifferent cock.

  Giving her a perturbed frown, he plucked her hand off his dick and stepped around her intruding leg. “I’m sure you’re right. But—” As he forcibly guided her to arms’ distance, a flash of auburn in the corner of his eyes cut him off. He turned his head to find Natalya standing at the backstage door,
hair tumbling around her shoulders as she bent over to pick up a towel she’d dropped.

  His heart thumped hard, shooting a 3-D image to his brain of the way she’d bent over in front of him, hips gyrating, breasts swaying. She stood, and their eyes locked over the crowd. His reaction was instantaneous and powerful. Blood surged to his groin. His cock stirred to attention, and his pulse ratcheted up three degrees.

  Cozy up to her. What could it hurt?

  Jill made some cooing noise that reminded him he’d been saying something. For a moment, he struggled to recall the conversation. It came back as she pushed at his arm to creep back into his personal space.

  “I’m not sleeping with Kate.” He barely registered the swivel of her head and the angry color that filled her cheeks as he extracted himself from her clawing fingers and made a beeline for Natalya.

  It could hurt a lot of things, but he’d never shirked risk before. He’d never been afraid to take chances other guys would run from. His sometimes-daredevil approach, while not always in line with department policy, landed him this investigation and took him out of the dung heap of narcotics. If he had to cozy up to a killer to close this case, Natalya wouldn’t be the first. She just put a whole new definition on the meaning of cozy.

  So what if he liked it? So what if he wanted to know what made her tick and every hidden erogenous zone on her body?

  So what if she scarred him in the process?

  Natalya hadn’t moved. As if she understood the boundaries had suddenly shifted, she stood in front of the door, watching him stalk across the room, daring him to turn tail and run.

  No deal. He was done with running. All he’d needed was motive to pursue. Aaron had handed it over.

  “C’mon, sugar, I’ve been begging for a week. I just want to take you on the town. Show you a good time. Whatcha say? I’ll wait outside. Have the car running.”