Irresistible Forces

'Yep. That's the big man himself.' Tarzan tucked something that looked like a rolled sock into his G-string. 'Padding the fantasies.'

Jared managed a chuckle and patted himself on the back for not cringing. 'I was just curious. Haven't seen him here before.'

'Oh, he comes in around the first of every month.' Tarzan pulled his loincloth on and fastened the Velcro. 'He never watches the show, though — spends all his time back here doing something in the office.'

'Hmm. Seems like he could hire somebody to do his payroll.' Jared lifted a shoulder, feigning disinterest. 'Tightwad, eh?'

Tarzan rubbed oil across his shaved chest. 'I figure the Studfinder is a tax shelter or something.'

Or something. Jared had to find a way to get into that office. Tonight. 'Anybody ever meet him here?'

Tarzan didn't seem suspicious of all the questions. He appeared thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. 'Yeah, come to think of it, I've seen a tall bald guy with him a few times.'

Bald guy? The acid level in Jared's gut hit nuclear. His contact with the local P.D. was tall and bald. 'Seems an odd choice for a bookkeeper.'

'Or a boyfriend.' Tarzan chuckled. 'Millman could probably take his pick in here, being the boss and all.'

Jared coughed. Well, Millman couldn't have his pick of every one.

'That bald guy is one scrawny sumbitch, too.'

That did it. Charlie. The tall, scrawny, bald guy had to be Jared's link to the local police. That raid the other night had been arranged to rattle Jared. Charlie was obviously on the take, and Jared was in deep shit.

His blood turned frigid, and his breath caught and held. Fear shot through him. For Margo.

'Break a leg.' Tarzan flexed his muscles and headed toward the stage door.

'Yeah.' Trying not to stare at the small door at the end of the dressing room through which Henry Millman had disappeared, Jared headed for the bathroom and made a call on his encrypted cell phone. Within a few moments, he'd notified his boss about his suspicions. By the time he took the stage tonight there would be three more agents on site, and more on the way. Turned out the feds already had Millman under investigation for various financial dealings. This case could be wrapped up a lot faster than anyone had hoped.

A few moments later, he stashed his phone and took his place in line with the other Eroticops. With any luck, this would be his last performance. He was more than ready to hang up his G-string.

Jared Carson had other things on his mind now. He couldn't deny the truth. From the first moment he'd seen Margo sitting in the audience, he'd known. This was destiny or fate or whatever. He would pursue her as he should have before she ever married Nick. He should have swallowed his pride back in college and told her he was sorry, that he loved her and wanted to spend his life with her. Loving her.

Then he would leave his life with the DEA and pursue his original career goal of small-town law enforcement. He wanted to buy Margo her old Victorian fixer-upper and to make babies with her. Lots of babies.

He wouldn't take no for an answer either. Not because he was a jerk, but because he'd felt her response. He'd seen love in her eyes, in her smile, and had tasted it in her kiss. They belonged together, and they always had.

If only Nick… Jared. released a slow breath. No, he couldn't blame Nick any longer. Losing Margo had been as much Jared's fault as anybody's. Nick was dead, and Jared planned to let him rest in peace. Their old rivalry had been stupid when Nick was alive, and continuing it after his death was doubly stupid.

Margo mattered. The future mattered.

He heard Tarzan's yell and barely suppressed a shudder. Damn.

Margo and Steph occupied the same table they had last time — center stage. Except, this time, Margo wasn't a bit reluctant to watch the dancers, knowing that very soon Jared would be there.

She couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. Everything he'd meant to her in the past had come flooding back as if they hadn't been apart all these years. As if Nick…

No. She wouldn't think about Nick now.

'I wonder what's keeping Raquel and Mrs. Brown,' Steph said as she slid a drink across the table toward Margo.

'I'm still trying to figure out why you invited her here tonight.' Margo wasn't looking forward to seeing the unusual woman again so soon.

'I called to invite Mrs. Brown, and she said Raquel had PMS and would probably enjoy it.' Steph grinned and waggled her eyebrows.

'Hmm.' Margo glanced at her watch again. 'Maybe they changed their minds about coming.'

'Mrs. Brown said Raquel had a hair appointment. I guess those gorgeous locks take longer.'

'What gorgeous locks?' Margo stared past her sister as Mrs. Brown and a very different version of Raquel approached the table between sets.

Steph looked over her shoulder, then turned her wide-eyed stare on Margo. 'Yikes! She got scalped.'

A more subdued Raquel slid into the empty chair next to Mrs. Brown. Raquel wore jeans, a blue sweater, and very little, if any, makeup. Her flaming hair curled around her face. She didn't look a thing like the fancy woman she'd been this morning.

'Look what she did, just because of a little PMS.' Mrs. Brown kept looking at Raquel and shaking her head. 'Shame. What a shame. Such beautiful hair.'

'I donated it to a charity that makes wigs for kids on chemo.' Raquel caught their server and ordered a Glenfiddich single malt scotch. 'I don't miss that mop a bit.'

Nick's favorite label… Margo shook off the memory of Nick and smiled. 'I think donating your hair to charity was a very nice thing to do.'

Raquel shrugged and her cheeks pinkened. 'I hope they put it to good use.'

'You missed Tarzan,' Steph told Mrs. Brown. 'But the Eroticops are next, and they are to die for.'

Especially one of them. Margo had to stop mooning around about Jared and concentrate on her job. Tonight, her notes would make sense, and Jared had promised to find a likely dancer for her to interview.

'So, Margo, what did old Fred want when he called earlier?'

'Just letting me know he's passing through town tomorrow and wants to have lunch.' Margo drew a deep breath. Her father-in-law had never been particularly fond of her — especially after Nick decided to settle in her hometown instead of returning to Riley's Crossing. 'He doesn't have any other family with Nick gone.'

Raquel made a choking sound, and Steph patted her on the back. All the color had drained from Raquel's face.

'Are you all right?' Margo asked.

A pained expression crossed the redhead's face. 'Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?' The server delivered her drink, and Raquel ordered another before she took her first sip. 'I, uh, take it you were talking about your father-in- law?'

'Yes, exactly.' But how did Raquel know that? 'Nick was his only son, and I think he's lonely. He misses him.'

'Will minor miracles never cease?' Raquel downed the scotch with one smooth flick of her wrist.

'Do you know Fred Riley?' Steph asked, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

'I'm not sure I ever really knew him at all.' Raquel rested her chin on her fist, her expression wistful. 'I, well, never mind. We're here to have fun. Right?'

Talk about avoidance. Did Raquel know Nick's father or not? Margo exchanged glances with her sister, knowing Steph was also confused by the ambiguous answer. And how had Raquel known about the painting, or where Margo lived?

'Did… did you know my husband?' she asked, uncertain how or why the question had left her lips.

'I…' Raquel's gaze shifted around the table. 'Yes, yes, I know — er, knew — Nick.'

'I thought you just moved here,' Steph said.

'I lived here until two years ago, but now I'm back.' Raquel flashed a nervous smile.

Two years ago? Raquel had left town about the time Nick died. She studied the