Black and Blue

back to speak with Timothy Mercer, who had worked at the Lucky Horn for three years. Two weeks ago, Timothy just up and vanished. No one had seen or heard from him since, or had any idea what might have happened to him.

Star, thrown into the mix once again. No question, the man was involved in her father’s disappearance. It was just as certain that Timothy was the man who’d set Blue on fire.

Eager to verify this news with hard evidence, Evie excused herself under the guise of having to pee and stumbled away as though snockered, heading toward the backstage entrance. The moment she cleared the corner, out of everyone’s view, she dug a shielder out of her purse and threw it behind her, the tiny black device creating an invisible wall upon landing. Until she disabled it, only she and Blue would be able to bypass it, since they were the only ones with a scrambler on their phones, an app designed to disrupt the shielder’s signal.

She tripped her way toward the armed guard at the end of the hallway.

Frowning, he gripped the handle of his gun. “I suggest you turn around, ma’am. No one’s allowed in this section of the building.”

Ma’am? Did she really look like a ma’am?

Ma’ams had at least sixteen robo-cats, wore muumuus, and never took the rollers out of their hair.

Did he want to die?

She stopped in front of him, a familiar surge of excitement hitting her. Don’t you dare get used to this kind of work. It was a onetime gig. As soon as her father and his boys were found, as soon as Star was taken down, she was going back to her nice, normal life.

But honestly, the last time she’d experienced anything this high octane, she’d been on her last mission, and Claire had—

She locked those thoughts down.

“Is this not the bathroom?” she asked, making sure to slur her words.

“Turn. Around. Now. You won’t like what happens if you don’t.”

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to be so rude about it,” she grumbled—then rammed her knee into his groin.

With a strangled bellow he hunched over, struggling to breathe, and she lined up at his side to slam the back of her elbow into his mastoid process. His body went limp as his brain tissue rapidly compressed, and he collapsed onto the carpet, well and truly out for the count.

“Sorry, bloke, but you picked the wrong side. And you called me ma’am!”

She peeked through a crack in the door. Half-clad dancers sat in front of a row of vanity mirrors, checking their hair and makeup. No one paid a bit of attention to the entrance as she slipped inside the employees-only area.

To her right was a closed door with the name Timothy Mercer in the center. Brilliant. Evie strode forward and twisted the lock. It held. After a quick glance behind her—still good—she pulled the necessary tools from her purse and got to work.

“Hey, what are you doing?” a female snapped from behind her. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”

Evie pasted a bright smile on her face before turning and facing the brunette who’d been Blue’s opening act. “Hi. I’m Chlamydia Jones, the new stripper. Hired only a few hours ago.” Too chirpy, Black. Dial it down a notch. “I was told to speak with Mr. Mercer.”

Green eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Mr. Mercer isn’t in.”

“Dang. That sucks.” I tried to do this the nice way. Evie had worn three rings, just in case. In the center of each, under a jewel, was a needle she’d loaded with poison of her own creation; they’d once been trademarks of her mission work. She thumbed the diamond from Wrath, her most-used toxin, and clasped the girl’s hands. “Can you please—”

“Ow,” Brunette said, just before yanking free to clutch her stomach.

“Are you all right?” Evie asked, faking concern.

The girl shook her head. As her skin turned a putrid shade of green, she ran as fast as her feet would carry her to the nearest receptacle, where she vomited the entire contents of her stomach . . . and maybe even the stomach itself.

Behind Evie, the door swung open, and a hard hand seized her arm, wrenching her backward. The moment she was inside the office, the door closed, sealing her inside. With Blue.

She recognized the hum of his power.

Slowly she pivoted. He wore a T-shirt and jeans, all hints of Mr. Hammer eradicated, and yet, as soon as their eyes met, there was a suspended moment where all she could remember was the feel of his erection rubbing between her legs, and the sharp, desperate need of her body.

All she could think was More.

“Stop staring and tell me what you’re doing back here,” he demanded.

O-kay. So he didn’t feel or think the same. Flushing, she said, “I came to give you a review. After a shaky start, you—”

“We will never speak of this again. Do you hear me?”

Can’t laugh. “Consider this blackmail material.” She told him what she’d learned.

“Confirmation that Star is involved.” He nodded. “We’ll have to search his house. Among other things.”

Missionspeak. Good. The best way to get back on track. “Found anything in here?”

“Not yet.” He stomped to the desk and tapped away at the computer keyboard. “I’m loading the club’s security feed for the past three weeks onto a flash drive and erasing today’s activities.”

Thank God. Replaying Jack Hammer’s debut—and her reaction to it—would have been humiliating.

“All right. Done,” he said, removing the flash drive.

“So we’re ready to leave the club?”

“Yes. And if you can get me out without letting anyone grope me, I’ll admit you’re the better agent.”

She snorted—then inwardly cursed. Did the man have to be so witty and likable? “Deal.”

Ten

EVIE KEPT SURPRISING HIM.

At the club, she’d handled the patrons and employees with equal skill. Hell, she’d even handled Blue.

He’d lost himself in the pleasure of grinding on her, forgetting their goal, their audience, until she reminded him.

She’d begged so prettily.

Begging. Completely unlike her. It had startled him back to his senses.

Mentally and physically, he couldn’t seem to control his reactions to her.

Can’t worry about that now.

They’d had to ditch her car. Whoever had ordered the earlier chase—hit?—was still out there, and Evie was now . . . no longer Evie. She was Miss Blond Boobies, and he freaking hated it. When he wasn’t grinding on her, of course. He much preferred her luscious dark hair and slender curves.

Concentrate. Going back to her place would have been stupid, giving away their identities, no matter what they looked like, so he’d offered no protest when she stole a truck and drove him to a safe house she swore no one knew about.

And why would he protest? Watching Evie steal a car was like watching sexy female auto-mechanic porn on set. He was still hard.

You’ve been hard for two days.

“You quit the agency. Why did you keep a safe house?” he asked as he cased the place. It was small but virtually undetectable, hidden underneath a middle-class neighborhood where all of the homes above it were the same shape and color. There was only one entrance, and that was concealed in a darkened alcove next to the