I narrowed my eyes in pretend scorn for the use of my childhood nickname. Kelsey had donned me the moniker of Kid during the years she’d raised me. Back when she was also a cop in Miami, enough people between work and our investment connections had heard the nickname that many weren’t aware my legal name was Charlie. I was simply Kid, Kid Harrison, or Harrison. “If I paid you, would you call me Charlie?”
“Hell, no.” Evie grinned as she wiped down the bar. “It’s too much fun watching you squirm in discomfort every time I call you Kid.”
“I need to go,” Baker said, reading something on his phone. “Problem in playroom four.” He stood, downed his drink, and walked briskly toward the elevators.
“And he’s off again,” Evie said, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him relax.”
“We should snag his phone and hide it from him. See what happens.”
“His head would spin,” she said, laughing. “He probably sleeps with the damn thing.”
I knew for a fact that he did sleep with his phone, though I wasn’t about to tell her. It was obvious by the way her eyes kept wandering back to the elevator that she had a crush on Baker. And while he and I had shared an odd friendship that included the occasional mattress pounding, neither of us had ever entertained thoughts of romance. The physical history between us was a mutual itch scratching of sorts with the bonus of pissing off my overbearing cousin who believed it was inappropriate for me to sleep with our business partner. And our lawyer… and our real estate agent... and maybe a few others.
Instead of upsetting Evie with the truth, I replied ‘probably’ as I pulled a twenty from my clutch purse, tossing it on the bar. “That’s for you. Put my drink on my account.”
“Are you leaving already?”
I glanced across the room at the man in the booth. He quickly looked away again. “Yeah. I have something to take care of.” I waved goodbye to Evie as I walked toward the elevator.
Chapter Five
CHARLIE
Saturday, 11:55 p.m.
Sliding my membership card into the security slot of the elevator, I pushed the five on the panel for the fifth floor. All the keycards were programmed for the corresponding floors a member could access. Without the card, the elevator wouldn’t let me past the second floor.
When Baker originally designed the access system, I had asked him to program my cousin and my keycards with Extreme VIP instead of our names. My reasoning was that it wasn’t anyone’s business who we were. And while most of the staff knew I was associated with the club in some way, they assumed I worked for Baker because I maintained a small private office next to his. The few who knew my name also knew I was a cop and understood my need for discretion. And even those small few didn’t know I owned part of the club, though I suspected Evie had guessed.
I exited the elevator and turned down the hall. On my way, I looked through the one-way glass windows to the playrooms below on the fourth floor. One sex actor was earning his money the hard way. I chuckled as the female actor slapped his bare ass with a wooden paddle. I shook my head as I stopped to swipe my keycard to enter my office.
Though I kept an office, I didn’t work at the club. Yes, I reviewed the quarterly financial statements before forwarding them to the accountant, but I normally did those bookkeeping activities from the comfort of my couch with my laptop balanced on my lap. This space was less of an office and more of an oversized closet, used for changing into either my evening slut-wear or one of my undercover outfits for nights like tonight.
I rolled my eyes, noticing that Baker had once again tasked someone with cleaning my room. The clothes I’d left scattered on the floor or draped over chairs were wrapped in dry-cleaning bags and hung in the closet. I flipped the halter neck of my dress over my head and shimmied out of it, grinning as I left the dress, along with the shoes, in a pile on the floor. I shuffled several hangers around until I found a pair of faded jeans, a well-worn dark-colored Miami Dolphin’s t-shirt, and a scraggly pair of slip-on tennis shoes.
The best part of being on leave from work was not having to worry about my badge getting in the way when I was about to do something illegal. On the off chance I got caught, giving the police department the option of saying I was on leave when the crime occurred sat comfortably within my I’m a good person scale. That wasn’t to say I hadn’t broken a law or two while wearing the badge. I had just been more careful when doing so.
Unlocking the two-door steel cabinet with the key I kept hidden, I selected a waist-clip holster and a Glock 17, snapping the holster on before sliding the gun in place. Tugging my t-shirt over it, I moved to the vanity and selected a few makeup-remover pads. I wiped the eyeshadow and eyeliner off before pulling my hair into a ratty ponytail. Glancing in the mirror, I rubbed some leftover mascara under my eyes to leave dark smeared circles. I pulled a few sections of hair from the ponytail to have them wisp out in a crazy pattern. I looked strung out, which was perfect. Unless you were a cop, people tended to avoid eye contact with druggies, turning their eyes away as they hurried across the street to safety.
From the peg board on the wall, I selected the keys to the old, rusted-out Toyota short-bed truck which I stored in the city’s parking
