BULLETPROOF BRIDE Page 15

  He started the car. "Tell me about the Blue Moon Club."

  Not only did Gabe dodge personal questions, he ran from emotion. But he had a huge capacity for caring when he let himself. She'd experienced his tenderness firsthand. It must be tough for such a naturally outgoing man to keep his feelings under tight rein all the time. He had to have a very compelling reason. A reason he didn't want to divulge. Or couldn't divulge.

  "Hey, where are you?"

  In your arms. She forced her mind back to business. "Sorry, just thinking. I've heard the club is nice, though it's in a rough part of town. Somebody bought the building two years ago and renovated."

  Morning traffic began to thin as he negotiated a series of one-way streets. "I see what you mean about the neighborhood." He made another turn, and pointed to a two-story building painted the same silvery blue as the ink pen. A neon sign in front read Blue Moon Club.

  He circled the block. "No one around. They probably don't open until evening. I'd say a little recon is safe."

  He parked the Pinto two blocks from the club. They strolled past the entrance. "Nobody's home."

  "No," she whispered. She studied the neon pink help wanted flyers posted in the front window. "Everything is dark."

  "Why are you whispering?" He shot her a grin.

  "Probably the laryngitis," she snapped in her normal voice.

  His low chuckle spilled out. "I wonder what's around back?"

  She followed him down a deserted alley strewn with garbage. Two battered gray Dumpsters emanating a sour stench loomed side by side against grimy brick walls, lending a sinister cast. A shiver trailed up her spine and she moved closer to Gabe.

  Though he couldn't have seen her shiver, he reached back and grabbed her hand. "Here's your chance. Sure you don't want to go Dumpster diving?"

  The spooky feeling retreated, and she smiled. "I'll pass."

  He stopped in front of a metal door and peered into a thick, wire-reinforced window. "Everything is dark." His glance ricocheted left, then right before he tried the knob.

  "What are you doing? Breaking into Trask's office was one thing, but—"

  "You can go back to whispering now. This would be more effective if you didn't announce our presence to the entire neighborhood."

  "What if somebody is in there?"

  "I'll have to shoot them, I guess." He took in her appalled expression and laughed. "Relax, honey, I was kidding. The place is deserted."

  "Can I help you?" A gravelly male voice rasped behind them.

  She whirled. Instinctively she stepped in front of Gabe, blocking the stranger's view. In back of her, she felt Gabe's careful movement. Drawing his gun? Her pulse thudded loudly in her ears.

  "I said, can I help you?" the man repeated. He was a few inches shorter than Gabe, but had at least a twenty-pound advantage. Rock-hard biceps bulged under the sleeves of his white T-shirt. His red-blond hair was buzz-cut. A jagged white scar bisected his right eyebrow, and his nose sported a distinct bump, as though it had been broken. Probably more than once. He regarded them with the cold stare of a wary Rottweiler.

  "We were just leaving," Gabe replied. His fingers squeezed her shoulder. When he stepped in front of her and started forward, she was relieved to see both his hands were empty.

  The Rottweiler blocked their escape. "Why are you nosing around?"

  Gabe's body went rigid. "Look, Bubba—"

  Her mind spun. No telling what Gabe would do if this man wouldn't let them past. "It's about the job," she heard herself blurt out.

  "Job?" the stranger growled.

  She willed her voice not to quiver. "Your flyers in the front window said you need a singer. I'm here to audition." She waved a hand at Gabe who had turned and was staring at her like she'd grown another head. "This is my … manager. No one answered the front door, so we came around back."

  The man's steel gray gaze bored into her. Holding her breath, she stood unmoving beneath his scrutiny. Finally, he spoke. "Come in." He moved forward, extracting a key from his pocket.

  With Gabe behind her, she followed muscle man down a long dark corridor.

  "I hope you know what you're doing, because we're between the devil and the deep blue sea," Gabe hissed into her ear.

  "I hope so, too," she whispered.

  Tessa's whispered reply sent adrenaline stinging through Gabe's veins. But instead of a heady, exhilarating rush, anxiety tightened his muscles. He'd let his awareness slip and trapped them in a no-win scenario. If these were the perps he'd been tracking, they'd be suspicious and jumpy. Likely to act first and ask questions later. From the silent, battle-ready way this guy moved, he had martial arts experience and was well-trained, probably ex-military.

  Gabe mentally played-out his options. If it went down ugly, Tessa could get hurt. Then again, even if he took the guy out now, she could still get hurt. Not to mention he'd burn his cover and tip off the crooks. Damn!

  His fingers gripped the Glock tucked into his waistband. He hesitated. In the short time he'd known her, Houdini had demonstrated a remarkable ability to think on her feet. He'd have to be an idiot to pass up an opportunity to get inside. As they progressed deeper into the bowels of the building, he wrestled with himself. Now or never, Colton, make your move.

  His gut said trust her. He released the gun and let his hand drop to his side. Okay, gut, you'd better not be wrong.

  The man they were following opened a padded door and switched on the lights. He led them into a silver-blue room with close to a hundred round chrome tables circled by black chairs. A chrome and black bar filled one side.

  "I'm Leo Drumm, manager." His steely gaze flicked over Gabe before fixing on Tessa. "What's your name and what do you sing?"

  Gabe could see her trembling, but she answered steadily. "Patrice … Aron. One A. And I can sing anything you want."

  Gabe bit back a grin. His instinct was still batting a thousand.

  Leo gestured at a black baby grand piano on the stage. "I wasn't expecting anybody this early. I don't have an accompanist. Go ahead and sing a cappella."

  "I play." She walked to the stage, and sat at the piano.

  "Grab a chair, Mr. Manager." Leo waved his hand.

  He slipped into his Cousin Val demeanor. "The name's Valentine, Val to you." He sauntered toward the front table.

  Leo rolled his eyes. He flipped a chair around and sat with his arms folded across the back edge. "She better be good."

  Man, he sure hoped so. "She is."

  Tessa glanced at him, her eyes wide. He sent her a silent message. You can do it, honey. Her breasts rose and fell under her brown suit as she drew a shuddery breath. Then she gracefully splayed her fingers and music began to spill out. He recognized the tune as she began to sing. "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You."

  Sucker-punched, Gabe sat frozen in his chair. She wasn't good. Her husky, sensuous voice traveled way beyond good. Clear into fantastic. Time suspended as her seductive melody floated out and wrapped around him, weaving right down into his soul. He forgot to breathe.

  Fingers snapped under his nose and he jolted, realizing he was sitting in the sudden silence like a poleaxed steer.

  Leo drilled him with a curious look. "You okay, pal?"

  Unable to locate his voice, Gabe nodded.

  Drumm stood. "Lose The King, and you got the job," he called to Tessa. "You start tomorrow night. And do something about those old-lady clothes. If you work here, you gotta be sexy."

  Gabe sucked oxygen into his air-starved lungs. Any sexier and he was a dead man. He signed the contract Leo produced, and he and Tessa left.

  She held her silence until they reached the car. She flounced into the passenger seat. "I can't believe you agreed I'd start tomorrow night! I'm supposed to have laryngitis! What if someone from work sees me?"

  Gabe strode around the car. He slid into the driver's seat. "They won't. You're using your middle name and a phony surname. That reminds me, I need to get you ID and a social security card
for Patrice Aron." He twisted the key in the ignition. "With different clothes and your hair down, nobody from the bank is going to recognize the sultry siren on stage."

  She crossed her arms over her chest. "I am not going to dress like some sidewalk strutter—" She frowned. "How did you know Patrice was my middle name?"

  Still reeling from the lethal punch of her singing, he'd slipped up again. It was getting to be a bad habit, one that could turn deadly if he wasn't careful. He should have known she would catch him, his sharp cookie never missed a trick. He lifted a shoulder. "You mentioned it, I guess."

  "No I didn't." Her eyes narrowed. "You checked up on me." A flush darkened her cheeks. "I shouldn't have wasted my breath confiding in you. You probably know what my blood type is."

  O positive, but he wasn't about to admit it. He sighed. "I order dossiers on everyone in every case." He clasped her hand, but she snatched it away. "Your report was bare bones. Priors, warrants, credit history, only enough to tell me you're not involved in anything illegal. The investigator didn't list any information about Jules and Vivienne, or your dad for that matter. Your mother covered her tracks on that one like a pro."

  "You violated my privacy." Her voice was tight.

  "Nothing personal. Just smart business."

  "It's always business with you. The only reason you trusted me is because of the report." Her voice wavered and she ripped her gaze from his face, jerking her head toward the window.

  He trusted her far more than he wanted to admit. Far more than he felt comfortable with. Far more than he'd ever trusted anyone.

  Enough to threaten his safety.

  That trust made him vulnerable, and he couldn't afford the resulting pain. "In my line of work, one small detail can mean the difference between living or dying." He slammed on the brakes and wrenched the car to the curb, then twisted to face her. Dry-eyed, she turned back to stare at him.

  He heaved a sigh of relief. No tears. "You're intelligent and talented and one hell of a terrific lady. I knew in my gut from minute one you were on the up-and-up. But our relationship is business. And that's all."

  Mute and blank-faced, she stared at him, and he soldiered on. "Yeah, we've got intense sexual heat zinging between us, but nothing will come of it. I'm not the kind of man you deserve. So we'll solve the case, lock up the bad guys and then go our separate ways."

  He gentled his voice. "Tessie, do you understand?"

  She regarded him with a thoughtful, speculative gaze. "I believe I do."

  Instead of bringing relief, her quiet agreement intensified his discomfort. Maybe she understood way more than he wanted her to. He looked away from her discerning topaz eyes, ground the gears on the Pinto, and pulled back out into traffic. "Where do we get you some sexy duds?"

  "That depends. This is case related, so is Uncle Sammy picking up the bill?"

  At her jaunty tone, his unease evaporated and he grinned in relief. "As long as I get to choose."

  "Sorry, red spandex minis aren't my style."

  A picture of her in that exact garment sprang to mind and thick, hot blood flooded his groin. His hands clenched on the wheel. Ruthlessly, he squelched his desire. "Spoilsport."

  She smiled. "I know how you feel about shopping."

  "Don't worry, there won't be a wedding dress in sight. Sexy is right up my alley. And I'm going to replace the dress and shoes you wore into the hot tub last night."

  Gabe shifted gears and the car roared past a blue minivan. Tessa studied his set jaw and white-knuckled grip on the wheel. His words were casual, but his body language told a whole different tale. Her intuition rang off the scale. He'd spouted a sincere speech loaded with common sense, but the man was on the run. Underneath the swashbuckling attitude and lightning-bolt smiles, he was scared.

  Of her.

  Now she needed to figure out why.

  And what she was going to do about it.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  They arrived at the Blue Moon at ten the next morning so Tessa could rehearse. Gabe sat at a table in the back, reading a folder of papers. Every so often, she'd catch him staring at her, wary bewilderment clouding his eyes. When he caught her looking, he'd drop his gaze. What was that all about?

  Right after her short lunch break, he approached the stage. "The liquor delivery just arrived," he murmured. "While Drumm checks the shipment, I'll search his office. Keep your eyes open, and if he heads that way, stall him."

  "How am I supposed to do that?"

  He grinned. "I have faith in you. You'll think of something." He sauntered through the doorway to the hall. The delicious sight of his perfect behind cupped by well-loved denims almost banished the anxiety his words had caused. Almost.

  Four songs later, she cast an anxious glance at the clock, and then the empty club. How much longer would he be gone?

  The door opened, and she whirled in relief. But instead of Gabe, Leo entered, carrying a large carton labeled Dewars. Bottles rattled inside the box as he lumbered across the room.

  Vic, a huge burly man with a buzz cut, stuck his head in the door and called, "Boss, Vinnie says it'll be twelve grand."

  Leo stopped midmotion. "It was only ten last Tuesday."

  Vic's big square head disappeared for a few seconds, then reappeared again. "He says you're dreamin'. It was twelve."

  "Damn it, I've got the invoice in my office. I'll shove it up his skinny ferret—" Leo shifted the box and bottles rattled again. "I'll be right there."

  Oh, no! Leo was going to his office! She flicked another desperate glance at the doorway. No sign of Gabe. She gulped. Leo passed the stage, and she hesitantly called out, "Mr. Drumm?"

  He halted, turning to glare at her with cold gray eyes.

  "Uh, would you mind taking a look at the song lineup?"

  He stared at her, then at the box in his hands before looking at her again. "You blind, deaf or both?"

  "But it will only take a minute, and I really—"

  "You artsy types are a such pain in the ass. Figure it out yourself." He plodded toward the bar.

  In a minute, he'd reach the bar, put away the box and go after the invoice, possibly catching Gabe in the act. Should she jump down and bodily stop him? She stumbled forward, almost tripping over a cordless microphone lying at her feet.

  Drastic situations called for drastic measures.

  Coughing to disguise the noise, she nudged the mic with her shoe, and it rolled off the stage, landing in front of Leo.

  His vision blocked by the box, he stepped right on it. The cylinder spun, increasing his momentum, and his feet scrabbled for traction before flying out from under him. He hit the ground with a thud. The box flew up, then crashed to the floor. Pungent, amber whiskey flooded the shiny oak surface. The sound of smashing glass echoed around the room. Then heavy silence descended.

  If she weren't so scared, she would have chuckled at the stunned disbelief on his face.

  He clambered to his feet. Shook off his pants. Shuffling to the microphone, he stared down at it. Slowly, he looked up, directly at her.

  "Oops," she offered quietly. "How did that get there?"

  "Oops?" he repeated. "Oops? Six hundred bucks' worth of Scotch is eating the varnish off my five-thousand-dollar dance floor, and all you can say is 'oops'?" he roared. His upper lip curled. "I'd fire you, but it'll take you months to pay me off." He stabbed his finger at the rapidly spreading mess. "Get down here and clean this up, you stupid bitch," he bellowed. "Now!"

  Her heart pounding, she started for the steps.

  "Hold it," Gabe snapped from behind her.

  She whirled. He strode through the doorway toward Drumm wearing an expression she'd never seen on him before. Cold fury turned his face to stone.

  Stopping inches from Leo, he spoke so low she could barely hear. "I'm her manager." His carefully measured tone made the soft admonition sound deadly. "If you've got a problem, talk to me." He leaned closer, until the men were nose-
to-nose. "And if you ever yell at her like that again, or call her anything other than Miss Aron, I'll take you apart."

  Drumm bristled and curled his fists, ready to do battle. Something in Gabe's eyes stopped him, because after a wary glance, Leo stepped back. "I don't need this," he growled. "If not for the dough she owes me, you'd both be outta here."

  "Go about your business." Menace edged Gabe's silky voice. "I'll see that this is cleaned up and you get everything coming to you."

  Drumm muttered under his breath, but he turned and stormed toward his office.

  Gabe looked up at her. His iron features relaxed into the man she knew. He sauntered to the stage and held up his hands. She let him lift her to the floor. He brushed a lock of hair back from her face. "You okay?"

  Aside from Mel, nobody had ever stood up for her before. She kind of liked having a champion. Don't get too used to it. Her knight in tarnished armor wasn't sticking around. Suddenly shaky, she nodded. "I'm fine."

  He cupped her cheek. "Great job, sweetheart." His sensual lips curved into a grin. "But I said stall him, not kill him."

  His impish humor banished her distress. She grinned back. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

  Gabe's shoulders shook. "Man, his legs churned like Wile E. Coyote going over a cliff."

  Only Gabe could turn an ugly confrontation into something humorous. Giggles bubbled into her throat and she swallowed. "Don't start. If Leo catches us laughing, he'll have a fit."

  "You're absolutely right. Mmeep, mmeep," he intoned in a perfect imitation of The Road Runner.

  She bit her lip, trying unsuccessfully to squelch her laughter. "Stop it. He could have been hurt, you know."

  "Yeah, he'll probably have to sit on an ice pack for a week." He laughed. "Not to mention being marinated in Scotch until he's going to have to fight off every lush in the county. When he's not too busy picking glass out of his—"

  "Gabe," she groaned, holding her stomach.

  "Okay, okay, I'll behave."

  "That'll be that day." But she didn't really want him to change. She liked him just the way he was, naughty, irrepressible and brimming with mischief.