Forbidden Stranger Read online

  “Not really,” she said at last. “You don’t generally get a long-term career in this business. If the looks don’t give out, the body does. And a lot of girls never intend to stay long. They earn some fast money and if something better comes along, they grab it.”

  “Was that what you intended? To earn some fast money, then do something else?”

  She studied his expression. There was no judgment there, no condemnation, just simple friendly curiosity. He wasn’t interested in the morality of stripping—or strippers. He was asking about her.

  “The money was a lure,” she admitted. “We never had much of it, and after my father’s accident…” It had happened twenty-four years ago this month, on a gray, rainy day like today. She had gone to school that morning, everything right in her world, and had gone home to find out it had all changed.

  “What happened?” Rick’s voice was quiet, his tone more than just curious.

  She rarely talked about that day, or its lasting results, to anyone. Oh, she mentioned that her father had died as the result of an accident, but she’d never acknowledged the long, difficult years between the accident and his death.

  “A truck lost its load,” she said, stopping for a red light, watching the left-turning traffic pass a few feet away. “He was in the vehicle behind it. His spine was severed, and he suffered some brain damage.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Six when it happened. Fifteen when he died.” Nine years of watching the sparkle fade from her dad’s life—of watching it fade from her own life. Nine years for Brenda of working two or three minimum-wage jobs, trying to make ends meet, trying to keep some sort of sparkle in her own life.

  Rick touched her shoulder; she realized the traffic had passed and the walk sign was flashing. Shaking off the longing for her dad, she crossed the street, matching her pace to Rick’s.

  “Sorry,” he said, sounding sincere. “My father died when I was eleven. Heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry.” She was sincere, too. Her dad had been the best part of her life. She still missed him, still wished she could hear his voice, feel his arms around her, dance with him.

  “Don’t be. I’m not,” Rick said with a careless shrug. His expression, with his skin damp and his dark hair slicked back by the rain, was careless to match. Catching her gaze, he raised his brows and his mouth quirked. “Hell, I would’ve bet he didn’t even have a heart.”

  Chapter 4

  R ick had to give Amanda credit. Her jaw didn’t hit the ground and she didn’t look at him as if he’d grown a second head or admonish him for saying something so cold. She just kept giving that steady, serious look, pretty much empty of emotion, except for a hint of sympathy. He didn’t want it. He was long since over the disappointment Gerald had been.

  “What about you?” he asked, directing the conversation back to its original subject. “Have you gotten any better offers?”

  She peeled off the bright pink jacket and tied the sleeves around her waist. The jacket had been useless as far as keeping her dry underneath. Her white tank top was plastered to her skin, so damn near transparent that he could see the blue logo on her sports bra. The shirt molded to her breasts, then skimmed across her flat middle, where her thin nylon shorts clung to her hips.

  He’d called her a distraction, and it was an accurate description. Just looking at her and watching her move damn near short-circuited his brain. It made him forget that he’d seen her practically naked at the club on more occasions than he could count. This was different. This was sexier.

  “I’ve had offers,” she replied, “though, obviously, I didn’t think they were better or I would have accepted them.”

  “Marriage proposals?”

  “No. A dozen chances to trade my virtue for an apartment, a car and a monthly allowance. A trip to Europe. A chance to star in Amanda Does Atlanta. Job offers in New Orleans, Las Vegas and Hong Kong.” She laughed. “But not a soul who wanted to take me home to meet his mother.”

  Practically cross-eyed at the idea of Amanda doing Atlanta—of Amanda doing him—he stumbled over a broken section of sidewalk. Alongside the lust, though, was disgust for the men who’d thought she should sell herself out for an apartment, a car or a trip to Europe. If they’d met her anyplace besides a strip club, they would have shown her more respect.

  Or maybe not. Gerald hadn’t met any of his girlfriends in strip clubs, and he’d had no more respect for them than he had for his wife. All he’d cared about was himself.

  “Once you start teaching, that’ll change. I bet all your male students fall in love with you before the semester’s over.”

  She laughed again, this time without the sarcasm that had colored it earlier. “I hope they’re too absorbed in the subject matter to even notice the color of my hair.”

  It wasn’t the color of her hair that would absorb them—though he had to admit the long coppery curls had caught his attention the first time he’d seen her. Her back had been to him, and, strange as it seemed, he’d become accustomed to seeing lots of skin, long naked spines, shapely asses and legs that went on forever. But the curls had made her stand out.

  “You’re teaching lit. No one’s going to be so absorbed in it that they don’t notice everything about you.”

  “Gee, thanks. You’re doing wonders for my confidence.” As the rain slacked off, she stopped, then gestured. “This is where I turn.”

  Looking around, he saw that it was her street. That was the quickest two-plus miles he’d done in a long time. “Thanks for the company.”

  She turned, walking backward along the sidewalk. “Tell Julia hello.”

  “Julia…yeah.”

  “Though I’ll see her later today myself.” With a wave, she turned and picked up her pace to a slow jog.

  He watched a moment—pure inspiration—then did the same, heading toward the apartment. As he turned into the complex, the rain grew heavy again. The usual clusters of punks in their teens and early twenties—unemployed, some tough guys, some wannabes—were absent, thanks to the showers. In fact, Rick didn’t see another person until he walked into the apartment and found Julia in the kitchen, nuking a cup of instant coffee.

  She looked at him, wet and still carrying his shirt, and her nose wrinkled. “You’re soaked.”

  “That’s what happens when you go out in the rain without an umbrella or a raincoat.” She had brought a trench coat, a slicker and three umbrellas with her. He didn’t own any of the above. “Write this down, will you?”

  Naturally she didn’t have to scramble for something to write with or on. She picked up the ink pen—hers—that rested on the note pad on the counter—also hers—and wrote the address he’d memorized when he’d first encountered Amanda. He hadn’t believed for a second that the house was just a convenient turnaround point. It had significance to Amanda and he wanted to know what.

  He wanted to know everything about her.

  “Give me a minute,” Julia said, setting her coffee down and easing past him to get to the computer on the dining table. “You’re dripping on the floor.”

  While she logged on to the Internet, he went into the bathroom, stripped, took a quick shower, then toweled off. As soon as he’d pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, he returned to the living room. “Well?”

  “The house belongs to a woman by the name of Roxy Martinez. She has about fifty rental houses all over Atlanta. It’s currently rented to Brenda Nelson, who works as an assistant manager at a place called McKettrick’s. Pricey clothes, expensive cosmetics, five-hundred-dollars-a-pair shoes. And—” it was apparent by her manner that Julia knew the next was unnecessary, but she confirmed it anyway “—she’s Amanda’s mother.”

  The mother who didn’t approve of her daughter’s occupation, who ignored Amanda’s efforts to maintain some sort of contact, lived little more than two miles away. Did she know Amanda sometimes went by her house? Did she ever see her? Talk to her? Invite her in?

  Probably not. He figured Ama
nda planned those runs for when her mother was at work. Less chance of rejection that way.

  What had Brenda Nelson’s dreams been for her daughter? College, a career? Marriage and motherhood? An easier life than her own had been? Was her disappointment so great that she’d rather not have any contact at all with Amanda?

  He made a mental note to touch base with his own mother. His father may not have been worth the air he breathed, but his mom was the best. He should tell her more often.

  “Did you find out anything helpful?” Julia asked.

  He knew that Amanda was more gorgeous without makeup and drenched to the skin than other women were at their best. That jogging—rather, watching her jog—could be as much foreplay as any other activity. That her father was dead and that, no matter how casual she acted, she missed her mother. That her life growing up hadn’t been easy.

  But Julia wouldn’t share his interest in any of that.

  “Tasha’s best friend at the club was DinaBeth Jones, who left Almost Heaven for a better offer a few weeks before Tasha’s better offer came in.”

  “Which we already knew.”

  He didn’t object to her pointing out the obvious. She knew as well as he did that neither of them could ask too many questions of Amanda or anyone else at the club without rousing suspicion. Besides, that was the purpose of bringing Julia undercover, so she could ask the questions about the girls.

  “She doesn’t seem to think there’s anything unusual about Tasha and DinaBeth leaving so close together. If something better comes along, you grab it.”

  “So why is she still doing this after twelve years? I can’t believe nothing better’s come along.”

  “She’s made her own something better,” Rick said absently. “She’s quitting in less than six weeks. She already has a teaching job lined up at Middleton.”

  “Good.”

  Yeah, he thought so, too.

  Leaving the computer, Julia reached across the counter to pick up her coffee, probably not even lukewarm now, and took a sip. “How am I going to bring up the missing girls without making anyone suspicious?”

  He held up one finger to signal wait, then went into his room. When he returned, he laid a photograph on the table between them. “Tasha, DinaBeth and Lisa.” He pointed to each woman in turn. They wore bras, thongs and high, high heels, and were posed arm in arm in front of the bar at Almost Heaven. The shot was fairly well-lit, indicating it had been taken before opening or after closing. The club never saw so much light during business hours. “Lisa Howard sent this to her sister a couple weeks before she disappeared. You can ‘find’ it in a locker, on the floor, wherever, and ask about them.”

  Julia nodded, gazed at the three smiling women for a moment, then gravely asked, “What do you think happened to them?”

  They could have been killed, forced into working for someone to whom Rosey owed a debt or even sold into some sort of sex-ring operation. They could have been coerced into prostitution or could have been given the starring roles in a series of snuff films.

  Or they could be living the good life. There really could have been a better offer.

  But Lisa’s sister, down in Savannah, was absolutely convinced that Lisa would have stayed in touch with her, no matter what. Unlike DinaBeth and her family, Tasha and hers—Amanda and hers—Lisa hadn’t been disowned, criticized or even scolded for her decision to dance. It was just her and her sister, and while her sister hadn’t liked Lisa’s decision, she hadn’t banished Lisa from her life. They’d talked on the phone a couple times a week and e-mailed each other daily.

  Until, without warning, the contact had ended. Lisa had quit her job and moved out of her apartment without notice. Her belongings were gone.

  Lora Howard knew in her heart that something terrible had happened to her sister.

  Rick tended to agree with her.

  “I don’t know,” he replied at last. “You want to hope for the best.”

  “But be prepared for the worst. Do you think the other dancers at the club are in danger?” More quietly, she asked the question that was really on her mind. “Do you think Amanda’s in danger?”

  The possibility made Rick’s gut clench. Wouldn’t that be hell if, just weeks before reaching the goal she’d worked hard for, she vanished without a trace? “I don’t know. Probably not. She’s friendly with Rosey Hines. She’s been around a long time. People would miss her if she disappeared. Besides, these girls are eighteen, nineteen and twenty. Amanda’s almost thirty-one.”

  “Makes me grateful I’m thirty-three.” Julia gazed at the photograph again before lifting her gaze. “What if another girl disappears before we find out what’s going on?”

  Rick didn’t answer. It wasn’t as if warning the dancers was an option. All they could do was concentrate on their job and hope it didn’t get more complicated before it was over.

  Hope he didn’t fall for Amanda.

  Hope he didn’t do something unprofessional or dangerous or just plain stupid. He was a guy. Guys were known for being stupid. Sometimes they got lucky and everything turned out all right, like with his brother. A special agent with the Mississippi Bureau of Investigation, Mitch had fallen in love with a subject in his last undercover investigation, and he and Jessica were now playing house in Jackson and planning a Christmas wedding.

  But Mitch had had the advantage of knowing that handcuffs with Jessica would be only for fun. The possibility of Rick arresting Amanda was a real one. If she was involved in Rosey’s extracurricular activities, if she had any idea what had really happened to the missing girls…

  Rick’s instincts said she was innocent and he usually trusted them one hundred percent. But this time his instincts wanted to get closer to the subject—wanted to play out their own version of Amanda Does Atlanta. This time he couldn’t trust them, not completely.

  “We live with it,” Julia murmured in answer to her own question. If another girl went missing on their watch, they regretted it. They dealt with it.

  And they damn well punished the people responsible.

  Loosen up a little tonight, Amanda had told Julia after their afternoon lesson. Dress casually—jeans, shirt. Nothing too prim. She’d wanted Julia to be someone the other dancers could relate to when they met for the first time.

  Well, she’d worn jeans. Indigo blue. Pressed, with a razor-sharp crease. Flats, navy blue with matching socks. A button-front blouse with about a dozen too many buttons done up. On the upside, her hair was softly curled and her makeup was closer to the makeover Amanda had given her than the very light touch she preferred.

  On the downside, she looked prim. Nervous. The respectable, reserved bookkeeper was intimidated by the prospect of meeting a bunch of exotic dancers. “This is about as casual as I get,” she said with an apologetic shrug as she met Amanda in the back parking lot of Almost Heaven.

  “It’s okay,” Amanda said. “Buttons can be sexy. Especially if you undo three or four of them.”

  “I don’t suppose it could be three or four at the bottom.”

  Resting her duffel on the bottom step, Amanda undid the top buttons until a hint of cleavage showed, then opened one more for good measure. She also unfastened the bottom couple buttons, then adjusted the collar. “There. Don’t be nervous.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Julia retorted as she followed Amanda up the steps and into the corridor. “You’re not about to walk into a room filled with beautiful, sexy young women who will make you feel dowdy and old.”

  She was right there. Even when Amanda was eighty-five, white-haired and frail, she had no intention of being dowdy.

  “Rick doesn’t have any complaints, does he?” Amanda’s words were a reminder to herself as well as Julia. Whatever attraction she felt for Rick was out of line. He was taken, and by a woman she’d like to consider a friend. “He loves you the way you are.”

  A sharp laugh escaped Julia, totally involuntary, as if she found the idea outrageous. It was the same kind of laugh Rick h
ad given the night before when Amanda had suggested that after three years, he and Julia should consider marriage. That was right before he’d told her to mind her own business.

  If they weren’t in love, why were they together? Great sex? The ease of familiarity? Habit?

  Amanda would never settle for any of those. If she was going to be with a man that long, they would be madly in love, like her parents. She wanted that kind of passion and commitment. She wanted to wake up next to a man, knowing that her life was better because he was in it. She wanted to miss him during the day and know that he missed her, too. She wanted to be grateful for each day they were together, wanted to know that they had an always together.

  She’d rather be alone than find herself spending year after year with a man who wasn’t her passion, but was merely okay until someone better came along. She was living proof of that, wasn’t she? Soon to be thirty-one and never been in love. Never even really interested…until lately.

  Noise filtered through the dressing room’s open door as they approached. It would be controlled chaos inside—women dressing, touching up makeup, fixing hair. While some of them were unpleasant and sharp-tongued and a couple were just mean, Amanda was counting on the naturally friendly nature of others to put Julia at ease.

  Tossing her bag onto a chair, she introduced Julia around the room. Julia exchanged nods, murmured hellos, then said in an awed tone, “You’re beautiful.”

  Eternity, the subject of her stare, laughed and patted the empty seat beside her. “Come over here, child. I like this one. She has a good eye. Are you a dancer?”

  “No. But I’m flattered you asked.”

  Smiling faintly, Amanda unzipped her duffel. In addition to the usual items—outfits, heels, makeup—she always packed a book or two for her break. This time there was the Proust that Rick had interrupted, along with the latest bestselling thriller. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to read Proust again without thinking about Rick and his charming grin.

  She removed her outfit for the first set, then stuffed the bag into her locker. Eternity was chatting up Julia, with a couple of the other girls joining in. “So you’re a friend of Amanda’s,” Eternity said after a few moments.