HER PRIVATE DANCER Page 10

  After that, Trace's mom had worked herself ragged to clothe and feed her six children without so much as a phone call in twenty-eight years. As Trace had grown up, most of the town had predicted he'd become a chip off the old block. He hadn't, but that didn't seem to matter. An unimportant fact to the gossips who made up the majority of his neighbors. Being able to pass as his father's twin had only made it worse. They shared the same looks, same build, same cocky smile, and the same ungodly luck with women. Or so he'd been told. Trace wouldn't know firsthand since he'd been two years old when the bastard had taken off.

  For the most, Trace let their assumptions roll off his back. The people that mattered trusted him. His mom and sisters, and most of his teachers in school. Fortunately, good grades overshadowed a multitude of rumored sins. Even though he'd held down a full-time job to help his mom, slinging midshift at the same steel mill where his father had worked, Trace had always known that being successful at school was his only hope of college and a chance to live someplace else, free from being compared to his damn father for the rest of his life.

  Now, with Phoebe, on the other hand, it wasn't so easy to shrug off her unfair accusations. Well, mostly unfair. He did have ungodly luck with the fairer sex. And there had been a time or two or maybe even three when he'd been more than happy to take what was freely offered. But only with women who knew the score and whose only interests were in adding another notch to their garter belts. And never when he was involved in a relationship. Trace didn't cheat. Period.

  He would also never purposely hurt Phoebe, and just the thought of her believing he had made him want to shake his head until everything made sense. How could she be everything he ever dreamed of one minute and then look at him as if he were horny pond scum the next? A walking hard-on with the sole drive to copulate at will then leave a trail of broken hearts in his wake? Perversely, when they'd been in college, her attitude had taunted him into living down to her worst expectations almost every time.

  Trace winced, remembering the sensual binge he'd embarked on when Phoebe had stopped speaking to him. At the time, Trace had damn near glutted himself on women. Tall ones, short ones, curvy ones, he didn't care. He'd been an equal opportunity son of a bitch and the specifics hadn't mattered as long as they met two requirements. No long brown hair and no silver-gray eyes. The only good thing about the whole mess was that he hadn't managed to catch a disease.

  But who the hell cared? he asked himself. So he'd been young and stupid. He wasn't anymore. What he felt now for Phoebe was plain old lust, pure and simple. And the desire to finish what they'd started nine years ago. And the need to gorge himself on her delectable little body till neither one of them could move. But that was all. He'd have to be an idiot to fall in love with her again. Besides, he had a story to write and a career to repair. All that mattered was getting his career back and having sex with Phoebe. In that order. There, that sounded good.

  So, why didn't he buy a single damn word of it?

  Cursing himself six ways to Sunday, Trace heard Alvarez thank Phoebe and knew she was back in the living room. Jaw clenched, he glanced across the foyer then crept into the kitchen. He'd be able to hear better through the shutters over the bar connecting the two rooms. After years of investigative reporting where his job and occasionally his life depended on his presence going undetected, Trace hopped onto the counter silently and sat with his back to the wood slats. He pulled out his notebook ready to get the facts for the only thing that mattered. His story. And then sex with Phoebe.

  So how come he still wasn't buying it? The obvious answer popped into his mind and Trace flinched and thought, Aw, hell…

  * * *

  Phoebe stared down into her mug. Like a mantra, one phrase kept running through her brain. Trace hadn't cheated on her and he was still a reporter… Trace hadn't cheated on her and he was still a reporter… And right now he was somewhere in this apartment listening to every word she and Detective Alvarez said.

  She put down her cup and clasped her hands in her lap, while Alvarez used the cream and sugar for his coffee. As she waited, Phoebe couldn't help but return to her previous thoughts arid decided to forget about the whole cheating issue for a moment because she'd been wrong. And while this mostly made her happy, it also depressed the heck out of her since she'd apparently acted like a complete boob. Instead, she focused on the issue that Trace was still a reporter. Well … if she looked on the bright side, at least Trace wasn't really a stripper.

  Phoebe swallowed back a sigh, glancing at Alvarez beneath her lashes. While the detective blew on his coffee then took a sip, she tried to envision how furious he would be if he knew that she'd just blabbed her real reasons for being on the Mirage to a journalist. Some master of the operative world she was turning out to be. Forget torture. Just stick a hot guy in front of her and she'd spill her guts in ten seconds flat.

  "I guess you're pretty anxious to find out what the captain had to say about your offer."

  Phoebe started at the sound of the detective's voice. "Yes, you might say that." She licked her lips and offered him a tentative smile. Jeesh, she hardly knew how to act. Less casual. More formal. What exactly was the appropriate conduct for trying to bamboozle the police out of putting your nutty relatives in the slammer?

  Alvarez smiled back. A nice-looking man, probably in his late thirties. Dark hair and dark eyes. Cuban, she'd guess, given his last name and the fact they were in Miami. He'd been polite to her when they'd spoken before, though she would have understood if he'd throttled her on the spot with all the havoc Tiffany and Tony running off had wreaked on the poor man's case.

  "I hope you understand the situation," he continued. "I can't guarantee anything, but I did present your offer to my higher-ups."

  Phoebe leaned forward. "And…?"

  "Well, the situation's a little difficult. We're interested, all right, but—" he paused as if searching for the right wording "—we have to tread carefully."

  Phoebe licked her lips, afraid to become too encouraged just yet. "Tread carefully?"

  "Hmm." Alvarez made a sound of agreement then sighed. "Well, here's where it gets sticky. Officially, the police department can't request assistance like this from an innocent party. In other words, if we don't have anything on you, we can't ask you—" he paused with a grin "—or rather force you, to be a CI."

  Phoebe frowned. "I hate to keep asking questions but what's a CI?"

  "No, that's okay. It's a confidential informant. A person in the same situation as your sister. They've committed a crime that's not big enough to be our main concern in the case, but by making a deal to lower or drop their charges, we use them to gather information." He shrugged. "Every once in a while we'll let a civilian help us, usually because they've stumbled across something illegal at work. White-collar crimes. But not in dangerous situations if we can help it." He waved his hand. "Too much liability."

  Here he stopped to look at Phoebe then shook his head. "But you want to spy on Angelo Venzara to keep your sister out of jail. That almost makes the department look as if we coerced you into taking your sister's place, when our goal was to make Tiffany listen in on the meeting not you." He let out a deep breath then rubbed his jaw. "But since we can't keep you from working at the Mirage … and well, you're already there, let's just say we're not going to turn away whatever you find out Saturday night."

  Phoebe hesitated. "Oh, good, good, but I'm a little confused. Does that mean the charges against Tiffany will be dropped?"

  "Off the record, since they were relatively minor in the scheme of things, the captain doesn't see why not if we're satisfied with what you bring to us."

  Phoebe rubbed her forehead. "I guess that'll have to be enough for now."

  Alvarez nodded, his expression serious. "I'll try to help, but I have to be careful. If I were to start telling you what to do, the department could be responsible if anything goes wrong since you'd be directly following my orders. The problem is, I know you're going through wit
h this harebrained scheme regardless of anything I say, so I might as well do whatever I can."

  Phoebe adjusted her robe and smiled up at him hesitantly. "You've been very understanding about all this." She shook her head. "I'm sorry my sister has put your department in this awkward position."

  Alvarez said dryly, "Frankly, Ms. Devereaux, after meeting your sister, nothing about this present situation surprises me. Other than the fact that you two are related. Is Tiffany adopted?"

  Phoebe grinned at his sarcasm. "No such luck. But, honestly, she means well. In her own way. I told you about the pregnancy." She shrugged then sighed. "She's just very protective of the baby. Otherwise I know she wouldn't have left." She quickly added, "Of course, Tiffany doesn't really believe that Mr. V. is involved in any crimes, so there's really not all that much risk for me. Or her," she blurted. "I mean, if Tiffany had stayed … well, you understand what I'm trying to say…" Then Phoebe ducked her chin, hating Alvarez to think of her as some sort of sap who did anything Tiffany asked regardless of the danger. Then again, if the shoe fit…

  The detective's mouth flattened. "I know what your sister thinks. She told me in quite colorful language. Listen, I wouldn't waste my time if I didn't think the bastard was up to something. That's fifteen years of experience talking. Don't count on your sister's fantasies about Angelo Venzara being innocent to keep you safe. You need to be careful. His man Sonny can be a shark. If he suspects you, get the hell off that boat. Period. I do not want or need your life on my hands."

  Phoebe nodded, her throat working against the sudden pressure squeezing her windpipe.

  He shook his head, moving on to another topic. "Have you made any progress in replacing your sister this Saturday?"

  Phoebe licked her lips. "Um, no. Not yet. I don't have my first show until Tuesday night, so tomorrow I'll hang around the ship and practice as much as I can. Tiffany thinks Mr. V. and Sonny are just waiting to see how I do. But she's confident they'll approach me then."

  Alvarez rolled his eyes. "Do you mind if I ask when Tiffany is not confident?"

  Phoebe had to laugh, but her amusement quickly faded. She licked her lips again. "If by some chance I'm not asked to work Mr. V.'s private party, would it be possible for me to, say … oh, I don't know, maybe get the information you need another way?"

  The detective's dark gaze zeroed in on her. "What exactly are you asking me?"

  "Well, I hate to bring this up, but Tiffany mentioned that Tony might be in some trouble with your department as well. So, I just thought that maybe, since I'm already there and everything…"

  He muttered something in Spanish under his breath, which Phoebe rather doubted was positive. "I gather you're working yourself up to ask if you can save Tony Venzara's neck by doing his snoop work for us as well?"

  Phoebe licked her lips and nodded. "I know that he obviously had a lot more access with Mr. V. and the Mirage, but Tony seems to be willing to steer me in the right direction. As a matter of fact, I found out this morning about an island Mr. V. purchased a year ago. The unmarked crates that the Mirage has been picking up in Nassau are coming from the island. Tony thinks it's possible that Mr. V. might be growing something and then bringing it into port on the Mirage."

  "Tony Venzara told you all this?"

  "Yes, through Tiffany. He feels horrible about it, but with Tiffany's pregnancy there was no way he could just let her run off by herself. Tony is hoping that once you figure out that Mr. V. is a legitimate businessman, you'll drop the charges against him as well."

  "I cannot believe I'm going to go along with this," he grumbled, while he jotted down what she'd said in a little notebook very similar to Trace's.

  Phoebe almost bounced up and down in her seat and had to refrain from clapping her hands when she registered his words.

  When Alvarez finished writing, he closed the pad and slid it back inside his sports coat. "We knew about the crates, but not where they were originating from. Has Tony ever gotten a look inside one?"

  "No. But I'll talk to Tiffany again and see what else Tony might remember."

  "For his sake, it better be a lot. All right, I'm gonna get started on finding out what I can about this island. We've never run across it and I thought we knew about every pie Angelo Venzara had sunk his fingers into." Alvarez stood up from his chair, and added, "For the last six moths, Venzara has been liquidating his personal assets like crazy. Turning them into cash. Makes you wonder what he's using all that money for if he's as innocent as your brother-in-law thinks."

  He headed for the front door, then stopped and looked back. "By the way. Forget about me not giving you orders. From now on you do everything I say. No arguments. If Tony keeps this crap up, which for his sake I hope he does, then I'm in charge. No going off on your own. Do you understand?"

  Phoebe wanted to gush her thanks but settled with, "Yes, completely." Then she thought about Trace in the next room and knew there was no way that she could be totally compliant with Alvarez's request. Not if Trace was off solving the crime on his own. Though she'd never blow Trace's cover, she'd already come to the conclusion that she couldn't let him write his story until she'd cleared Tony and Tiffany with the police. She slid her hand behind her back, crossed her fingers and said to Alvarez, "I won't make a single move without your permission."

  The detective gave her a long look then snorted. "Yeah, right. Now I see where the other sister gets it." Alvarez opened the door, but before he let himself out, said, "You're hiding something, Devereaux. If you're serious about wanting to get your nutty relatives off the hook, you'd better figure out how to tell me. Soon. I don't like surprises." And by the look he shot her, she knew he wasn't lying.

  * * *

  Phoebe collapsed back in her chair the moment the door closed. An adrenaline crash after a long sustained rush. Her emotions were none too steady either. Not with her extra snooping assignments, and Alvarez's suspicions, and Trace's involvement as a reporter, and then just plain old everything about Trace.

  His blasted sister, she thought, and cringed. And what on earth was she going to do about Trace and his story? she wondered, groaning softly. At the moment Phoebe didn't have a single clue, but there was no way she could let him interfere with getting the police what they needed so Tiffany and her husband could come home. Their situation was already precarious enough. She closed her eyes, dropping her head forward. If only she could just make time to stop for a few hours and deal with everything later. After she'd bathed and slept.

  A noise sounded from the kitchen and Phoebe winced. Any minute Trace would be marching out here demanding the truth, and just the thought made her stomach clench. She could not handle him right now. Not his questions, or the feelings he created. At the very least, maybe she could sneak in a soothing bath before the interrogation began.

  Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder, she crept down the hallway to Tiffany's room. She gazed longingly at the bed but forced herself to walk past and into the master bath. Here Phoebe stopped. Her lips curved downward as her gaze circled the room, finally zeroing in on one of her many reflections.

  No one should have to face this kind of self-analysis so early in the day, she thought in disgust. Especially with a hangover. What could Tiffany have been thinking when she'd had the room remodeled? Phoebe snorted and thought, well, duh…

  Every surface in the room not covered with dark red tile, was one endless mirror. And she meant everything. Walls, ceilings, the back of the door, the inside of the huge shower that sported eight heads complete with pulsating sprays at bizarre and interesting angles. Heck, even the shiny gold toilet seat offered a view. The whole effect was a cross of art deco-meets Las Vegas chic-meets the best little whorehouse in Texas. Arousing and revealing and somewhat repulsive at the same time.

  Phoebe looked away and removed the dozens of pins digging into her scalp, then set them on the vanity. That finished, she twisted her hair back into a knot, this time without her fashionable quills, then climbed the step
s to the sunken Jacuzzi tub. She ducked to turn on the spigot. The sound of the pounding water echoed through the room and Phoebe felt her muscles relax a tiny amount. This was exactly what she needed. A nice long soak in the tub then a quick, painless drowning to chase all her troubles away.

  That started, she went back to the sink and brushed her teeth. She also scrubbed her face. Feeling marginally better, Phoebe slipped off her robe and immediately stopped feeling better. Completely naked, she could see herself from the front, back, side and even from above if she wanted. Not that she wanted, mind you. Heck, even a ballet dancer could have body image issues. Fortunately, the steaming water and sweet relief beckoned.

  Dropping to her knees on the top step, she leaned onto her free hand and turned off the tap. Then, almost absently, before she stood, Phoebe glanced up and her mouth fell open. She stared at the reflection ping-ponging into view from behind her. Her lungs froze. Her eyes grew wide. She tried to curse but only managed inarticulate squeaks.

  She was having a panic attack, Phoebe realized. Closing her eyes, she told herself to relax. She was lying in a field of grass … the sun was warm against her skin and she saw a butterfly. No, she didn't!

  Instead, she saw her naked butt stuck up in the air, and every bit of her female anatomy prominently displayed beneath. She couldn't breathe. This was the same view Trace had gotten this morning.

  Her skin felt clammy and she knew her temperature was dropping but she couldn't control her body's reactions no matter how hard she concentrated. Of all the times for her neurotic psyche to go into meltdown mode, why now? So she'd given Trace the crotch shot of a lifetime. That wasn't so bad, was it? The answer, of course, was yes!

  Phoebe twisted down onto the step and hugged her knees to her chest. Suddenly, all the humiliations of the past twenty-four hours flashed through her head like clips from a movie. Getting drunk at the party. Grabbing a cop's butt. Passing out in front of a roomful of people. And the worst of all, Trace finding her naked … with a vibrator in her ear.