concept.
She stood and held out her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Rawlins. We’ll do our best to have no impact on your business.”
For the first time Roddy gave her a look of pure lust, his eyes oozing up and down her body like thick slime. “Oh, I think you’ll have an impact on the business but it will all be very good.” If possible, the tone of his voice was even slimier than his look.
Wanting to put their discussion back on a business-like basis, she chose to take his words as a compliment. Maintaining a pleasant and neutral expression, she kept her hand outstretched.
The sleazy expression disappeared and Roddy smiled congenially as he gave a firm, business-like handshake. “You’re going to do just fine.”
It had been a test. Angela was glad she had passed it.
“What time do I go on and where’s the dressing room?”
“You’re on at nine and then at ten-thirty. Be back here by seven-thirty. That’ll give you some time to get a look around and the chance to meet the other ladies before your first performance.”
She felt Jake at her back as they left Roddy’s office, went through the club and out into the early evening. Traffic was at a fever pitch with car horns blaring and the occasional zoom of a vehicle that managed to get out of the gridlock.
“You want to get some dinner or go back to the apartment?” Jake asked.
Go back to the apartment so soon after what had happened earlier? No freaking way. “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”
The relief on his face obvious, he said, “There’s a good Italian restaurant a couple of blocks up.”
Angela silently followed him down the street. She shouldn’t be hurt that he didn’t want to go back to the apartment. This job was not about her unrequited love, it was about saving lives. The sting of his rejection would fade. This was her first LCR op and she was determined to do the best job she could. Jake was her partner and handler. To expect something more from him was not only unprofessional, it was silly. She was out to catch a killer, not get laid.
With that cemented in her mind, she managed to carry on a halfway intelligent conversation about the various Italian recipes she’d learned in a cooking class. So intent on acting as if nothing was bothering her, she hardly noticed that the discussion was all one-sided.
How are you going to handle men making sexual comments about your woman? The question reverberated through Jake’s head. The fact that Roddy had read him correctly should bother him but he had bigger concerns. The brief taste the man had given of just one slime-ball stare made him realize he wasn’t as detached as he had told himself he would be. Jake was a born protector—a trait that had occasionally driven Teresa crazy. He knew the vile things people could do to each other and had wanted to keep her safe. In the end, he had failed miserably.
Protecting Angela was going to be doubly difficult. Not only would he have to restrain himself from going after the men in the club, he also had to be on the lookout for the crazed madman who might want to kill her. And his feelings for her, whether he wanted to admit them or not, weren’t the mildly affectionate ones he told himself he could allow. The things she made him feel were gut deep and full of all the emotions he’d denied himself for years.
But they had to be shoved back, out of the way. These kinds of feelings weren’t something he could allow, especially on an op.
They walked into the small mom and pop Italian restaurant he’d eaten at a couple of times when he’d been vacationing here. Angela had chattered nonstop since they’d left the club, seemingly unaware of his lack of words.
They were seated and had placed their order before Jake spoke. Wanting to get the discussion back to an easygoing non-confrontational status they’d developed over the last few months, Jake said, “I ate here a couple of times when I was on vacation. I think you’ll like it.”
Stupid to forget that Angela was the queen of confrontations.
Leaning forward, she seared him with her eyes and said softly, “So, am I your woman, Jake?”
Chapter Eight
A house outside London
“You really shouldn’t be afraid of me. I’m going to make you famous. When I’m through with you, everyone in England will know who you are.”
The silver tape across Clarissa Eaton’s