Chances Are - By Christy Reece Page 0,30

of an extremely short cowgirl dress and cowboy boots.

Georgette nodded. “Angela, this is Luscious Lucy. She goes on right before you do.”

Lucy flashed a bright, welcoming smile. “I’ll warm them up for you.”

“Thanks,” Angela said, returning her smile.

A voice boomed behind them. “Lucy, you’re on in two.”

Lucy gave a teasing wink. “Better head that way before Arlo has a nervous breakdown.”

Angela had met Arlo, the stage manager, earlier. He was a thin, nervous man with a beaky nose and kind eyes. Georgette had introduced them and then explained that Arlo was married to a former dancer of Club Drago. She said he had a fatherly affection for all the girls and watched out for them.

As Lucy swayed toward the door in her four-inch cowboy boots, Angela stood and surveyed herself in the full-length mirror.

“There are going to be some hot and bothered men out there tonight,” Georgette said admiringly.

Perhaps, but there were only two she wanted to attract. One was the love of her life and the other was a sadistic killer.

Jake sat at a table, on a dais to the left of the stage, with an excellent view of the club. So far, he’d seen nothing out of the ordinary. Just everyday, average horny men staring with lust-glazed eyes as beautiful and scantily clad women gyrated in front of them.

The audience was mostly men of varying ages. He saw a few guys who didn’t look old enough to be there, along with a couple of old geezers who looked as though they could keel over at anytime. None of them looked like killers, serial or otherwise. But then, mild-mannered looking people committed bloodcurdling crimes every damn day.

Ingram and Kelly had started their undercover jobs tonight, too. Dressed in a short, red skirt, a white, midriff-baring top and stilettos that made her appear about five inches taller, the always serious-looking Riley Ingram was barely recognizable. Jake had never worked with the young operative before and had to admit he was impressed with her acting abilities. The few times he’d met her, she’d seemed withdrawn and closed off. Tonight she was the total opposite. She flirted and laughed, deterring wayward hands and off-color comments with impressive diplomacy.

Justin Kelly stood at attention a few yards from her. Though his eyes roamed the crowded room, the former special ops man returned his gaze frequently to his partner. Other than her height, Riley had many of the same similarities as the killer’s preferred victim. Even though the two operatives were mainly here for Angela’s protection, Riley Ingram would also be working hard to attract the killer’s attention. And Justin Kelly would be doing the same thing as Jake—looking for a killer and making sure his partner stayed safe.

Jake had worked an op with Kelly a couple of months ago. Their mission had been to rescue a small group of aid workers being held for ransom in Guatemala. He’d been impressed with Kelly’s no-bullshit attitude. They’d gone in just before dawn and grabbed the five victims. No casualties and the disorganized group of small-time thugs were now locked up. It had been a good day.

As the countrified and well-endowed Lucy left the stage wearing only her G-string and cowboy boots, the music started for the next performer. Jake froze. He recognized the music from when Angela had played it earlier in the apartment. The title of the song, Come And Get Me, was dammed provocative. Jake just hoped to hell it didn’t provoke more than what they anticipated. He was here to catch a killer, not fight a roomful of horny, out of control men.

He caught his first glimpse of Dark Angel. Holy hell, no wonder she’d had room for her costume in her purse. There was nothing to it. A miniscule black leather jacket covered what looked like a bra made of black fishnet. Even from this distance, he could see rose-colored nipples. She wore black bikini panties, black, thigh-high stockings and black boots. She finished off the look with short, black gloves. And for some unknown, freaky reason, those gloves called to him. The flash of a fantasy played in his mind—Angela wearing nothing but those gloves.

Long, raven-black hair fell like a silken waterfall over her creamy shoulders and rippled hypnotically with each sensual movement she made with the music. She grasped the pole, whirled, caressed and twisted around it, as if inviting a lover to her bed. Then she strutted away from the pole and faced the crowded room. The seductive expression

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