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“Triple E’s in a box,” Matt said. Matt had a serious obsession with large breasts.
“Notice she’s a blonde.” Tim pointed out the obvious. “And she even comes with prerecorded messages, personalized just for you.”
Matt snickered. “We know how important deep conversation is to you.”
“If you don’t like Sheila, we can return her for you. She had a sister in the box next to her,” AJ said.
He looked the box over. “On no. I’ll keep her. I have a feeling Sheila and I are going to get along just fine.”
FIVE DAYS LATER, Nick set up his laptop on the small table in the corner of the hotel room. He put his underwear in the dresser, hung his shirts and slacks and stored his suitcase in the hotel closet. He crossed the room to the box sitting on one of the chairs next to the table.
“Okay, Sheila, my love, time for you to come out of the box.” Nick opened the box, laughing. He wasn’t giving AJ, Matt and Tim the upper hand with this joke. No way. He’d brought the lovely Sheila along. Now he planned to blow her up, take a digital photo of them together and e-mail it to the guys.
Sheila turned out to be five foot three and all plastic woman. Nick shook his head. He’d managed to make it to almost thirty without firsthand knowledge of a blow-up doll. The lovely Sheila should at least put on a shirt. That’s all he needed, to be arrested for Internet porn involving a blowup doll. He pulled a button-down out of the mirrored closet, crossed the room and slid one of her arms into the shirtsleeve. He grabbed her hand to pull it through.
“Ohhh, Nicky, would you like me to talk dirty to you?” said a tinny, pseudo sexy voice with a distinct Australian accent, startling him.
He’d forgotten. The well-endowed Sheila came with personalized recorded messages. Apparently the key to conversation with Sheila was squeezing her hand.
What the heck. He might as well hear what she had to say. Nick squeezed again.
“Oh. Nicky, you’re so big.”
He laughed and listened to the next message.
“Nicky, big boy, I’d really like you to put your big rod inside me.”
“Nicky, you make me so hot.”
“Nicky, I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I’m your personal love slave.”
“I’ve been so lonely without you, Nicky. Come to Mama.”
“Oh, Nicky, you’re too much man for me. Maybe I should invite my hot, horny friend over, too.”
“You’ve been a very naughty boy, Nicky. Do you need a spanking?”
Okay. Sheila’s prerecorded messages offered a little something for everyone. He pulled her other arm through the shirt and smoothed it over her shoulders, encountering a switch on the back of her neck. He flipped the switch and Sheila, the Aussie lass, took off like a plastic doll possessed, vibrating wildly from the waist down, her triple-E’s bobbing like water balloons in a juggling act. Laughing, Nick reached beneath the blond hair and turned her off.
Sheesh. He had to hand it to his buddies, when they bought a blow-up doll, they bought the top of the line.
And despite all of her attributes, Sheila didn’t do a thing for him. It’d been so long since he’d had any kind of contact, if you discounted Polly’s breasts brushing against his back, he was relieved Sheila wasn’t doing a thing for him.
He set his digital camera up on the table and positioned Sheila into a seated, semireclined pose in one of the chairs. Setting the timer, he ran over and perched on her lap, one arm draped around her shoulders. The camera went off and he checked the shot. Excellent. In no time he downloaded it to his laptop, added the caption “I think I’m in love” and sent it to AJ, Tim and Matt. He grinned. Those jerks would roll on the floor.
He was in control and decided he’d head to the bar downstairs for a burger and a beer.
SERENA CHECKED HER weapon in her purse before she left the stall of the hotel bar’s bathroom. That was one of the challenges of going undercover in a short skirt, thigh-high boots and a form-fitting top—it didn’t leave many options to carry concealed. Now she just had to find her man.
She entered the dimly lit bar, typical for a hotel lounge. As plans went, hers was pretty loose. She’d hang out in the bar, as if she was waiting for someone and pray that no one mistook her for a hooker—only because she wouldn’t be able to blow her cover by arresting any potential john that propositioned her.
She’d noticed a karaoke sign when she’d come in. If she didn’t find a guy fitting Slick Nick’s description, she already planned to get up and perform the old Devo song, “Whip It,” in hopes of catching Mr. Paddle-Me’s attention. And if that didn’t work, next she’d go to Boy George’s “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” In the past Serena’s success came in having a loose plan and then punting—or improvising—as the situation unfolded. Although Captain Worth had argued with her more than once that she should always have a contingency plan, her way had worked just fine on all her other cases.
She hoped it didn’t come down to karaoke because she couldn’t sing, couldn’t dance and she didn’t look like a dominatrix. Not that she supposed there was a set formula for how a dominatrix looked, but she was fairly certain on most days she didn’t fit the bill.
She knew she looked like the girl next door with her honey-blond hair, snub nose and freckles. She looked like a girl you could trust and confide in, which was a big bonus in catching crooks, because for the most part, crooks couldn’t keep their mouths shut and they always thought she was the perfect person to spill their guts to.
After nine years, it still cracked her up, the look on the criminal-du-jour’s face when she whipped out her cuffs and started reciting the Miranda.
She slid onto a stool at one end of the bar, which afforded a sweeping view of the room without leaving her back exposed, and ordered a wine cooler. Lesson number one in bar crawling: Never order a drink with a wide mouth on the glass. It was too easy for a scumbag to slip in a date-rape drug. Martini glasses were the worst.
“Buy you a drink?” A guy with red hair slid onto the stool next to her. He had the look of a regular about him. She’d worked undercover long enough to recognize the signs—the casual nod to the barkeep, the ultracasual dress. And she’d found it sort of amazing that even hotel bars had a retinue of regulars, just like freaking Cheers.
“I’m covered, but thanks.” She made sure she sounded friendly and nonthreatening.
“Mind a little company?”
“Not at all. I’m waiting for my friend and it can be a little intimidating sitting in a bar alone, if you know what I mean.”
“Especially a pretty girl like you.” Cheeser. She pasted on a smile and managed not to roll her eyes. “I’m Stephen…with a ph.” His smile said he thought that was a clever line. She’d bet the farm it wasn’t the first time he’d used it.
“Serena. It’s nice to meet you, Stephen.”
“Serena and Stephen. Bet you can’t say that five times fast.”
Oh, boy, he was a live one. Small wonder he was alone. “I’d better not even try it.”
“You know, tonight’s karaoke night.”
“I saw the sign when I came in. Are you a performer?”
Stephen preened a bit. “I’ve been known to take the mike a time or two.” He pressed his knee against hers. “I’m really good in a duet…if you’re up for it…later.”
Heaven forbid. She shook her head, angling for shy and modest instead of horrified. “I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like that before.”
And if luck ran her way, she wouldn’t tonight. She basically sounded like a cat yowling in heat when she sang. Not pretty.
“I bet you’re a fast learner and I’d love to give you a lesson or two.”
“That’s a generous offer, Stephen.”
“Drink up and order another one. It helps take the edge off before you perform.”
“I think I’d better take it slow. What kind of songs do you like to perform? I’m sure you have favorites.”
Typical man. Ask him a question about himself and he was off and running. She just had to look interested and interject the occasional “hmmm,” “really” or “oh, that’s interesting,” and he’d drone on endlessly about his karaoke prowess.
Stephen was in the middle of a performance recount, when Slick Nick arrived. Serena spotted him the moment he walked into the bar. Six feet and a few inches, black hair, cut short and brushed back—a good cut, an expensive cut, not the twelve-buck, walk-in-off-the-street cut that she splurged on for herself. Nice clothes. Thirtyish. Obviously in good shape. He carried himself like a man comfortable in his own skin, assured, as if he was used to people looking at him.
A slight shiver of some second-sense recognition whispered through her. She recognized his face. Knew she’d seen him before. That grainy photo was better than she’d thought because his face definitely registered with her. This was her man. She felt it bone deep and the flush that spread through her wasn’t attraction. It couldn’t possibly be. She was merely excited she’d finally found Slick Nick.
She remained calm and zeroed back in on Stephen-with-a-ph who was generously sharing his tips on audience control when you had the mike.
Stephen’s pager buzzed. He checked it and made a face. “It’s my mother. I’ve got to run her over to bingo at the VFW.” He stood up. “But I’ll be back in time for the karaoke.” He snapped and pointed his finger at her. “Don’t sing that duet without me.”
The dark-haired man pulled out a chair a couple of tables away from the bar.
Serena bit back the observation that if she was singing without him, it wouldn’t be a duet. “I promise—no duets without you.” And she no longer had to worry about how to get rid of Stephen. Thank you, Mom and bingo at the VFW.
Stephen left and she sat alone at the bar. Heat tingled over her skin. She looked up. The dark-haired man was watching her. She held his gaze with her own. Something ancient passed between them, a recognition, an acknowledgement, an attraction that sent a tremor through her. She looked away first, thoroughly disconcerted by the potency of just that glance.
She busied herself sipping her wine cooler and reconnected with her equilibrium. Serena checked him out from beneath her lashes. Her fishnets and thigh-high black boots had definitely snagged his interest. She smiled and crossed her legs.
His answering smile, a slow sensual acknowledgement, set off a flutter low in her belly that had nothing to do with being a cop and everything to do with being a woman. Easy there, girlfriend. He was a criminal and a pervert, and all of that aside, he had a little thingie—and God knows two of the three guys she’d dated in the past ten years had fallen into the little thingie category.
He deliberately looked away from her, as if he’d caught himself staring. That was okay—he’d definitely noticed her and had liked what he’d seen. It was about time this case started going somewhere.
The waitress approached his table and Serena took advantage of his distraction to assess him, strictly for ID purposes, of course. Hair with just a hint of curl that said it would riot out of control if he skipped a trim or two. His shirt hugged broad shoulders. She’d guess somewhere between one-eighty and one-ninety-five pounds. Muscle weighed more than fat and he was definitely carrying lean muscle on that body. From where she sat, no moles, scars, tattoos—of course, she was sure he was sitting on the tattoo—or other distinguishing marks were visible except when he turned his head to look at the waitress. It looked as if his ear had been pierced, but he didn’t wear an earring now. It didn’t take a leap of imagination to envision him with a small gold hoop in his ear. There was something sexy and roguish about him. She’d seen a sleepy sensuality in his eyes when they’d locked with hers.
What was she thinking? Well, that was, in fact, the problem. She wasn’t thinking. There was nothing cerebral about his effect on her. Her heart raced. With one look, he’d managed to heat up some of her body parts long neglected.
He ordered a beer and a medium-rare burger, hold the onion. When the waitress tried to flirt with him, he shut her down with a tense smile. It certainly wasn’t the sensual zinger he’d sent Serena’s way. His cell phone chirped and he flipped it open and up to his ear. “Nick, here.”
She sipped her wine cooler to hide her triumphant smile and leaned forward slightly, the better to eavesdrop on his conversation.
“Yeah. They sent me because bookings have been down a bit and you know I’m always willing to help a fool part with his money. Okay, yeah, that really wasn’t funny. I know, Rourke. Prison’s not something to joke about. Okay, that was in bad taste. I know I’m lucky.”
She had hit the mother lode. This had to be Slick Nick. Your average Joe off the street didn’t consider prison an option. Could life get any sweeter?
“Yeah. Catch you later. By the way, I’m staying at The Barrister, room 583, if you need me and can’t get me on my cell.”
That answered that question. Life could get sweeter and it just had. If she was into astrology, she’d think her stars or planets or whatever they were had just aligned. Now, she just needed to stall him in the bar while she checked out room 583.
“HERE’S YOUR BEER. Should I bring another one when I bring your burger?” the waitress asked, putting his drink on the table in front of him.
“No thanks. I’m good.”
He looked past the waitress, avoiding the eye contact she sought. That was a big mistake because it left him looking at the leggy blonde sitting at the bar. He’d been so good when he came in the room. He’d made sure he didn’t look around the room. Better not to even know what he was missing out on.
And then he’d seen her at the bar and his whole world had shifted, tilted, come into focus. It was as if every cliché of meeting a stranger’s eyes across a crowded room had blossomed inside him at that moment in time. For the span of several heartbeats the people and all the noise of the bar had faded to nothingness and it had only been him and her.
Damn it to hell. Twenty-eight days and none of the women AJ and Matt had thrown at him had interested him, certainly none had tempted him.
And now, he saw this woman. She definitely tempted him. She wasn’t particularly beautiful but she was pretty in a fresh-scrubbed way and those legs in those boots…His sex drive had returned from its twenty-eight day hiatus with a vengeance.
Damn. The smart thing would’ve been to order room service and eat in with Sheila. He almost told the waitress to box it up to go and then he stopped himself. He was made of sterner stuff than that.
Nope. He was not going to think about running his hand over the smooth curve of her calf and along the delicate line of her ankle. No sir. Not even going to imagine those legs wrapped around him. Nuh-uh.
He glanced up from those incredible legs and found her watching him with faint amusement. A little thrill coursed through him until his brain cells caught up with his hormones. He deliberately looked away. He’d concentrate on his beer. Two days. He had two lousy, long days to go. He could he do it. He would do it.
He definitely didn’t need to look into those eyes or ogle those legs again. Why torture himself when he couldn’t even introduce himself? What would he say? “Hey, I’d like to get to know you a little better. Mind if I call you in three days when this bet is off with my friends?” She’d think he and his friends possessed the mentality and maturity of adolescent schoolboys. While that might well be the case, he didn’t need to advertise it.
The waitress delivered his burger and a bottle of catsup. “Can I get you anything else?”
Nick demurred and forced himself not to look at the blonde at the bar. So, they’d exchanged a look and a smile. Big deal. He bit into his burger and concentrated on savoring the flavor of ground sirloin, a toasted Kaiser bun, fresh lettuce, a ripe juicy tomato and a thick slice of pungently sharp cheddar cheese. But he was still conscious, in his peripheral vision, of those shapely legs shifting.
Nick was two bites into his burger when he saw the woman stand in his peripheral vision. No. Please don’t let her stop by his table. He was in a weakened state. She walked past and, idiotically, he found himself disappointed. But there was nothing wrong with his sense of smell and she smelled as good as she looked. A light and airy scent with an underlying tone of seduction. Hell, who was he kidding? At this point the damned hamburger smelled seductive.
He watched her walk, mesmerized by the length of her legs, the sway of her hips in that short skirt. And those black, thigh-hugging, stiletto-heeled boots made him ache. She was obviously a woman who worked out. She looked toned and lean. Nick forgot he had a mouthful of ground beef and swallowed, promptly choking.
Dangerously close to needing the Heimlich maneuver, with his eyes watering, he missed where she went. That was just as well, since she was none of his business.
He concentrated on his burger and the ball game playing silently on the bar TV. He was relieved the blonde with the boots had left. Really, he was. He wasn’t in the least disappointed. So, she’d started his engine in a major way just by walking by. It was his lucky day that she’d left. He’d take his time, have a nice leisurely meal and watch the game. He could relax now that temptation had left the building.
He winced as Bastion, a new closer for the Sox, allowed a grand slam. Another Sox game down the toilet. The waitress arrived with another beer.
“I didn’t order that,” Nick said.
“Compliments of the lady at the bar.” The waitress, who didn’t look old enough to drink beer, much less serve it, winked at him.
“What lady?”
She pointed to where the blonde had been. “She was over there. She said to send this over and she’d be back in a few minutes.”
Nick made a strangled noise. “I need my check.”
“Was something wrong with your burger?”
“No. Yeah. Maybe. I just need to leave.”
The waitress gave him a look that said he was cute but seriously psycho. Let her think he was psycho. He didn’t care. All he knew was that he didn’t plan to wait around for Ms. Legs to return. His willpower was already stretched thin. In fact, he was fresh out. He needed to get the hell out of Dodge before those legs and that cute freckled nose showed up at his table.
Forget the rest of his burger. He upended the beer—a fresh beer was a terrible thing to waste. His best course of action was to put as much distance between him and that long-legged, sweet-smelling siren. He couldn’t get back to his room fast enough.
3
SERENA EASED the hotel room door closed behind her. She turned and saw a woman sitting in the chair across the room and nearly jumped out of her skin. Adrenaline surged through her. Was the woman dead or tied up? Serena realized she was neither, because she wasn’t a woman, she was a freaking blow-up doll wearing a man’s shirt. What the heck?
She shook her head and crossed the room, eager to have a look at the laptop open on the round table. Her luck had definitely taken a turn today. Who knew? Maybe she’d find all the incriminating evidence she needed at once.
What she saw on the screen was incriminating all right. Slick Nick perched on the doll’s lap, nuzzling her neck. And the sicko had even posted a caption across the bottom. “I think I’m in love.” Ick. With a plastic doll.
Just went to prove you should never, ever judge a book by its cover. Slick Nick looked like a regular, sexy, hot guy. He looked nice. Certainly not like you’d expect him to cozy up with a blow-up doll and get off on a little spanking. This guy’s kink factor was way off her meter.
She rifled through the folders in his briefcase, taking care to leave everything the way she’d found it. Nothing definitive there, except the name Nick O’Malley, plus a phone number and address. They knew Slick Nick used a number of aliases. O’Malley was close enough to Malone to make sense as an alias. People tended to pick names similar to their own. But the address…She grinned. Sweet.
She stepped back and turned around, bumping the chair behind her. The doll started to fall and Serena grabbed it to keep it from tumbling to the floor.
