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Knockout
Erica Orloff
Mills & Boon Silhouette
“Crystal…Jesus… It’s been six years. My God, I’ve missed you.”
Jack laughed and wrapped her arms around a six-foot-tall platinum-haired showgirl—the one female friend she’d ever had her whole life.
“Me, too, sugar,” Crystal said, and burst into tears. It was then that Jack stared down at Crystal’s hand…which was holding the very tiny hand of a very tiny girl with big brown eyes and long black hair. “This here’s my little girl, Destiny. And I need you to hide the two of us. I got nowhere else to go.”
“How bad is the trouble?”
“Ohhh, sugar…it’s so bad I gotta tell you even your daddy and your uncle would probably think twice about helping me.”
“You? You innocent in all of it?” Jack asked.
“Only thing I’m guilty of is loving the wrong man.”
One thing Jack’s father and uncle had taught her: friends stick together in times of trouble. She was soon to find out that they probably should have told her that a showgirl on the run is usually the worst kind of trouble of all….
Dear Reader,
We invite you to sit back and enjoy the ride as you experience the powerful suspense, intense action and tingling emotion in Silhouette Bombshell’s November lineup. Strong, sexy, savvy heroines have never been so popular, and we’re putting the best right into your hands. Get ready to meet four extraordinary women who will speak to the Bombshell in you!
Maggie Sanger will need quick wit and fast moves to get out of Egypt alive when her pursuit of a legendary grail puts her on a collision course with a secret society, hostages and her furious ex! Get into Her Kind of Trouble, the latest in author Evelyn Vaughn’s captivating GRAIL KEEPERS miniseries.
Sabotage, scandal and one sexy inspector breathe down the neck of a determined air force captain as she strives to right an old wrong in the latest adventure in the innovative twelve-book ATHENA FORCE continuity series, Pursued by Catherine Mann.
Enter the outrageous underworld of Las Vegas prizefighting as a female boxing trainer goes up against the mob to save her father, her reputation and a child witness in Erica Orloff’s pull-no-punches novel, Knockout.
And though creating identities for undercover agents is her specialty, Kristie Hennessy finds out that work can be deadly when you’ve got everyone fooled and no one to trust but a man you know only by his intriguing voice…. Don’t miss Kate Donovan’s Identity Crisis.
It’s a month of no-holds-barred excitement! Please send your comments to me, c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway Ste. 1001, New York, NY 10279.
Best wishes,
Natashya Wilson
Associate Senior Editor, Silhouette Bombshell
Knockout
Erica Orloff
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ERICA ORLOFF
is the author of Urban Legend, also published by Bombshell, as well as The Roofer (MIRA), and several books for Red Dress Ink. She lives in South Florida, enjoys playing poker and is an avid boxing fan. Her favorite boxer of all time, aside from Ali and Marciano, is the now-retired great featherweight Alexis Arguello.
Dedicated to three very special people:
Alexa, Nicholas and Isabella
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to the staff at Bombshell; my wonderful editor, Margaret Marbury; my agent, Jay Poynor; and the members of Writers’ Cramp, Pam, Gina and Jon. I’d also like to thank my father, a boxing fan.
Thanks to Lynda Curnyn, former editor for the Bombshell line, for being a dream to work with and helping me talk through this idea.
To my friends Kerri and Professor John—for the memories of “clownlike” evenings.
And finally, to my extended family and friends, including Walter, Maryanne, Stacey, Jessica, J.D., Alexa, Nick, Bella, Pam, Cleo, Nanc, Kathy and Kathy…. I couldn’t do what I do without you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 1
My father taught me how to score a boxing match on the ten-point must system. He taught me how to throw a mean left hook, how to jab and feint, and how to punch—and not like a girl. He taught me to how to bluff in poker, when to hold in blackjack, and when to walk away from the tables in craps.
He told me, “Jackie, honey, never trust a man who’s nice to you but treats the waitress like shit.” He also told me you can count your real friends on one hand. And you stand by those friends when they’re in trouble. But he should have told me, “Jack, a showgirl on the run is the worst trouble of all.”
Which is why I was now fighting with my boyfriend in the foyer of my uncle’s house, with a dead body in my bedroom, a little girl crying in my uncle Deacon’s arms, and a welt on my forehead the size of a hard-boiled egg.
“You want me to what?” Rob squared off with me. It pisses me off that when we did have an argument, looking him in the eye was impossible. Rob was six foot two; I’m five foot six. Five and a half really, but I lie. He was also double my width, courtesy of lifting weights, and he had the build of a former USC linebacker.
“I want you to look the other way while we take little Destiny to the ranch.”
“I can’t do that, Jack. I’m a cop—a detective. I do that and I lose my badge. This is a crime scene.”
“Technically, it’s not.”
“And how do you figure that?”
“Well, I called you, as the man I sleep with. I did not, technically, call the police. So…if Deacon takes her out to the ranch, and you and I wait here for the police, all you would have to say is you never saw Deacon and Destiny.”
Rob’s gray eyes seemed to darken like two storm clouds. “You are not going to talk me into this.”
“You know I am, so why don’t you just give in?”
Rob clutched the sides of his temples and gritted his teeth. “Jack, the day I met you, my entire universe stopped making sense.”
“When I tell you everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours, you will thank me for hiding her.”
Rob looked from me to Uncle Deacon, to Destiny, and back to me again. He sighed with resignation. “Fine. Deacon, you can take the girl out to the ranch. But if after hearing Jack’s little story I decide it’s a bad idea, I’m going out there to fetch her back again and take her to social services.”
Deacon looked over at me, and I nodded. I kissed Destiny on the forehead and whispered, “I promise we’ll look after you.” Deacon gingerly carried her in his arms, came back and took her backpack and things, and left the house.
Rob looked down at me and reached out to move my hair off my face. “You need to put ice on your forehead. You probably have a concussion.”
“Probably. The room’s kind of spinning, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“Yeah…well, my head’s spinning, too. This story better be good, Jack. You have twenty minutes. Then we dial 911.”
“Fine. And aren’t you going to ask me to marry you?” Rob asked me to marry him about twice a week. We live in Vegas, and he just wanted to go over to the Little White Wedding Chapel and have Elvis marry us. But I told him I wasn’t marrying him until my father could walk me down the aisle. And considering Dad still had four years left on his prison sentence, Rob and I looked to be semiengaged—I wore his pear-shaped diamond ring on my left hand—for a long, long time.
“No,” he snapped, crossing his well-muscled arms. “I am not going to ask you tonight. Something about a dead body in my girlfriend’s house takes all the romance out of it. Start talking, Jack. Remember, twenty minutes.” He looked at his watch.
“Okay,” I said. “Here goes.”
Two nights before, I tried to avoid staring at forty pairs of perfect breasts. Naked breasts. As much as I tried to tell myself, “Jack, you’ve got two breasts, same as all of them,” it was difficult not to stare as I made my way backstage at the Majestic Casino’s show.
And actually, that wasn’t true. I had two breasts, all right, but they most certainly did not look like any of the breasts on any of the six-foot-tall showgirls. Some girls have all the luck. Either that or all the silicone.
I knocked on the dressing room door.
“Come on in,” Crystal’s voice sang out from inside.
I opened the door and stepped into a pink nightmare. It looked like someone had thrown up Pepto-Bismol on everything from Crystal’s velvet couch to the walls. Crystal sat, removing her false eyelashes—which looked like black furry caterpillars sitting on her eyes—and wearing a short pink silk kimono.
“Jack,” she said, then turned around and flung her arms wide.
I walked over and leaned down to hug her. “God, it’s good to see you.”
“Did you catch the show?”
“No, sorry. I was at the gym until late.”
“You have to come some night. The special effects are amazing. I actually fly at one point.”
“I thought you were scared of heights.”
“I am. But you know, the show must go on. Break a leg. The whole nine yards. I just suck it up and do it.” The glitter on her cheeks made her look like a fairy princess.
“How’s Destiny?” I asked, referring to her five-year-old pride and joy.
“Oh, just great, Jack. She’s so smart. So cute. Here’s her latest picture.” She pointed and tapped with a long French-manicured acrylic fingernail at a photo taped to her mirror.
“Wow! God, I haven’t seen her since diapers.” I leaned in to look at the little girl whose long hair was pulled into two braids; she had big brown eyes and a wide, innocent grin.
“Yeah. She’s getting big. A lot’s changed, hasn’t it, Jack?”
“You could say that.”
