A Spy For a Spy Page 9

  “No.”

  She tossed her head. “Well, screw him, then.”

  “Don’t even joke about that.”

  Her peal of laughter made me smile in spite of myself. She seized my hand, still giggling. “Come on, I’ll get you a cardkey.”

  We were just turning away from the registration desk when Lola appeared, dwarfed by a bulging shopping bag. The biker gear had been replaced by a sleek and sexy hot pink wraparound dress, strappy hot pink sandals, and artful makeup that accented her sparkling eyes and vivid hair.

  “Over here!” Nichele beckoned, and Lola wove expertly through the crowd in her high heels.

  “All set,” she panted, hefting the bag into Nichele’s waiting grasp. “See you later. This is going to be fun!” She and Nichele exchanged a grin that chilled my blood before Lola turned and left with an airy wave, still smirking.

  “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” I demanded.

  “Because you’re a paranoid freak, that’s why.” Nichele headed for the penthouse elevator. “Hurry up,” she tossed over her shoulder. “We’ll drop your suitcase and you can grab your shorts. We have to get to our class.”

  Inside the luxurious suite, I retreated into the bedroom for a few moments of frantic thought. I usually wore a baggy T-shirt over my workout shorts to conceal my waist holster, but I had only the vaguest idea of what a pole dancing class might entail. And ‘Stripper 101’ didn’t sound good.

  What if I had to put on a costume or something? Or worse, take something off? Or what if somebody grabbed me around the waist and felt my gun through my T-shirt?

  “Aydan, hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

  Dammit. I consulted my wild-eyed reflection in the gigantic mirror. Maybe I should just feign a sudden attack of sickness. The way my gut was churning, it might not require much acting.

  Nichele’s sad-puppy expression rose from my memory, and guilt suffused me. She’d flown all the way down here just to spend time with me, and I’d done nothing but whine and bitch. And after coming so close to losing her a couple of weeks ago…

  “You are a fucking idiot,” I growled at the mirror before shoving my gun and holster into the depths of my suitcase.

  When I emerged, shorts in hand, Nichele eyed me critically. “You aren’t going to wear that baggy old T-shirt are you?”

  I sighed. “It’s all I’ve got.”

  “I should have known. Here, take this tank top.”

  I eyed the scrap of fabric with alarm. “I can’t wear this. You’re half my size.”

  “It stretches, girl!” She hoisted her hands under her boobs, giving them a cheerful bounce. “And anyway, my girls are bigger than yours, so it should fit just fine.”

  “I’m not going without a bra.”

  “I didn’t say you should.” Nichele shot me a grin. “In fact, if gravity hit you as hard as it hit me, you definitely shouldn’t.”

  “But this has spaghetti straps…”

  “Jeez, girl, if I hadn’t known you all my life, I’d think you grew up Amish or something! Everybody wears a bra under spaghetti straps now.” She reached up to snag the neck of my T-shirt, stretching it out to peek at my bra strap. “Your leopard-print will look great with that black tank. Come on, let’s go.”

  “But…”

  She propelled me out the door, and I resigned myself to my fate.

  In the change room, I surreptitiously surveyed our giggling, chattering classmates while I put on my gym shorts. Blowing out a sigh, I pulled my T-shirt over my head and reached for the tank top.

  “Ohmigod, Aydan, what happened?”

  I turned to face Nichele as her horrified gaze slid over my black-and-blue torso. Shit, I’d grown so accustomed to the dull throbbing of my ribs, I’d forgotten I’d have to explain the bruises.

  “Nothing. I just slipped and fell.”

  “God, girl, you look like a poster child for abusive relationships.”

  “Yeah, well, if you figure out a way for me to press charges against my front steps, let me know.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you get x-rayed?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just sore.”

  “No kidding. Ouch.” Nichele grimaced and turned to reach for her own shorts.

  I wriggled into the skimpy tank top and tugged its deep scoop neck up as high as possible, but apparently I had no reason to feel self-conscious. A couple of girls drifted out into the classroom wearing barely-there bras and g-strings that made my thong look like granny panties. Wearing my shorts and tank top, I was definitely overdressed.

  I blew out a breath between my teeth. My sense of nakedness had nothing to do with clothing or lack thereof. Without my gun, I felt horribly exposed.

  “Come on, Aydan, hurry up!” Nichele beckoned from the doorway.

  Dammit, I couldn’t even enjoy a simple outing with my best friend without suffering separation anxiety over a firearm. What a fucked-up life.

  I cranked back wooden lips in what I hoped was a convincing smile. “I’ll be right there. Just gotta pee.”

  I grabbed my waist pouch and hurried into a bathroom stall. Clutching my folding knife in a sweaty fist, I rapidly inventoried my clingy garments. It wasn’t a huge knife, but it would be far too obvious if I carried it in the back pocket of my shorts. No room in my shoe. Only one place left.

  I swore silently and wedged it into the bottom of my right bra cup. Its cold hardness hurt, but at least the push-up padding concealed its outline. Please, God, let it stay put.

  A rush of glorious relief flooded me when I remembered the small roll of double-sided tape still in my waist pouch. I briefly considered taping the knife between my underwear and the crotch of my shorts, but rethought the idea with a sudden mental image of doing some stripper-type move with my legs spread.

  A snicker burst out before I could smother it. It’d be really tough to explain a large elongated bulge in that area…

  A couple of pieces of tape later, the knife was secured in its uncomfortable berth and I readjusted my boob one more time, grimacing, before heading for the door.

  The class was actually a lot more fun than I’d expected. Despite the persistent discomfort of the knife in my bra and the protests of my still-aching ribs, the time flew by with laughter and music and a tension-relieving workout.

  Back in the changing room, Nichele shot me a mischievous glance. “You had fun, didn’t you?”

  I laughed. “I had fun. You were right.”

  “I’m gonna write that on the calendar! ‘Today Aydan admitted I was right…’”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Back in the penthouse, I was just sinking into one of the soft chairs with a sigh of relief when Nichele poked her head out of the bedroom. “If you want a shower before we go for dinner, hurry up. Our limo will be here at five-thirty and our reservation is for six.”

  Yawning, I slouched down in the chair and stretched my legs out. “I’m just going to have a PPA shower. I’ve got lots of time.”

  “A what?”

  “PPA. Pussy, pits, and ass. Five minutes, tops.” I yawned again, sinking deeper into the plush upholstery and leaning my head back.

  When a small but insistent foot nudged mine a couple of times, I opened my eyes with a groan to see Nichele standing in front of me.

  “Go have your shower now. Then if you still have time, you can have a nap before we leave.”

  If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have recognized the implied threat. Instead, I hauled myself out of the chair and trailed obediently into the bathroom, oblivious to the suffering about to befall me.

  Chapter 12

  “Jesus Christ!” I clutched my hammering heart through my towel and slumped against the bathroom doorframe. “Jesus, you guys, don’t ever do that!”

  “Do what?” Nichele inquired, exchanging an innocent glance with Lola, perched beside her on my bed.

  “Don’t sneak into my room like that, for fucksakes! What if I’d freaked out and shot you or som
ething?”

  Nichele laughed. “With what? Your mammary cannons?” She jumped to her feet, throwing back her shoulders and jutting her chest in my direction. “Stick ‘em up! These babies are loaded and I’m not afraid to use them!”

  Beside her, Lola collapsed backward on the bed, howling with laughter.

  “Shut up, you pair of deranged midgets,” I growled, starting to smile despite my still-thudding pulse. “And get out so I can get dressed.”

  “Why do you think we’re here?” Nichele reached over to haul Lola upright. “Lola, deploy the bag!”

  “Right!” Lola sprang off the bed with entirely too much energy for a woman her age and delved into the distended bag at the foot of the bed. “Try this one.”

  A scrap of glittery fabric landed on the bed beside Nichele. She pounced on it and held it up, smoothing it into what appeared to be a very inadequate T-shirt.

  “Oooh, I like this one.” She shot me an authoritative glance. “Put on some underwear, and then try this on.”

  I sidled over to my suitcase, eyeing the garment with trepidation. “I don’t think it’s my size.”

  “You won’t need your jeans.”

  I paused with my underwear and jeans dangling from my hand. “Trust me, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to see my bare ass hanging out of this thong. I’ll put on my jeans and then try on your little T-shirt thing.”

  Lola and Nichele laughed simultaneously, Lola’s throaty chuckle harmonizing with Nichele’s lilting grace notes.

  “It’s a dress.” Nichele giggled. “Here, put it on.”

  I backed away, feeling behind me for the safety of the bathroom door. “Oh, no. No, no, no. No fucking way.” I clutched my jeans in a death grip. “You are not going to stuff me into that thing and parade me around like some…”

  I trailed off, eyeing their outfits and for once in my life, stopping myself before I said something tactless.

  Nichele’s lush curves were barely contained by a brilliant red sequined dress approximately the length of a tube top I’d once owned in junior high. Elegant and obviously expensive jewellery glittered at her throat, wrists and earlobes. The effect was stunning with her satin skin and ebony hair, but unless she’d used some double-sided tape of her own, Vegas would get some cheaper thrills than usual if she made a sudden move.

  Lola had changed into a brief purple number that matched her hair. The thigh-high slit in the skirt flattered her still-shapely legs, while the wrapped top emphasized more cleavage than I could summon up with any of Victoria’s Secrets, wrinkles notwithstanding.

  “No,” I said as firmly as possible. “Just no.”

  Nichele sighed and exchanged a glance with Lola. “Okay. Next.”

  “This one’ll knock your socks off,” Lola enthused, holding up another vestige of fabric. “Don’t you think, Nichele? Won’t she look great in this with her long legs?”

  “Ooooh, yes!” Nichele turned an eager face toward me.

  “No.”

  “How about this one?”

  “No!”

  “Aw, come on, Aydan,” Nichele cajoled. “Just try something on. How about this one?”

  “No, Nichele! It wouldn’t even cover my ass!”

  Lola chimed in, holding up another handkerchief-sized garment. “How about-”

  “No! You know I hate dresses. You know I really hate short dresses. You know I really, really hate short dresses with-”

  “Okay.” Lola sounded deflated. “We get the picture. Fine. I did bring one other one, but it’s plain and dumpy.” She extracted a handful of slithery teal-blue fabric and held it up with a grimace as it unfurled into an actual dress.

  “That’s perfect. I love it.” I snatched it out of her hand and retreated to the bathroom.

  The dress fit, if I had actually wanted a teal-blue second skin. But at least the skirt came half-way down my thighs, and the plunging neckline didn’t plunge past my bra. If I sucked in my gut and stuck out my chest and held my breath, it wasn’t too bad.

  And I couldn’t disappoint Nichele and Lola after they’d tried so hard.

  When I emerged cautiously, they both let out whoops of delight. “I knew it! It’s perfect,” Lola chortled. “Here, honey. Here’s some pantyhose and shoes. I know you can walk in stilettos, but I’ll have mercy on you.”

  She handed me a pair of teal-blue shoes with moderate heels and ankle straps, and I heaved a sigh of relief while I hiked on the hose and buckled up the shoes. “Thank God. I was afraid you were going to hand me those thigh-high-”

  I broke off as I glanced up in time to catch the conspiratorial look Nichele and Lola exchanged.

  “Wait a minute…” I scowled and advanced threateningly on Lola and the shopping bag. “Let me see that.”

  I grabbed the bag and upended it. Nothing but more micro-dresses and a light wrap suspiciously colour-coordinated with my dress. A handbag that matched my shoes. No other shoes or accessories at all.

  I’d been had.

  “You pair of little rats! You tricked me!”

  They both burst out laughing. “And it worked, honey,” Lola wheezed, wiping her eyes. “That’s the one we wanted you to wear in the first place, but we knew you’d never go for it otherwise. This way you were grateful for that dress. And it looks smashing on you.”

  “I’ll give you smashing, you little runt…” I couldn’t hold onto my grumpiness in the face of their laughter. A chuckle crept out despite my best efforts. “You two are deadly. I should never have introduced you. Where the hell did you get all that stuff? I hope you didn’t buy it.”

  “No, I borrowed it from some of the vendors I know from the trade show,” Lola said.

  “You’re evil. Both of you. And you’re buying me drinks tonight to make up for this.”

  “Done! Come on.” Nichele began to drag me toward the door.

  “Wait a sec.” I hung back, my mind kicking into overdrive. “At least let me put some things in the purse you guys so thoughtfully provided.” I gave them a sarcastic bow. “And you scared me so badly with those teeny little dresses, I need to pee again.” I planted a hand on each of their shoulders and steered them toward the bedroom door. “Out. Give me a few moments alone with my humiliation.”

  I closed the door on their laughter, and, as an afterthought, quietly engaged the lock before turning to study the tiny handbag. I’d learned my lesson. I wasn’t going anywhere without my gun. But even if I could cram it into that little purse, there wouldn’t be room for anything else.

  Shit.

  With my short, tight dress, both the waist and ankle holsters were out of the question. I hunched beside my suitcase, fingering my gun and pondering. Maybe…

  After a few minutes’ experimentation with the elastic chest strap from my workout heart rate monitor, I devised a passably secure harness to hold the gun against the inside of my thigh. Tugging the dress down, I surveyed the result in the mirror, hopes rising. Neither harness nor gun was visible when I was standing. Watching myself in the mirror, I sat carefully on the bed, the gun butt nudging my crotch. Not comfortable, but as long as I kept my legs glued together, nobody would ever know.

  I stood and did a trial run of drawing the gun. Awkward, but doable. And better than going without.

  I strapped it back into place, transferred my phone and wallet into the miniscule handbag, and straightened my spine.

  Quality time with my best friend. It was worth it. And at least I’d discovered a foolproof way to remember to keep my knees together.

  Nichele and Lola exchanged off-colour badinage in the elevator while I smiled and nodded, hoping they’d accept any preoccupation on my part as a natural consequence of being forced to wear a dress.

  When the doors opened into the lobby, a transformed Harley swept us a courtly bow, resplendent in a black tux. He offered his arm to Lola, and Nichele and I followed them across the lobby, exchanging a smile while the stout man and his purple pixie cuddled close together, utterly absorbed in each other.


  “Hi, Aki! Hi, guys!” Nichele did her little finger-wave, and I clutched her wrist at the sight of her Asian entourage smiling and bowing from across the lobby. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to be late for our dinner reservation.”

  “Good, ‘cause I’m starving.” I released her and offered Aki and the boys a nod. A movement in my peripheral vision made me jerk my head around in time to see Doytchevsky slip into the lobby from the casino area. His gaze travelled up my legs and lingered at chest-level before meeting my eyes. He gave me a brief, contemptuous smile before fading back into the casino once more.

  I squelched the shiver that snaked down my back and turned back to Nichele’s bright chatter. Trying to ignore the blaze of cameras, I managed to follow the others into the limo without flashing either my gun or my assets, and drew a breath of relief when we pulled away.

  By the time the Chippendales show was half over, my stomach ached from sucking in my gut around the lavish meal Nichele had insisted on buying earlier, and my head pounded in time to the heavy beat of the music.

  Nichele pushed another beer in my direction. “Isn’t this great?” she shouted. “Hey, Lola, get a load of that one!”

  Lola let fly with a wolf whistle that threatened to cleave my brain in two, and I sucked down a long swallow of beer, hoping to apply some anaesthesia.

  Approximately an eternity or possibly an hour later, the show came to a thunderous close and I blew out a sigh of relief. I appreciate eye-candy as much as the next woman, but my enjoyment of the scenery had been seriously limited by the gun rammed into my crotch. I stood, trying not to wince when circulation began to return to some extremely sensitive places.

  “Back in a few minutes.” I nodded toward the ladies’ room for Lola and Nichele’s benefit and hobbled in that direction, cursing quietly but sincerely.

  When I returned, somewhat more comfortable, Nichele was vibrating beside the table. “Come on, Aydan, hurry up! We don’t want to miss the party with the Chippendales boys.”