He pulled a pair of fingernail clippers from his desk drawer — right where he'd always kept them — and rendered Raquel's red nails into nice, neat stubs. He'd have to ask Mrs. Brown what women used to remove this gunk.
Then he went into the bathroom and scrubbed.off the makeup. When he looked in the mirror again, he noticed something for the first time since this journey into never-never land.
Raquel had Nick's eyes. Behind all that eyeliner and mascara, he hadn't noticed. Maybe if he'd actually washed it off at night like the instructions said, he would've realized sooner.
"I'll be damned." Maybe the eyes really were windows to the soul. Séamus might have changed Nick's body, but he hadn't changed his eyes or his handwriting. Even Mrs. Brown had commented how much Raquel's handwriting resembled Nick's. Knowing that part of him was still here made him feel better than he had since his arrival back on Earth.
Well, for a few moments he felt better. After using the facilities, he marched back into his office and retrieved the box of maxi pads from the wastebasket. He slammed the bathroom door behind him, tore open the box and read the directions.
"Thanks a lot, Séamus."
7
Jared had a hunch, and he didn't like hunches. He liked facts. Hard evidence.
A local big shot named Henry Mllman owned the Studfinder, along with at least a dozen other small businesses in the county. In the two weeks since Jared had started this assignment, tonight was the first time Mllman had put in an appearance. Why tonight? And had last night's futile drug raid been timed accordingly?
The rotund, cigar-smoking owner strutted through the dressing room about half an hour before showtime. He made a few ribald comments about entertaining women, not giving any dancer more than a cursory nod, except one.
Millman directed a glare of suspicion that shot right through Jared. He'd seen that look before. The asshole knew something — or at least suspected it.
Jared forced himself to return to the task of closing all the Velcro tabs on his costume, ignoring his sweaty palms and the alarm bouncing through his brain.
Something big was going down tonight. He felt it. Smelled it.
And Margo would be in the audience.
"Damn."
"What's up?" the dancer with the locker next to Jared's asked. His Tarzan performance opened every night. "Tough day?"
Jared searched his gray matter for Tarzan's real name, and came up blank. "I was just noticing the fat guy." He slid a glance toward Millman, who was now deep in conversation with his emcee. At least he wasn't watching Jared anymore. "He's the owner. Right?"
"Yep. That's the big man himself." Tarzan tucked something that looked like a rolled sock into his G-string. "Padding the fantasies."
Jared managed a chuckle and patted himself on the back for not cringing. "I was just curious. Haven't seen him here before."
"Oh, he comes in around the first of every month." Tarzan pulled his loincloth on and fastened the Velcro. "He never watches the show, though — spends all his time back here doing something in the office."
"Hmm. Seems like he could hire somebody to do his payroll." Jared lifted a shoulder, feigning disinterest. "Tightwad, eh?"
Tarzan rubbed oil across his shaved chest. "I figure the Studfinder is a tax shelter or something."
Or something. Jared had to find a way to get into that office. Tonight. "Anybody ever meet him here?"
Tarzan didn't seem suspicious of all the questions. He appeared thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, come to think of it, I've seen a tall bald guy with him a few times."
Bald guy? The acid level in Jared's gut hit nuclear. His contact with the local P.D. was tall and bald. "Seems an odd choice for a bookkeeper."
"Or a boyfriend." Tarzan chuckled. "Millman could probably take his pick in here, being the boss and all."
Jared coughed. Well, Millman couldn't have his pick of every one.
"That bald guy is one scrawny sumbitch, too."
That did it. Charlie. The tall, scrawny, bald guy had to be Jared's link to the local police. That raid the other night had been arranged to rattle Jared. Charlie was obviously on the take, and Jared was in deep shit.
His blood turned frigid, and his breath caught and held. Fear shot through him. For Margo.
"Break a leg." Tarzan flexed his muscles and headed toward the stage door.
"Yeah." Trying not to stare at the small door at the end of the dressing room through which Henry Millman had disappeared, Jared headed for the bathroom and made a call on his encrypted cell phone. Within a few moments, he'd notified his boss about his suspicions. By the time he took the stage tonight there would be three more agents on site, and more on the way. Turned out the feds already had Millman under investigation for various financial dealings. This case could be wrapped up a lot faster than anyone had hoped.
A few moments later, he stashed his phone and took his place in line with the other Eroticops. With any luck, this would be his last performance. He was more than ready to hang up his G-string.
Jared Carson had other things on his mind now. He couldn't deny the truth. From the first moment he'd seen Margo sitting in the audience, he'd known. This was destiny or fate or whatever. He would pursue her as he should have before she ever married Nick. He should have swallowed his pride back in college and told her he was sorry, that he loved her and wanted to spend his life with her. Loving her.
Then he would leave his life with the DEA and pursue his original career goal of small-town law enforcement. He wanted to buy Margo her old Victorian fixer-upper and to make babies with her. Lots of babies.
He wouldn't take no for an answer either. Not because he was a jerk, but because he'd felt her response. He'd seen love in her eyes, in her smile, and had tasted it in her kiss. They belonged together, and they always had.
If only Nick… Jared. released a slow breath. No, he couldn't blame Nick any longer. Losing Margo had been as much Jared's fault as anybody's. Nick was dead, and Jared planned to let him rest in peace. Their old rivalry had been stupid when Nick was alive, and continuing it after his death was doubly stupid.
Margo mattered. The future mattered.
He heard Tarzan's yell and barely suppressed a shudder. Damn.
Margo and Steph occupied the same table they had last time — center stage. Except, this time, Margo wasn't a bit reluctant to watch the dancers, knowing that very soon Jared would be there.
She couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. Everything he'd meant to her in the past had come flooding back as if they hadn't been apart all these years. As if Nick…
No. She wouldn't think about Nick now.
"I wonder what's keeping Raquel and Mrs. Brown," Steph said as she slid a drink across the table toward Margo.
"I'm still trying to figure out why you invited her here tonight." Margo wasn't looking forward to seeing the unusual woman again so soon.
"I called to invite Mrs. Brown, and she said Raquel had PMS and would probably enjoy it." Steph grinned and waggled her eyebrows.
"Hmm." Margo glanced at her watch again. "Maybe they changed their minds about coming."
"Mrs. Brown said Raquel had a hair appointment. I guess those gorgeous locks take longer."
"What gorgeous locks?" Margo stared past her sister as Mrs. Brown and a very different version of Raquel approached the table between sets.
Steph looked over her shoulder, then turned her wide-eyed stare on Margo. "Yikes! She got scalped."
A more subdued Raquel slid into the empty chair next to Mrs. Brown. Raquel wore jeans, a blue sweater, and very little, if any, makeup. Her flaming hair curled around her face. She didn't look a thing like the fancy woman she'd been this morning.