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Waylon pushed himself off the doorway, eyes narrowed at the scene. Irritated that she wasn’t doing what he’d told her. What he’d made her do.
“Come home with me,” Ronan said, turning back to Jenny, reaching for her hand once more.
“You basically tell me to fuck off when I try to tell you who killed?—”
“I want a dance,” he said loudly enough that Brittany froze behind the bar.
The Navy man had vanished. Maybe calling the police from the parking lot… but probably not.
“No dances for cops,” Waylon snapped.
Ronan pulled his billfold from his pocket. He had no idea how much was there, didn’t bother to count it. He unclipped the entire wad and tossed it Waylon’s way.
Hundred dollar bills fluttered through the air, skittering along the floor. A skinny man who’d been sitting in the back scrambled out of his chair and made his way forward. So did another dancer, a new girl with long, siren-red hair and acne.
Brittany’s eyes widened. She started around the bar, but Waylon waved her back and set to work, snatching up the bills. Not a cent of that would find its way to the women who worked here. But Ronan didn’t care, not now.
Ronan once more offered Jenny a hand to help her off the stage and onto the main floor, but she slapped him away. He raised his palms—okay, do it yourself.
“You’re guilty too,” Waylon called, one knee on the floor, cash fisted in both hands. “Lots of witnesses here. If I go down, you go down.”
Ah, yes. The fictional Officer Conduct Act. Even if that law had been real, he had every reason to be here. He was working a case, actively investigating. And this place was a cesspool. He’d make it his life’s work to ensure that Waylon paid for every crime he’d ever committed.
“I’ll take my chances,” Ronan told him, his gaze on Jenny’s face as she finally climbed off the stage. “Some things are worth the risk.”
Chapter 19
Juliette
There was no champagne room here, just the three rows of seats that surrounded the stage, staggered to allow for maximum visibility. Ronan marched to a chair in the corner at the end of the long back row that she’d never seen used for anything but lap dances.
Anger prickled in her guts, yet beneath it simmered the memory of his touch, his whispered promises that now felt like lies. Did he actually think she’d dance for him after what happened at the hospital?
Fucking asshole.
But it felt better back here in the corner—away from the stage, all those prying eyes, Waylon leering at her after telling her to keep the shirt on. Ronan might be a jerk, but she couldn’t forget the appreciation she’d seen in his gaze just yesterday, the way he’d called her Beauty. She needed him to erase Waylon’s disgust from her memory—and that other man, who’d only been trying to watch Desire on the next pole.
“Did he make you do this because he saw you at the station?” Ronan asked, sinking into the chair.
But his hands were moving beneath the seat, along the back, around the tiny side table. What was he looking for? Unbeknownst to Waylon, she and Shonda had secured pepper spray to every fifth seat in the club, but there wasn’t a canister on this chair—most men wanted to sit closer to the stage. This was the first time the seat had been used in months.
She stepped in front of him, hands on her hips. “Well, you just know everything, don’t you?”
“You don’t have to dance for me.”
“No shit,” she spat out.
A half smile, but his eyes stayed sad. “We can walk out together, if you’d like. But speaking here might be prudent—no bugs. No cameras. Unlike in that hospital room.”
She blinked. Wait… he thought the hospital room was bugged? “That’s why you were such a dick?” She dropped her arms to her sides, but the trepidation in her chest remained.
Was he lying? He might just be working the case—working her.
Unease shimmered between her shoulder blades, and she turned to see Waylon standing dead center in the room now, his sharp gaze on her. Making sure she did the job she was being paid for—the job he’d been paid for. Her jaw clenched.
She turned back and put her hands on Ronan’s shoulders. His eyes widened when she bent at the waist, her lips brushing his ear.
“Why would you stay in that hospital room if you thought it was bugged?” she asked.