Page 35 of Strip Search

O ne year later

I was going to puke. “Lisa, where the fuck are my fans?”

“Behind the sofa where you left them.”

Lisa was in red and I was in black. We were dressed like flappers from the roaring twenties.

I had a night off from Travesty and my sister and I were going to do the first number at Miles and Darcy’s newly opened club, Uncle Johnny’s Burlesque Show.

With Darcy’s money and Miles’ connections, rebuilding had been a breeze.

Of course, not having the pressure of the Rivs or any other gang activity might have helped as well.

Shortly after I moved in with Miles, Leonidas had been killed while out on bail.

And after a few more strategic arrests, the Rivs faded into Las Vegas history like the casino they had named themselves after.

“I can’t believe Mom isn’t backstage nagging us,” Lisa said.

“I told Highway and Mav that it was their asses if she got past them.”

Lisa and I had practiced this act for over a month in our spare time.

She had choreographed it, and it was amazing.

Because our father was also in the audience, Lisa and I wouldn’t be doing anything erotic.

We were going to do a fan dance to some swinging jazz to warm up the crowd.

Then there would be a comedian and more dancing.

The good stuff didn’t happen until after midnight and I was hoping my parents would go back to the hotel long before that.

“How are we doing, ladies?” Parker said, coming into the dressing room. He gave Lisa a kiss on the cheek and smiled at me. “You both look beautiful.”

Lisa dragged him into a private corner to canoodle a bit and I gave them some privacy. Leaving my fans behind, I walked out into the club where the band was playing something slow and hypnotic. My parents were on the dance floor. I waved at my father and he gave me a thumbs-up.

“Hey gorgeous.” Miles pulled me in for a kiss. “Nervous?”

“No. You?”

“It’s all good.”

“I just wish Darcy were here to celebrate. It’s not fair,” I said.

“I know.” Miles hugged me. “He’d be here if he could. He said to tell you congratulations.”

“For what? Not killing Lisa?”

“I told him that congratulations might be premature, but he didn’t think so.” Miles handed me a small velvet box.

“What’s this? Something to go with my flapper costume?”

“If you want.”

I opened it, expecting earrings. Or a hairclip. I hadn’t been expecting a diamond ring.

“It’s . . . it’s . . .”

“Jacqueline Aida Mitchell, I love you. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Miles slipped the marquis-cut diamond on my finger. It flashed in the soft light of the club and with the sequins of my dress. “Yes. Oh, Miles. Yes.”

“Don’t cry. You’ll look like a raccoon.”

I threw my arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“You’re going to knock them dead tonight. Everyone is going to see you for the star that you are.”

“How long until the show starts?” I asked, threading my fingers through his and leading him back to his office.

“Long enough,” he said, huskily and locked the door behind him.