Bad Girl

By Julie Miller

"I warned you this would be dangerous."

Trouble has a way of finding me. This time I’m hunting it downbartending at After Dark, Kansas City’s most exclusive gentleman’s club. It’s a world I’ve tried hard to escape. But the plush interior and secluded booths are a front for an illegal sex ring, tied to my sister’s disappearance. And before I can locate Megan, I have to get past big, sexy Josiah Kemp.

The usual tricksflirty smiles, subtle touchesdon’t seem to be working on Josiah. Something in his dark gaze says he knows my secrets and has a few of his own. Learning he’s an undercover cop posing as a bouncer complicates things, but he’s the kind of man you want on your sideand everywhere else. With his help, I know I can get answers. Even if it takes a few rounds between the sheets to get them.

If you love heart-stopping suspense and fearless romance, look for Julie Miller’s Harlequin Intrigue title Crossfire Christmas available now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781460344439

Julie Miller

USA TODAY bestselling author Julie Miller writes breathtaking romantic suspense. She has sold millions of copies of her books worldwide, and has earned a National Readers Choice Award, two Daphne du Maurier prizes and an RT BookReviews Career Achievement Award. For a complete list of her books and more, go to www.juliemiller.org.

Book preview

Chapter One

Doreen Riley sat in her dark car beneath the harsh glow of neon lights and street lamps, staring at the wrinkled old photo in her hand. There wasn’t much she valued from her childhood, even fewer mementos she treasured.

This picture of her and her younger sister, Megan, taken at some Fourth of July picnic in the years before Sal Fusco had entered their lives, was one of the few items she’d taken with her the night she’d run away nine years ago. She brushed her thumb over the image of her sister’s strawberry-blonde hair, feeling a stab of guilt—along with something darker, angrier, and something decidedly more ruthless—curling in the pit of her stomach.

Riley—only her family and people she didn’t care to know called her Doreen—looked up from her past and surveyed the world outside her windshield. Rain fogged up the autumn night, making the sidewalks and pavements shiny, creating numerous places in the alleys and corners of this downtown Kansas City street for the cockroaches and lowlifes to hide.

Surfing through online porn sites that had left her skin crawling, and putting questions to old friends and enemies she’d known from her time on the streets, had all led her here, to the posh gentleman’s club called After Dark. A sandblasted brick building, with etched glass windows and a double front door, velvet drapes with gold trim, and a side door off the parking lot sporting a secret panel reminiscent of a 1920’s speakeasy made After Dark look like a modern, no-expense-spared homage to times gone by.

But she was certain there was more to After Dark than a million-dollar renovation and a discreet ambience that promised titillating fun and an assurance of privacy for its paying customers. Rumors she trusted more than the online newspaper articles she’d researched warned her there was more than a legitimate trade in alcohol and lap dances happening here.

And if this was where Megan had ended up…

It’s getting bad, Dee.

Has he hurt you?

Not yet. I keep my door locked or spend the night at Nate’s. Riley didn’t think her teenage sister’s twenty something boyfriend was much of an alternative to their stepfather, Sal. But when Megan had phoned her at 4:00 a.m., talking in hushed whispers so she wouldn’t be overheard, Riley sensed it was better to listen than to preach. But something’s wrong.

Besides Sal’s perverted inability to keep his hands to himself?

More than that. He’s not just drinking and pretending like none of us knows what’s going on. He’s gambling again. That meant he was losing money. He’s angry. A lot. And he’s taking it out on Mom. I called the cops on him last night.

Like they’d listen. Did she press charges?

What do you think?

Shit. You can’t protect her, Megan. She didn’t have to go back to him. I offered her a way out. Once Riley had gotten off the streets, landed a job and found an apartment, that had been her first call. Do you need a place to stay? You know my door is always open. For Mom, too. I’m not afraid of that son of a bitch anymore.

I’ll try to talk to her. I’m going over to Nate’s after school.

Okay, so she’d earned the right to preach a little. Sweetie, if he’s back with his old friends, you can’t be with him, either.

Nate’s been clean for months now. And he’s really sweet and protective when he’s sober.

Riley had buried her face in her pillow and groaned. She could see the same pattern happening all over again. Riley might be alone, but at least she was nobody’s punching bag or codependent or… No. Sal Fusco wasn’t even an acknowledgment in her random thoughts anymore.

She sat up on the edge of her bed, not bothering to hide her concern for Megan. Keep me in the loop. You know where my spare key is, right? Even if I’m at class or work, and you need to get away, you come on over and make yourself at home. Okay, sweetie?

I will. I’ll talk to Mom before Sal gets home from work and call you tonight.

Only, Megan had never called.

Not that night.

Not any night, day or in between for three days now.

Megan was gone. Missing without a trace.

No one at her high school and none of the friends Riley had talked to had seen her.

Nate Osborn, Megan’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, claimed she’d been talking about going away to a school for some kind of modeling opportunity, but he hadn’t heard from her and didn’t know where she was. His clothes smelled like cat urine and his speech and gestures were manic enough that she knew he’d been using crystal meth again. She’d been half-relieved that she hadn’t found Megan with him.

Even a visit to the home she hadn’t been to for nine years to talk with her mother and rat’s ass of a stepfather about what might have prompted Megan’s disappearance hadn’t revealed a thing. Her mother had cried, spouting some nonsense about a modeling agent stealing her baby girl away for her fresh face, while Sal had poured himself another drink.

There were no clothes or personal belongings missing from Megan’s room, indicating she’d left on a trip of her own free will. No money missing from her checking account to show she’d paid for a class or bought a bus ticket or even a square meal.

She was just gone.

Riley glanced down at the photograph of a happier time and swore at the irony of it all.

KCPD had listed Megan as a teenage runaway. But Riley’s gut was telling her that wasn’t right. Riley was the runner. She was the bad seed who’d fought back against her stepfather’s twisted abuse and paid the price. Megan was the good sister. The responsible one who got top grades and kept a part-time job at a grocery store, in spite of the trouble at home. Megan was the one who’d stayed and tried to help after Riley had finally had enough and left for good.

Riley knew about running away. She knew about living on the streets and supporting herself in necessary ways for two years until she’d saved up enough money to walk away and go back to school to get a decent job in an office while she earned her business degree.

That was why she was here tonight.

Megan wasn’t the only young woman to go missing in Kansas City. Every rumor she’d managed to latch on to said that the answers to the mystery of the missing girls could be found right here.

Riley knew this part of town. It was a haven for runaways and hard-luck cases needing to make a buck. For every bright light and renovated exterior, there were two shadows and a back alley where pretty much anything—or anyone—could be bought or sold for the right price.

Her gaze drifted back to the gentleman’s club across the street. The velvet ropes where men lined up to gain entrance, and the dark wood blinds in the windows didn’t change a thing—After Dark was just a fancy name for a strip joint.

But she suspected it was a different story behind the facade.

Yes, there was a Mercedes-Benz, a BMW and two vintage muscle cars that had to be worth a pretty penny in the well-guarded private parking lot on the building’s west side. But the two bruisers at the gated entrance weren’t any typical valets taking tickets and parking cars. The blue-and-black security uniforms didn’t fool her.

She’d chatted with counselors from homeless shelters, even an old friend she’d run into outside the Cheap Peep on the next block. Word on the street seemed to point to an illegal sex trade specializing in providing escorts of a young age or with a certain look—like Megan’s fresh face. Anyone who’d been willing to answer more specific questions had indicated that one of the trendiest nightclubs in the Kansas City area, After Dark, seemed to be the place where she’d find someone who might know about Megan—or at least answers about where she might look next to find where a missing eighteen-year-old strawberry-blonde who hadn’t shown up in the morgue might have gone.

Riley also understood the laws of the street. No one around here would be anxious to answer a lot of questions, especially from an outsider.

So she was going to revisit that part of her life she’d hoped she’d left behind and make herself an insider. Again.

The thought of what she was about to do made her cringe. Even after a lot of time and a lot of hard work, the memories still felt fresh. They made her raw inside. But she’d survived. She could harden herself against them.

Because the thought that Megan might be going through the same thing—or something worse—would kill her.

As ready for this charade as she was going to get, Riley hid the photograph inside the glove compartment. She didn’t want to arouse anyone’s suspicions about her real reason for being here. Plus, she’d learned the hard way not to get caught with anything sentimental that might reveal a vulnerability that could be used against her.

After locking up both the picture and her emotions, Riley unbuttoned her sweater down to a glimpse of her black-lace bra, pushed up her boobs to deepen her cleavage, and mussed her long auburn hair around her shoulders. A touch of ruby lipstick and a smack of her lips in the rearview mirror provided the final layer of armor. She was ready.

Climbing out into the cool night air, she locked the car behind her and strode across the street to interview for a job that hadn’t even been listed.

She spared a coy smile for the line of men who lacked the money and credentials to get in through the private side entrance. With a purposeful sway to her ass, she waltzed past the hungry looks and catcalls and pushed open the double front doors to the din of music, clinking glasses and chatter.

Hold it, sweetheart.

The bouncer at the front counter rose from his stool and grabbed her arm as she went past. She was no shrimp at five-seven plus three-inch heels. But this bruiser with the shaved head and surly attitude towered over her by half a foot as he pulled her back to face him.

No one gets in without coming through me first, he announced. His voice was deep-pitched, resonating through a square jaw and a prominent nose that had been broken at some point in his past. His brown eyes were dark and shining with suspicion beneath equally dark lashes.

Surely you aren’t carding me, she challenged.

His gaze traveled up and down her body without apology or flicker of appreciation before he snorted a sound that must be his version of a laugh. You’re of age. What do you want?

His unfortunate looks were offset by the midnight pitch of his tough-guy drawl and the utter masculinity of his imposing build. Riley ignored a traitorous ripple of feminine awareness at his brawny strength and bold assessment. Focusing on the bear paw locked on her arm, she offered up a dismissive smile. I’m not here to talk to you, big boy. I’m here to see the man in charge. I’m interviewing for the bartending position. Mr. Russell is expecting me.

She’d gleaned the owner’s name from an online newspaper interview. Talking as though she knew someone usually convinced people that she did.

No, he’s not. Mr. Russell isn’t here.

Oh. She pursed her painted lips into a frown. Do you know where he is? I said I was coming by this evening.

But the big brute wasn’t buying it. He wasn’t letting go, either. If anything, his fingers tightened above her elbow as he dipped his head toward hers. She heard his whisper loud and clear, despite the noise of the club. What do you really want?

The man didn’t mince words. Was he this distrustful of everyone? Of women? Or maybe just her?

Fine. Her bold sortie hadn’t worked. So she’d go straight to plan B and pour on the sexual distraction. If he liked to look, she’d show him. I want a job. I don’t suppose you could help me, could you?

Riley shook her hair off her cheeks and pulled back her shoulders, giving him a clear view of the creamy swells of her breasts before she traced the barbed-wire tattoo circling his left bicep. She lingered on his warm skin, as if curious about the ink’s symbolism. Then she tiptoed her fingers up his broad chest to touch the dimple beside his mouth, realizing after she’d made contact with the rigid skin that it was the pucker of a scar, not a smile line. But she didn’t let his harsh features or