Dangerous Angel
Dangerous Angel
By Stacy Gail
Book four of the Earth Angels series
Miami’s best bounty hunter, Nikita Tesoro will do anything to collar a fugitive. Including stepping into a stripper’s stilettos for the night. Outsmarting her rival Kyle Beaudecker is just a bonus. Despite the sexual tension sparking between them, Nikita keeps a professional distance from “Hurricane” Kyle. After all, she can’t get hurt if she doesn’t care.
A descendant of the archangel Barakiel with the power to harness electricity, Kyle should be focusing his energy on tracking down a demon that may be hiding in the human realm. But he’s a lover, not a fighter, and he’d much rather use his special talents for pleasure: specifically Nikita’s. And teaming up to find a bail jumper means spending lots of time together...
But when their case takes a turn for the demonic, Kyle can no longer hide his true nature from Nikita. He’ll do whatever it takes to win her heart—even stop the apocalypse. But he can’t do it alone.
80,000 words
Dear Reader,
I know many of you have been waiting for the next installment of New York Times bestselling author Marie Force’s thrilling romantic suspense series. Fatal Jeopardy is finally here, and Nick and Sam are as good as ever!
But that’s not all the great storytelling we have in store for you with the March releases. This month, we introduce debut author Matt Sheehan and a book that had the Carina Press acquisitions team in hysterics. Be sure to check out Helmut Saves the World, in which there’s magic, fistfights and one-liners with the best, most handsome and, of course, humble detective Helmut Haase and his apathetic sidekick Shamus O’Sheagan.
If you’ve been longing for a great historical romance, we’ve got two this month. Juliana Ross finishes up her erotic Improper trilogy. In Improper Proposals, a lonely young widow learns to live—and love—again as she and her ambitious publisher, the most captivating man she has ever met, work on a forbidden guide to sexual pleasure. It’s An Heir of Uncertainty by Alyssa Everett and it’s also the answer to Colonel Win Vaughan’s prayers when he learns he’s the heir to the newly deceased Earl of Radbourne—but the beginning of a deadly mystery when he arrives to claim his inheritance, only to discover that the earl’s lovely widow is carrying a child who could displace him.
If you’re looking for something hot, with an unusual hero, Solace Ames releases erotic romance The Submission Gift this month. A young husband offers his wife an unusual gift—to fulfill a fantasy she’d always set aside. But what starts out as a onetime session becomes something precious shared between three—one of them a male escort. Solace Ames brings something new to this story and if you love erotic romance, you’ll want to check this out.
Also in the hot category is Up in Knots by Gillian Archer. Still bruised over the death of her boyfriend two years ago, Kyla Grant is determined to get back into the kinky dating scene, and bad-boy top Sawyer is just the man to help her. Joining Gillian, Juliana and Solace in the erotic romance category, Nico Rosso’s Slam Dance with the Devil, from his Demon Rock series, brings entertainment to a new level. Wild rock star Kent Gaol’s dark past goes back even further than private investigator Nona Harris could’ve imagined, and one night onstage surprises them both by slamming her into his supernatural world.
March shapes up to be a good one for erotic romances because Emily Ryan-Davis brings us the follow-up to Ménage on 34th Street, which she coauthored with Elise Logan. In this next installment, Dial M for Ménage, it’s a new year and a new way of life for Katrina Holland, who started 2014 by waking up with two men in her bed. Now, she, Owen and Hunter struggle to define, and redefine, their relationships with one another after the first rush of newness fades.
Paranormal romance author Lorenda Christensen follows up her funny, entertaining Never Deal with Dragons with the next in the series, Dancing with Dragons. If Carol Jenski knows anything, it’s fashion—and it’s in fashion to consort with dragons, even though they’ve coexisted with humans since WWIII. Still, she would never have agreed to take part in a plot against them. Now a dragon lord has called for her head, her boyfriend is MIA and she’s been abandoned in a foreign country.
Stacy Gail’s paranormal romance miniseries, The Earth Angels, comes to an exciting conclusion in Dangerous Angel, where the heroes and heroines from all the previous books combine their efforts to avert a demonic apocalypse. In Kathleen Collins’s Death’s Daughter, Realm Walker Juliana Norris hunts a serial killer targeting Altered children while an enemy from her past closes in.
This month we have two titles in the science-fiction genre. First, join the adventure At Star’s End! A galactic treasure hunter and an astro-archaeologist race across the galaxy in pursuit of the last remaining fragment of da Vinci’s Mona Lisa in this space opera romance from Anna Hackett.
And we’re pleased to welcome T.D. Wilson with his debut, The Epherium Chronicles: Embrace. Set in the mid-twenty-second century, Embrace is the first book of an exciting new space opera series where Earth’s newest warship, the Armstrong, must make contact with fledgling colonies in nearby solar systems amid the threat of an alien attack.
If you’re ready for a cozy mystery to keep you guessing as to whodunit, look no further than Julie Anne Lindsey’s latest release. Most islanders celebrate the reprieve of summer tourism with cider, mums and cocoa, but sharks, birders and a possible serial killer seem intent on ruining autumn for Patience when Murder Comes Ashore.
Anne Marie Becker returns with another suspenseful installment in her romantic suspense series. In Dark Deeds, SSAM security expert Becca Haney is hiding a past that could hurt her ex-lover, NYPD detective Diego Sandoval—but the true threat comes from a “fan” whose conscience urges him to kill.
Coming next month: contemporary romance Taken with You from New York Times bestselling author Shannon Stacey. Also, sports week and six irresistible sports romances!
Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
Dedication
To my amazing and multitalented editor, Andrea Kerr. Thank you, a million times over, for your brilliant insight and guidance. This series probably wouldn’t have gotten written without you, Andrea. You’re the best.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
If it weren’t for the blue neon pulsating through the LED floor tiles and the white-hot spotlights on the catwalk, it would have been as dark as a cave inside The Toy Box. Far removed from the glitzy gentlemen’s clubs in South Beach, The Toy Box had no illusions about itself. With cheap booze and cheaper décor, no one would have dreamed of referring to the unremarkable hole in the wall as a “gentlemen’s club.” It was a strip joint, plain and simple—no frills, no bells or whistles. And it was laughable to label the women up on the stage as exotic dancers. They were strippers, as unapologetic as the word suggested, and they did the same bump-and-grind routine no matter the music. Their expressions matched the moves—vaguely bored, indifferent to the blue-collar clientele who wandered into the bar located in the shadow of Interstate 195 in North Miami. And the smell...
After nearly a week of serving drinks in this pit, Nikita Tesoro was sure she’d never flush the stench out of her nasal passages.
“Gentlemen, there’s no need to be blue.” The broken subwoofer in the overhead speaker made the announcer’s voice as fuzzy as the mold that Nikita suspected clung to every dark nook and cranny in the place. “Not when you’ve got Blu Velvet wanting to dance those blues away.”
Damn, this job had better be worth it. The bad puns alone were enough to kill her.
“Another pitcher of cerveza and limes, four tequilas and a banana daiquiri.” With a short sigh, Nikita plunked her tray on the bar and adjusted the black corset digging into her ribs. She wasn’t a fan of the uniform—white cuffs, a bow tie, black fishnets, a corset with matching French-cut briefs and cheap plastic stilettos that pinched her toes. But it went with the territory, and it was no less than she’d expected from her latest employer.
“A banana daiquiri?” Shouting over the music, the tattoo-covered bartender Nikita had come to know only as Sonny began filling the order, his moves so deft he probably could have done it blindfolded. And maybe comatose. “Did someone lose a bet?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” With a practiced eye, Nikita surveyed the club’s front room, her attention lingering on a blo
b of a man settling in at a catwalk seat. “Oh, I almost forgot, Sonny. Banana daiquiri guy wants one of those little umbrellas with fruit stuck on it.”
“Everybody gets what they get, and if they don’t like it they can kiss my freckled ass.” Sonny slammed the tequilas and pitcher of beer on her tray. “How you holding up? Customers treating you right?”
“Oh, you know it, baby. The Toy Box can hardly hold so many Prince Charmings.”
“Translation—your ass is covered in bruises from all the pinching.”
“Do I look like a slow learner? My first night here I figured out how not to turn my back to any of these pigs. I haven’t been tagged since.” She scrunched her toes in the futile hope of making the cheap high heels more comfortable. Recently an ultraconservative state senator had waged a campaign to outlaw stilettos and bikinis—something that would never work in Miami—but after spending hours in ankle breakers made out of unforgiving plastic instead of supple leather, she could see his point. There were some shoes that needed to be outlawed.
Then she hauled her full tray up and grimly dived back into the fray. If she played her cards right, she’d be able to kiss the five-inch torture devices goodbye before the after-dinner crowd arrived. The pain in her feet would be oh, so worth it.
Once she’d plotted a course past the tables that would leave her unmolested, Nikita delivered her order and heaved a sigh of relief when the daiquiri drinker didn’t notice his fancy fruit garnish was MIA. Like every other man in the building, his attention was riveted on Blu. Thursday afternoon at The Toy Box wasn’t traditionally a time when it was packed with customers, so the talent up on the catwalk wasn’t the first-string line-up. But Blu did her best, twirling around a pole to the tune of “Doctor, Doctor,” her stethoscope and red-cross pasties flashing in the spotlights. After indulging in a few cautiously friendly conversations with the other woman over the past week, Nikita suspected Blu wasn’t much older than her own twenty-six years, despite the hardness in her eyes that no amount of stage makeup could conceal.
Oddly enough, the patrons didn’t seem to care about what the stripper looked like from the neck up. The blob of a man next to the catwalk was no different, enthusiastically flashing cash for her to pick up. Uninterested in just how that was going to happen, Nikita looked away in time to see Sonny give her the high sign.
“Boss needs to see you.” Preoccupied with slinging one beer after another, Sonny jerked his head in the direction of the back office. “Don’t keep him waiting, he’s in a bad mood.”
“Yeah? Is he wearing crappy plastic shoes too?” Nikita shot another glance over her shoulder, frustration sizzling in her veins. Crap. After spending five frigging days in this stink hole, she was so close to her goal. “Which boss wants to see me?”
“Does it matter? Get going before you’re out on your skinny Cuban ass.”
Flipping Sonny the finger because it was the expected response, she turned her back on his laughter and made a beeline for the office. “The Boss” could have meant the club’s manager Dibby Beirs, or his brother Dodie, the owner. To just about everyone who worked there, the brothers were interchangeable. They were identical twins—middle-aged, stoop-shouldered, swarthy men who probably had to check their height at amusement park rides to see if they were tall enough to get on. The Beirs brothers were discernible only by Dodie’s platinum blond dye-job that clashed with his woolly-worm black eyebrows. Clearly, Dodie and Dibby believed in keeping their personal appearance down to the barest minimum, just as they did with the bar’s décor.
It was the bad dye-job she found behind the cluttered desk as she hovered in the office’s doorway. There were no words strong enough to describe how she loathed going into the windowless cubicle of a room. The smell of stale sex, human funk and beer was so prevalent that just the thought of it made her fantasize about bathing in a vat of hand sanitizer.
“Hey, Nikita.” Dodie shuffled papers in such a frantic way she couldn’t help but wonder if he was being audited. “I need you to pinch-hit for Bambi tonight. Little princess didn’t bother to show up for her evening shift, and Wanda is out with some kind of infection thing. I don’t even want to know.”
That made two of them. “Bambi. Sorry, I’m still learning names here. Is she another waitress? I’m already working the tables with Loli, so—”
“Bambi is talent. As of now, so are you.”
Talent. For the span of a horrified heartbeat, Nikita froze while Dodie’s meaning sank in. Talent. That was The Toy Box code word for stripper. As in, to stand in front of a crowd of horny, half-sauced men she didn’t know, and strip.
Not furniture.
Not wallpaper.
Clothes.
“Okay.”
Money. It really was the root of all evil.
* * *
The obnoxious odor of smoke and sweat clogged Kyle Beaudecker’s sinuses after ten seconds of breathing in The Toy Box’s poorly ventilated air. He hovered in the back of the low-ceilinged strip joint while his eyes adjusted to the blue-tinted gloom. As expected, the main room was dominated by a pole-studded catwalk skirted with garish silver tinsel, a shimmery mess that was echoed in the curtain at the catwalk’s staging area. The blue neon LED floor tiles would have classed the place up if it weren’t for a few tiles flickering bad enough to spark off a seizure. On the other side of the room the no-nonsense bar showed hard-liquor bottles and none of the decorative glass-and-bottle displays seen in many upscale nightclubs. In seedy little dives like this, fast times and getting drunk were the only two requirements the patrons needed.
Hidden in the shadows, Kyle smiled. When he was in the mood for it, this was his kind of place.
His first cursory sweep of the club didn’t get him excited, so he moved to an out-of-the-way table in the corner of the room to wait things out. As he settled in, however, his attention snagged on a familiar profile seated beside the catwalk. A massive young man waved an enthusiastic farewell to a stethoscope-wearing stripper as if they were long-lost friends.
Bingo.
The habits people indulged in when they were on the run never failed to boggle Kyle’s mind. No matter how crafty a fugitive was, there were still routines, material possessions or vices to which they insisted on clinging. For some, it was family. For others, drugs or alcohol.
For Jon-Jay Horowitz, it was the easy scoring grounds of The Toy Box.
As music hummed a prelude for the next titillating performance, Kyle tried to settle back and relax, but a ripple of restlessness tugged at the edges of his consciousness. Grimly he ignored it, as he’d been ignoring it for weeks now. That internal chaffing had nothing to do with the small-fry in front of him now, or any of the other jobs that had come across his path recently. No, this subtle but aggravating urgency emanated from another source entirely, and he knew damn well what it was.
The secret side of him wanted to do some demon-hunting.
The corners of his mouth tightened while he kept his ass in the seat where it belonged. It didn’t make sense, this crazy desire to go looking for trouble. He was a lover, not a fighter, damn it. He didn’t even know for sure there was any demon left in the world to hunt. Just the thought of it had tension pouring like molten steel into his shoulders, and he rolled his head from side to side in an effort to erase it. If he had half a brain, he’d stop thinking about demons and simply be grateful he had ordinary scumbags to hunt down.
There was no doubt Jon-Jay fit that description to a T. Though Kyle’s latest quarry was barely out of his teens, he already had a dumpy belly and generous man-boobs that jiggled beneath various childish graphic T-shirts. He was the epitome of the term Man-Baby, a nickname his doting mother had tagged him with. But no matter how unsavory he was on the outside, it was nothing compared to what he was on the inside.
The first hint of trouble started when Jon-Jay stole his mother’s bingo winnings. Mama dropped the theft charges when the police traced the crime back to her own son. This understandable—but not well thought-out—act of mercy apparently gave Man-Baby the go-ahead to pillage every relative within reach. In two years, over a dozen burglaries had been brought to light and subsequently dropped.