Midnight Crusader Page 9

  * * * *

  "Come on, Grace. My grandmother can kick higher than that. Grace ... who gave you that unfitting name?"

  "I'm trying, Miss Parsons. I had it yesterday."

  "And lost it today. Concentrate. Again."

  As the girls started the routine over, Naomi bit back her opinion of how Kitty Parsons handled her charges. Bullying and insults to gain cooperation sat poorly with Naomi, but the choreographer was a professional, well-known for her flashy show numbers. Who was Naomi to question the methods if the results earned rave reviews?

  But she didn't have to like it. And she certainly didn't like Kitty Parsons, but the woman had put together a dynamite dance routine ... until Grace turned a beat too late and collided with Marty, bringing the rehearsal to an awkward halt.

  "Grace, you move like a breeding cow. If you can't get this down, you can get out."

  As the other girls shuffled in embarrassed empathy, Grace stood alone, all teary humiliation. “I'm trying, Miss Parsons."

  "Trying doesn't cut it here. This is not your first grade dance recital, though even those children could do better in your place."

  Enough.

  "I don't think a first grader could fill out the costume as well as Gracie does, Miss Parsons."

  Grace looked toward Naomi as she approached the stage area, her mascara beginning to run as she wiped at her eyes and gave a grateful smile. Kitty Parsons’ expression was much less welcoming.

  "Miss Bright, to what do we owe this interruption?"

  "There's going to be a little change in plans this evening, something new I think the girls will enjoy."

  Parsons narrowed her eyes, obviously doubting that she would. “No one told me about any change in schedule."

  "I'm telling you now, Miss Parsons."

  "And I'm telling you we are too far behind already to indulge in any foolishness you've come up with."

  "I'll be sure to tell Mr. Zanlos that you considered his idea foolish without even hearing what it was."

  Kitty took a deep, irritation-cleansing breath. “Let's hear it."

  The girls had gathered into a tight group to silently cheer Naomi's confrontation with their nemesis, but one by one, their attention was drawn away from the tense discussion as they noticed a shadowed figure coming down the center aisle. The closer he came, the more riveted their focus, until the two verbal combatants were distracted into following their rapt gazes.

  Naomi's system jolted as if hit with a charge from jumper cables as she watched Gabriel McGraw's mesmerizing approach. She could understand the dancers’ uncharacteristic gawking. Her own tongue would have lolled out as her jaw hung unhinged if she hadn't found the presence of mind to snap it shut.

  There was something about Gabriel McGraw ... something more. More than just good looking, with his rumpled blond hair and brooding poet's expression. More than just great pecs poured into the sculpturing hug of a black tank top under the loose flow of a gaudy, comic book character shirt. More than just powerful in the way he moved with such leashed control. Las Vegas was full of handsome, buff and beefy men. But none of them had seen anything like Gabriel. He was man to the max. And then there was still that ‘more’ that made it impossible to look away.

  And he was a liar and a schemer, too. Naomi couldn't afford to forget that.

  "Ladies, Mr. Gabriel McGraw. Mr. McGraw is going to teach you to add a little something extra to your routine. Something that will mesmerize the audience and keep them coming back for more."

  No one seemed to notice that she sounded a bit like a carney shill with that pitch. They were too busy goggling over Gabriel as he set down the bag he was carrying and stripped out of his shirt. There in the shadows, etched into sharp relief by the glare of the stage lighting, his arms and shoulders looked positively lethal. A collective sigh whispered from the group on stage.

  "We don't have time for this,” Kitty Parsons hissed at this renewed affront to her power. “I'm going to go up and talk to Mr. Zanlos myself."

  "Don't let the screen door smack you on your way out,” came a naughty murmur from one of the girls. Kitty glared but, unable to discern which one had mocked her so openly, she stormed away intent upon putting a stop to Miss Goody Goody Bright's interference.

  None of the dancers even noticed she was gone.

  "So, Mr. McGraw,” cooed the carrot-topped Molly, “what are you going to teach us?"

  "That the best defense is a good offense."

  While the girls puzzled over that, he unzipped his bag and drew out a short staff of wood. He twirled it with increasing speed from one hand to the other until the air whistled and hummed while he talked.

  "Any of you do any boxing, karate or self-defense?” He met with blank stares. “How about Tae Bo?” Hands came up. “All right. That's a start. It's balance, control and timing more than strength. Naomi—Miss Bright—asked me to pack some punch into your number, so we're going to learn to punch."

  "You mean like Bruce Lee shit?” Candice, the chronic grumbler, interjected.

  "No, more like Xena Warrior Princess shit,” he corrected with a grin that melted them down like the froth on a steamy cappuccino. “Who wants to be a Xena?"

  "She's bad,” Candice conceded, and the others nodded. “But we're lovers not fighters."

  "Be both. Strong is sexy. My job shouldn't be too hard since you're all in good shape.” He allowed a charming leer that had the girls giggling in their skin tight spandex, and Naomi shrinking silently within her boxy K-Mart Jacklyn Smith skirt and jacket special, feeling neither strong nor particularly sexy. “But you don't have to be an Amazon female to learn self-discipline and power. Anyone can."

  "How about Miss Bright?” Jeannie suggested, drawing unwelcomed attention to the bookish assistant.

  "Even Miss Bright,” Gabriel insisted. His gaze locked on Namoi's, warming, compelling, challenging. “If she wants to."

  Naomi started to shake her head.

  "Come on, Miss Bright,” Grace coaxed, and the others took up her plea until they were all clamoring for Naomi's participation. Alarmed yet secretly intrigued by the idea, Naomi held up her hands.

  "I'm not dressed for it, ladies.

  "Next time, come prepared,” Gabriel suggested with a wink.

  Next time.

  The thought of being in close proximity to him each night stirred a rash of apprehension and its less welcome kin, anticipation. But she'd get over it. She wasn't here to flirt. She wasn't here to learn to fight. She was here to set a trap. And Gabriel was the big rat she planned to catch when it snapped. Resolve firmed her stance and her expression.

  "So ... Mr. McGraw, are you going to handle us all by yourself?” Marty's question was a purr of innuendo.

  "As intriguing an idea as that might be, I've asked a friend to help me out.'

  Who, me? Naomi was about to shake her head again when Gabriel turned, not to her, but toward the back of the auditorium, to where another Xena-ish woman entered.

  Naomi's jaw dropped a second time. “Rita?"

  "Ladies, this is Rita Davies. She has an intimate relationship with self-defense, and she'll help you look like lean, mean, fighting machines."

  "Don't forget the sexy,” Molly added.

  Gabriel laughed. “Trust me. Nobody's going to forget the sexy. Now watch the way Rita moves while we go round."

  Flashing a grin to Naomi, Rita slipped out of her oversized shirt. She wore a citrus green unitard beneath it. She and Gabriel hopped up onto the stage area, and the girls fanned out to observe and to shamelessly eye the gorgeous Gabriel. Naomi stayed in the shadows, also considering the sparring pair with new awareness.

  When had he asked Rita to join him? Why hadn't her roommate mentioned it?

  Was there more to their supposed friendship then either had bothered to bring to her attention? An unsettling jealousy rumbled through her as she admitted that they did look good together, both fit and confident and aggressive in their movements. A couple. Perhaps. Drawing t
he flaps of her beige jacket together over her less than spectacular bosom, she faded back further in the auditorium to take a seat at one of the tables on the fourth riser. From that elevation she had a clear view, and she wasn't sure she liked what she saw. Gabriel McGraw controlling her girls. Rita Davies, her friend, partnered with Gabriel.

  Soon they wouldn't need her at all.

  Rubbing at the tension pounding through her temples, she paused in sudden surprise.

  It was gone.

  She'd been so busy and preoccupied that she hadn't noticed until now.

  The hour was early evening, a time when her unexplained restlessness typically came calling. Calling until she couldn't ignore the summons. But the compelling urge hadn't come, nor had the chills of desperate yearning and knotting anxiety that wouldn't ease until she was caught up in the pageantry at the Excalibur. She'd associated the compulsion with the place, but maybe she'd been wrong.

  She stared down at the two faux combatants and explored the sense of calm so foreign in conjunction with the setting sun. A disquieting notion rose like the pale moon beyond the jarring city lights.

  Maybe it was the man who drew her.

  * * * *

  Kitty Parsons stopped at the private elevators, reaching out to stab at the button just as the doors opened. She stumbled back to avoid being knocked over by the exiting bulk of Marcus Sinclair. He caught her by the forearms in an instinctive move to protect her from a fall. Instead of displaying gratitude, she slapped at his big hands until he released her.

  "Get out of my way, you moron."

  As she shoved by him, which was rather like pushing at a granite wall, to enter the elevator, Marcus threw up his forearm to block the closing of the door.

  "Mr. Zanlos is in a meeting. He won't like being interrupted."

  "I don't care what Mr. Zanlos does or doesn't like. And it's none of your business, anyway.” The smack of her hand upon his arm was only slightly harsher than the snap of her tone. Shrugging, Marcus stepped back so the door could soundlessly close.

  "Idiot,” she muttered to herself. “I don't need this crap."

  Kitty smoothed down her sleeves just as she smoothed her ruffled ego. She'd left a prosperous gig at the Mirage to pull this show together. Her resume boasted of successes everywhere from Caesar's Palace to the MGM. She worked with the greats, and she'd made greats. No way some little accountant was going to throw her scrawny weight between her and another hit show. And she was going to let Zanlos know it.

  Squaring her shoulders and drawing up to her regal model-perfect 5'11” height, Kitty marched from the elevator and across the marble floors of the office suite as if sweeping down the fashion show runways of her youth. She was well aware of the impression she made and expected the nitwit girl at the reception desk to be flustered by her approach. As well she was.

  "Miss Parsons, you don't have an appointment."

  "I don't need one, twit."

  And she breezed on by, never pausing to knock at the restricted barrier of closed doors. She barged in with an imperious disdain for those rules. Rules Kaz Zanlos was not pleased to have broken.

  "Miss Parsons, weren't you told I was in a meeting?"

  "This can't wait. There's a problem with the show, and I need it taken care of right now before your meddling assistant ruins everything."

  "Oh? And just what has Miss Bright jeopardized?"

  "The autonomy of my authority."

  She glanced from Zanlos’ rigid expression past the easeled rendering of the creepy tomb that would eventually take center focus for the production number to the second man in the room. She didn't know him, but she wouldn't forget his face. She never forgot a face, just in case it was necessary for her to court investment clout at another hotel if this meeting went south. He didn't look like the typical money man. There was something about his eyes ... something both intense and at the same time wonderfully dreamy. She couldn't seem to look away.

  Vaguely, she was aware of Zanlos’ response.

  "Miss Parsons, you seem to have overlooked two very important facts. One, Miss Bright is an extension of my authority, which I assure you far outranks your own. She does nothing without my knowledge and consent. Mr. McGraw's arrival shouldn't have concerned you. He is no threat to your control. He's only here in his thin disguise which, though very good, fooled no one, to serve our purposes. You should have minded your own business and stuck to doing your job instead of thinking to meddle in mine. Two, ‘no interruptions’ means no interruptions. Pity a clever girl like yourself couldn't grasp those simple dictates. Too bad for you and irritating for me. Now I'll have to find someone to replace you."

  He was going to fire her? She knew she had only moments to argue her case, to sell herself as irreplaceable and beg forgiveness for her obvious gaff, but the words wouldn't translate from frantic thought to basic speech. A cold sweat of effort broke upon her brow as she sank deeper and deeper into the dangerous enchantment of the stranger's stare. She couldn't move.

  "This is going to be a major inconvenience,” Zanlos was saying with only mild annoyance. “But I suppose it can't be helped."

  "I can't be recognized. Not yet."

  And the silky voice, like the cold velvet gaze, pulled her down, down into a sleep from which there was no awaking.

  She never felt the sharp teeth tear into her.

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  Chapter Nine

  An hour passed, then two.

  Sipping at the diet soda Marcus brought her, Naomi glanced nervously from stage to rear entrance waiting for Kitty to return either with her shield or on it. But she didn't return, and instead of feeling relieved, Naomi worried.

  Worry over what havoc Kitty Parsons might be wreaking was safer than worrying over the turmoil Gabriel McGraw churned up inside her.

  He was great with the girls, and they adored him. Kitty's sharp tongue never encouraged half the sweat and effort that one of Gabriel's sly smiles elicited. They couldn't do enough to please him. Not that she could blame them.

  Rita quickly won a spot of respect and camaraderie as well. She was amazing. For all her ample size, she possessed swift and fluid reflexes and a balanced stance built for boxing if not for dance. Capable, cool and agile, she embodied the Amazonian spirit of conquest and self-control. And on her, muscles were sexy. Gabriel seemed to think so as he teased and taunted her and the others good-naturedly through a series of martial arts routines. He spent a particular amount of time with the high-kick-impaired Grace, coaxing, cajoling and building the esteem of the target of Kitty's frequent rants. And even though unusually weak in her routine, by the time they put the power into the program, she was keeping up with the others.

  And Naomi had to admit that by the time they'd finished and were toweling off the moisture of accomplishment, she could see the difference blossoming already. Gone were the giddy and prissy movements of a flock of prima donna showgirls. They exuded a new sense of unity and composed confidence. And she could envision what her boss had in mind when he suggested Gabriel McGraw. A finely tuned team of women in control of themselves and similarly the situation. The Amazon was going to have a huge hit on its hands. What audience could resist such lethal power and feminine beauty all rolled into one?

  Oddly, Marcus seemed to be able to. Usually, he doted on the girls and was slavishly attentive. But tonight, he watched with a curious intensity, half frowning and uncommunicative. Perhaps it was concern over the problems Kitty Parsons could cause, but Naomi sensed it was something more serious. She didn't ask, and he didn't offer.

  When the girls trotted by on their way to the showers, Marcus leapt up to catch Grace as she went suddenly boneless. As her head lolled back, Naomi saw, as did her beefy companion, a set of odd marks upon her throat. As Marcus bent to get a closer look, Naomi tugged up the towel that lay draped about her shoulders to conceal the ragged punctures.

  "Poor dear,” she murmured. “Probably on another one of her silly diets and living on not
hing but kale and cucumbers."

  "'M all right,” Grace muttered groggily as she stirred and finally was able to get her long legs untangled to support her. “Just got a little woozy there for a minute."

  "Have you had a decent meal today?” Naomi scolded.

  "Yes, Mother, and I'm on my way out for a stack of burgers that would embarrass Marcus.” She smiled faintly as the big man helped her to her feet. But Marcus wasn't easily distracted from what he'd seen.

  "What's that on your neck?"

  Her hand went up to the raw looking marks. “Some sort of bug bite, I guess. My new boyfriend and I were getting back to nature the other night, and something must have nailed me."

  "Other than the new boyfriend,” Marcus muttered, and Grace squealed in objection.

  "Marcus, you're terrible. And for your information, he's a gentleman and smart, too."

  "And the two of you were discussing Plato under the stars."

  "Who?"

  "Never mind."

  Naomi cut in. “You'd better put something on that bite before it gets infected. If it's not any better by tomorrow, maybe you should go to the clinic."

  "Geez, it's a mosquito, not airborne syphilis. Get a life, you two.” And with a touch of uncharacteristic irritation, she pulled away from them and their concern to join the others on their way to the dressing room.

  Naomi glanced up at Marcus. Though his features were a familiar blank, she could see a flurry of activity going on behind his dark stare.

  Plato, indeed.

  "Hey,” Rita called out as she bounded up the aisle. “Can I catch a ride home with you?"

  Naomi's reply was cool. “I'm leaving in an hour."

  "Great. I'll be ready."

  After she'd hurried by, Marcus gave her a long, assessing look.

  "You know her?"

  "My roommate, Rita Davies. Just moved here from Detroit."

  "Mmm. And our action hero over there?"

  Naomi risked a glance at Gabriel, who was tugging on his shirt. He caught her gaze, and she quickly averted it. “Friend of a friend."