“Slow down, cowboy,” I’d said. “They got busted for that shit?”

“Fucking immunity,” Kevin said. “They helped shut down a white slavery ring that was working off the West Coast and spreading all the way toward our fair city.”

“They?” I repeated.

“Black, August, and Sharp,” he said, naming off Destiny’s three owners—three celebrated businessmen who were the toast of Chicago. I mean, hell. I’m not even from Chicago, and I knew all about those guys. “They’re slick, those three,” Kevin continued. “Slick and smart and as dangerous as sharks in dark water. Got the immunity deal to hide behind, and that cut my investigation off at the knees.”

I nodded. Immunity was part of the game. The whole point was to protect a suspect from prosecution. If there wasn’t guilt there in the first place, that protection really wasn’t necessary. In other words, it was a rare suspect who was given immunity without being dirty.

Frankly, the whole idea of giving a suspect immunity irritated me, but I knew it was a necessary evil. Besides, I figured that justice would find a way. At least that was what my dad always said when one of his defendants pulled a technicality out of their ass and shot the finger at the law.

Karma really could be a raving bitch, and I wondered if she was baring her teeth in the direction of Black, August, and Sharp. Were they as dirty as Kevin said? Were they simply good citizens who shared their knowledge with the Feds? Or were they somewhere in the middle?

I didn’t know, but I figured the odds ran toward the first or the last. “How broad’s the immunity?” I’d asked.

“If I have my way, they’ll wish it was broader. I’m dead certain they’re neck deep in all sorts of shit. Gambling, smuggling, money laundering. Bribery, kickbacks, fraud. You name it, they’re in it. But they’ve got powerful friends, and I’m not authorized to officially pursue any of it.”

I heard the frustration in his voice. He wanted these guys—wanted them bad. I got that. There were a lot of reasons I’d become a cop, but in the end it all boiled down to protecting the innocent and stopping the bad guys. To making sure the system worked and that those who crossed that line paid for the breach.

I lived and breathed my job. It was both my redemption and my salvation. And I was very good at what I did.

“I can’t push on this,” he’d said. “But you can.”

He was right. My mind was already turning over options, trying to figure the best way to slide my pretty ass into Destiny, chat up the girls, and get a line on Amy. Once I was in and poking around for information, there was no reason I couldn’t poke around for more.

Frankly, that would be my pleasure. Immunity might be a necessary evil in the world of jurisprudence, but I was more than happy to give Karma a little push. And if I found out that those guys were into other shit, bringing them down would be a damn good way to balance the scales of justice.

All of which explained how my mission to get one missing dancer back to Indiana had morphed into a full-fledged, albeit off-the-books, undercover operation. At one point I might have considered waltzing into Destiny and boldly announcing that I was looking for a friend, but once I knew that the owners could be dirty, that plan went right out the window. I wanted to know what they were up to—and if the white slavery allegations turned out to be true, I wanted to kick a little ass.

It was that whole “undercover” thing that was my current sticking point. You’d think it would be easy for a genuinely pretty woman—that would be me—to get a job as a cocktail waitress in a Chicago-based gentleman’s club, but you’d be wrong. Despite my camera-ready face, nice tits, and tight ass, the application I’d submitted yesterday had been politely declined. And that despite the fact that I have honest-to-goodness waitressing skills.

Thus illustrating that First Truism: Nothing is ever as easy as it should be.

And that brings us right back to the Second Truism: no one is what they seem.

Take Evan Black, for example. This was his party that I’d crashed. A formal affair to celebrate his engagement to Angelina Raine, the daughter of vice presidential hopeful Senator Thomas Raine.

I saw him standing across the room, a movie-star gorgeous man with his arm around an equally stunning brunette that had to be Angelina. She was leaning against him, looking giddy with happiness, as they chatted with two other couples. All clean and shiny and polished. But if Kevin was right, Black wasn’t the man he appeared to be.

Or what about Cole August, Black’s business partner, who received so much adulation from the press and the public for the way he’d pulled himself up out of the muck of his Chicago South Side heritage to become one of the most respected and influential businessmen in the city? He might look positively drool-worthy as he stalked the far side of the room with a cell phone pressed against his ear, the very picture of the entrenched businessman.

But I happened to know that August hadn’t left that shady heritage as far behind as he liked to pretend.

And then there was Tyler Sharp.

“That’s the one,” Candy had said when I ran the name by her. “Amy was head over heels for the guy.”

“He feel the same?”

“Don’t know.”

“But she was fucking him?”

“Yeah. At least, I think so. I mean, wasn’t like she was posting pictures on Facebook. But no way would she have walked away from that, and from what you’re saying …”

We might have been talking on the phone, but I could still picture the way Candy shrugged as she trailed off. I knew what she meant. I’d done additional homework on Tyler Sharp, much of which I’d relayed to Candy. To bottom line it, he had a weakness for women, and I fully intended to capitalize on his womanizing ways. If I couldn’t get into Destiny through my stellar waitressing skills, I’d get in close through the man.

In other words, I was planning a seduction.

All things considered, that was a better approach than my first plan. Waitressing only gave me access to the club. But sex opened all sorts of doors. Pillow-talk. Computer access. Who knew what else. Play the game right, and I’d have a box seat to the best show in town, whether it was gambling, smuggling, or something much more heinous.

And if it turned out that Tyler had gotten Amy involved with anything hinky, I’d castrate the son of a bitch.

First, I had to find him.

He’d been out of town for the last few weeks, so I had yet to see him in person, but I was certain I’d recognize him the moment he entered this room. Like I said, I’d done my homework, and where looking at photographs of Tyler Sharp was concerned, that wasn’t exactly a hardship. The man definitely qualified as eye candy.

He stood just over six feet tall with a lanky, athletic build and the kind of dark blond hair that boasts flashes of gold in the summer. I knew that his business interests were wide and varied and not always legal. And I knew that he carried an American Express Black card. He owned at least a dozen cars, but rarely drove them, preferring his Ducati motorcycle.

“You look lost.”

I’d been glancing toward the entrance, but now I jerked my head to the left and found myself staring at a leggy brown-eyed blonde with hair so thick and shiny she could do shampoo commercials. She held out her hand, and I took it without thinking. “I’m Katrina Laron—Kat,” she said, then hooked her thumb toward Angelina Raine. “I’m the bride’s best friend, which makes me the pseudo-hostess. And you are?”

Her smile was polite, but held an edge, and I was certain that she knew damn well I’d crashed the party.

Great.

“Sloane O’Dell,” I said, using my mother’s maiden name and not my own last name of Watson.

“Who are you here with? I think I know everyone on Lina’s side of the guest list, so you must be a friend of Evan’s?” Again with the polite smile. Again with the protective edge.

“I’m actually looking for Tyler,” I said, and prided myself on my ability to tell the truth and lie all at the same time.

“Oh, really?” Her brows lifted. “Friend or foe?”

“Excuse me?” I kept my expression casual and hoped that my naturally pale skin wasn’t flushing.

“It’s just that I know Tyler didn’t bring a date, and if you’re not one of Angie’s or Evan’s guests …”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I took a chance,” I said, once again relying on total honesty. “I think he’ll want to see me.” Okay, that part I wasn’t nearly as sure about.

“Listen, I don’t mean to sound like a bitch, but Tyler’s a pretty private guy who attracts a lot of female attention.” She shrugged. “You wanna tell me why you think he’ll want to see you?”

“Not really, no.”

She looked at me hard, obviously taking my measure. Then she snagged a glass of wine off a passing waiter’s tray and took a long swallow “All right then. Let’s go find him.”

“I’ve been trying to do that all evening,” I said wryly.

“He arrived just before I came over to politely inquire about your intentions. Hang on,” she said as she lifted herself up onto her toes and waved across the room. “I see him.”

I craned my neck, but as I was a good three inches shorter than Kat, I had absolutely no idea if she’d managed to catch his eye.

Time dragged, and I was beginning to think that he either hadn’t seen her or had chosen to ignore her, when I saw the glint of gold as the light struck his hair. He wore a charcoal gray suit, and the fine lines and expensive material contrasted with the slightly mussed hair that he wore just a little too long for the corporate rule book. Now, it was tied back in a manner that highlighted the sharp angles of his cheeks and jawline.