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And if, as he replayed the evening in his mind, her clothes kept mysteriously
disappearing, if he found himself wishing she were in bed beside him that he
was holding her, kissing her, running his hands over her breasts and hips,
feeling her legs wrapped tight around his waist, driving into her while she
thrashed and screamed that didn't mean anything.
Did not mean anything at all.
He wasn't going to get involved. Not now, not ever. It wasn't worth it, he
didn't need it; he had his mission, and the mission was enough.
Jess woke to the alarm going off at noon, sighed, and rolled out of bed. She
had to be back at HSCU by three to get all the paperwork done for her cover
identity, and to be fitted for her wire. And before she went in, she had a
fair amount of uncomfortable, awkward shaving to do, a process she did not
anticipate with any pleasure. The problem with the shaving was that all of it
had to be done in places where sharp things didn't belong, and she chanced
surgically altering those places in the process.
On Jim's advice, she had a halter top and a pair of Daisy Dukes in a bag along
with makeup, hair spray, and other things she'd need to transform herself from
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Jess into a credible exotic dancer. She threw in the stiletto heels she'd worn
the night before because they helped her feel the part. Undercover work was
all about being someone else, and good undercover cops could become someone
else with lit-tie more than posture, movement, and attitude. Jess, knowing
that her life could depend on how convincing she was, wanted to practice the
stripper character for Jim and Charlie to make sure she would be able to carry
it off.
She wore as few clothes as possible, because Jim had told her Bill the Tech
Guy was going to be in there to set her up with a wire. It wouldn't be the
wire she was going to use, though. It would be the wire that they would put
together to keep
Captain Booker happy and off everyone's case the one a waitress could wear
under the skimpy Goldcastle waitstaff costume.
Not the one a stripper could wear while dressed in nothing but a G-string and
shoes. Jim promised her Bill already had that one finished.
She dragged into HSCU on time, weary but game, carrying her goody bag.
Charlie was dummying up her undercover ID driver's license blank, permit to
serve drinks, permit to perform in a strip club, a couple of other goodies.
Jim noted her bleariness, and said "Late night?"
"Four a.m. We closed the place down. Guess I'll have to get used to those
hours."
She waved the brown paper bag in front of him and said, "I've got my stuff
here.
Didn't want to drive to work dressed like this, though."
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"Good plan. Go get changed. Do whatever you're going to do to look the part.
Charlie's setting up for you over there." He pointed to the southeast corner
of the big room, behind one of the two lines of cubicles. "There's a bathroom
back there for you to change in, and we'll keep the traffic down to Charlie,
me, Bill
and you."
Jess sighed. "I appreciate it. I'm going to have to go public with this
look and less but I'd rather not do it today."
"I understand."
In the bathroom, she shed her jacket, holster and gun, blouse, bra, work
shoes, skirt, hose, and underwear. She put the badge on top of the pile of
clothes and shivered. She felt more naked without the badge and the gun than
she did without the clothes. She thought she could have strolled around in a
thong with no problem if she had her badge clipped to one side of it and was
wearing her shoulder holster.
She sighed, and slipped into the shorts, the tube top, and the stiletto heels,
put on heavy eye makeup and dark lipstick, and, after studying the sleek lines
of her hair, teased it out into a fuller, wilder look and sprayed it in place.
She probably ought to get extensions. Longer, tousled hair would better fit
the part she intended to play.
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She finished, put her other clothes, sidearm, and badge into the bag, put the
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makeup on top, and then stood staring at the door that led out to HSCU.
She swallowed, feeling her pulse pick up. God, she'd forgotten all about stage
fright. She was about to be wearing a whole lot less than she was at that
moment and strolling between tables full of drinking, rowdy men. She was going
to be unarmed. She was going to be playing a part that was her deepest
personal nightmare.
And she had to look like she was having the time of her life.
Best start trying on the act right then.
She took a deep breath, pasted a bright smile on her face, and got ready to
open the door. Stood there, frozen, willing herself to move forward. And
sagged against the plaster wall, her hand suspended inches above the knob and
the smile washing from her face into an expression of despair. With the cool
plaster against her skin, she closed her eyes. This was too hard. She was
thirty-four, for
God's sake, and pretending to be part of a business that would have preferred
everyone to be twenty-one and look eighteen. She had a good body and it was in
shape. She had a good enough face. But she wasn't twenty-one, and no one was
ever going to mistake her for eighteen.
And then, with her eyes closed, she could feel Ginny inside her head.
Confident.
Certain. Ginny would have known what to do. Ginny had done this, and had
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in a way, Jess was doing this for Ginny.
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