Undercover Blonde Ch. 04

Joe's alarm shattered the silence at 6 AM, the same time it had gone off every weekday for the past few years. He reached across the bed, his palm meeting cold sheets where Evie's warmth should have been. For a disorienting moment, he thought she might be in the bathroom or kitchen. Then reality hit.

She was gone.

Wednesday morning. The first day of his new temporary life as a married man living alone.

Joe rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling fan making circles above the bed. They'd bought that fan together during their second summer in the condo, when the air conditioning had broken down during a vicious heat wave. Evie had insisted on the more expensive model with the wooden blades. "If we're going to look at it every night and every morning, it might as well be pretty," she'd reasoned.

Now he stared at it, counting the rotations, five, ten, fifteen, avoiding the inevitable moment when he'd have to stand up and face the day.

Usually, this was when Evie would roll over, mumbling something about five more minutes. He'd kiss her forehead, tell her to sleep in, and slip out of bed to start the coffee.

The apartment felt unnaturally quiet as Joe shuffled to the kitchen. He reached for the coffee pot, measuring grounds. He caught himself about to make enough for two and paused, the second scoop hovering over the filter before he returned it to the canister.

While the coffee brewed, Joe moved to the bathroom. In the shower, Joe thought about the note. He knew it by heart now.

"I'm so sorry for springing this on you. I know you're scared. I am too. But I promise I'll come back to you. Three months, and then we'll be together again. Take care of yourself while I'm gone, okay? I love you more than anything. I'll be thinking of you every single day. Your loving wife Evie."

After the shower, Joe dressed and moved back to the kitchen. The apartment felt too quiet, too still. While he sipped the coffee, he leaned against the counter, surveying the living room.

Everything looked exactly as it had when Evie was here, yet completely different. The throw pillows on the couch remained in the arrangement she preferred. Her stack of true crime books still occupied the corner of the coffee table. Her favorite mug hung from its designated hook. But the space felt like a museum exhibit of their life together rather than the living thing it had been.

His phone buzzed as he was heading out the door.

Sam: Checking in. How you holding up?

Joe stared at the message. Sam had been his best friend since college, the best man at his wedding, the one person besides Evie who could read his moods. He'd called Sam after Evie's bombshell announcement, venting his shock and hurt in a twenty-minute tirade that had probably violated several FBI confidentiality requirements.

Joe: First morning alone. Feels weird. Heading to work.

Sam: Work helps. Keep busy. Call if you need anything. Seriously.

Joe: Thanks man.

He pocketed his phone and locked the apartment door behind him. At least at work, he'd have problems to solve, designs to revise, deadlines to meet. Problems with solutions, unlike the unfixable situation at home.

---

At the office, Joe threw himself into work with unusual intensity. His inbox, typically a source of mild dread, became a welcome distraction. The Westlake project, which had been giving him headaches for weeks, suddenly seemed manageable compared to the emptiness waiting at home.

"You're here early," Collins remarked, stopping by Joe's desk with his oversized coffee mug. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Just wanted to get a jump on those revisions you asked for," Joe replied, not meeting his boss's eyes.

Collins nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation. "Good man. Those are due Friday but earlier is better."

Joe worked through lunch, ignoring the reminder from his phone that it was time to eat. By mid-afternoon, his back ached from hunching over blueprints.

At 6:15 PM, when most of his colleagues had already left, Joe was still adjusting load calculations. His phone buzzed again.

Sam: You good?

Joe: Yeah, just finishing up some work. Don't feel like going home to an empty apartment.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared.

Sam: Makes sense but you gotta go home sometime. Want to grab a beer?

Joe considered it. A beer with Sam meant easy conversation, sports talk, maybe some gentle ribbing about Joe's tendency to overthink everything. Tempting, but the thought of social interaction felt exhausting.

Joe: Rain check? Kind of wiped. Saturday still good though.

Sam: Roger that.

It was nearly 9 PM when Joe finally shut down his computer.

The drive home was easier without rush hour traffic. Joe pulled into their parking spot and sat in the car for a moment before heading inside.

The condo looked exactly as he'd left it that morning, with one exception. The coffee cup he'd abandoned in his rush to leave sat in the sink, a brown ring staining its interior. It was the kind of thing that would normally irritate Evie. "Rinse it at least, Joe," she'd say, not angry but baffled by his occasional carelessness with household tasks.

Joe washed the cup thoroughly, then decided to clean the entire kitchen. He scrubbed the stovetop, wiped down the counters, even reorganized the spice rack into alphabetical order. By the time he finished, it was nearly 10 PM and he realized he hadn't eaten dinner.

The refrigerator offered little inspiration. Milk, a half-empty carton of eggs, some withering vegetables, condiments. The freezer yielded a frozen pizza. Joe opted for cereal, eating it standing at the counter while scrolling through his phone.

He pulled up his photos, finding himself drawn to images of Evie. Here they were at his cousin's wedding last summer, Evie stunning as usual. Here they were hiking in the Everglades. Here they were on their anniversary.

Joe abandoned his half-eaten cereal in the sink, his appetite suddenly lost.

Sleep came eventually, restless and shallow.

Thursday and Friday followed a similar pattern. Joe woke up early, worked late, texted sporadically with Sam throughout the day. The condo became a place to shower and sleep, nothing more.

By Friday night, exhaustion had begun to take its toll. Joe had been surviving on coffee, vending machine snacks, and sheer stubbornness. He'd completed the Westlake revisions a day early, earning a rare compliment from Collins, but the professional victory felt hollow without Evie to share it with.

"Going home at a reasonable hour?" Collins asked, stopping by Joe's desk on his way out.

"Yeah, got plans this weekend," Joe replied. His only real plan was Sam's visit, but that was enough to justify leaving before 7 PM.

Outside, Miami greeted him with one of its spectacular sunsets, the sky painted in violent oranges and pinks. It was the kind of sky Evie would have insisted they stop to appreciate, maybe pulling over somewhere to watch the colors deepen and fade. Joe drove straight home, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

His phone rang as he was unlocking the front door. Sam's name flashed on the screen.

"Hey," Joe answered, shouldering his way inside.

"Tell me you're not still at work," Sam's voice came through, the background noise suggesting he was at a bar or restaurant.

"Just got home," Joe said, dropping his keys on the counter. "What's up?"

"Just checking in, man. Making sure you're still among the living."

Joe sank onto the couch, loosening his tie. "I'm fine. Tired, but fine."

"Sure, you are," Sam replied sarcastically. "But you're not fine. Nobody would be fine. Your wife goes off on some secret government mission without warning? That's fucking wild."

Joe laughed. "When you put it that way..."

"Exactly. So tomorrow, we drink beer, eat pizza, and you can be not fine with someone who gets it."

"Thanks," Joe said. "What time are you coming over?"

"Let's say four. It's late enough that it's socially acceptable to start drinking."

Joe smiled. "Perfect. See you then."

After hanging up, Joe stared at the empty apartment. Three days down. Eighty-seven to go.

---

Joe woke later than usual on Saturday morning, his body finally demanding the rest he'd been denying. He rolled over to check the time. 10:47 AM. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept past eight.

Stretching, Joe cataloged the weekend tasks that needed attention. Laundry, groceries, cleaning the bathroom. Normal life continued despite the Evie-shaped hole at its center.

He spent the morning on chores, finding comfort in the mundane. Every sock paired, every surface wiped, every item in its place. Control over his environment, when he had none over the situation with his wife.

At 3:52 PM, the doorbell rang.

"Eight minutes early. You must be desperate for company," Joe said as he opened the door.

Sam grinned, hefting a twelve-pack of craft beer. "Or I know how much you appreciate punctuality." He stepped inside, glancing around. "Place looks good. Cleaner than when Evie's here, actually."

"I've had time on my hands," Joe admitted, leading the way to the kitchen. "Pizza should be here in twenty. I ordered the works."

"Perfect." Sam set the beer on the counter and extracted two bottles, handing one to Joe. "So. Let's hear it. How bad is it really?"

Joe took a long pull from his beer before answering. "It's... weird. Empty. I keep expecting her to walk through the door or hear her laughing at something on TV."

Sam nodded, leaning against the counter. "First week will be the hardest. It'll get easier."

"Will it?" Joe asked. "Because right now, I can't imagine three months of this. And that's assuming she comes back when she says she will."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "You think she won't?"

"I don't know what to think," Joe admitted, moving to the living room. He sank onto the couch, beer dangling between his fingers. "She was so... decisive about it. She made up her mind before she even told me. Years of marriage, and suddenly she needs to 'find herself' by working for the FBI?"

Sam settled into the armchair across from him. "What exactly did she tell you?"

"Not much. She's working on some investigation. She couldn't give details. Said it was for my own safety. For all I know, she could be in fucking Kabul right now."

"I doubt the FBI sends civilians to Afghanistan," Sam reasoned. "More likely she's somewhere stateside."

Joe shrugged. "Maybe. All I know is she's risking her safety for... what? Excitement? A break from our life?"

Sam took a thoughtful sip of his beer. "Can I be brutally honest here?"

"When are you not?"

"Fair point." Sam leaned forward. "Evie's not exactly the type to settle. I mean, you snagged a woman way out of your league. Sorry buddy but it's true. She's smart as hell, looks like a supermodel, and she's always been fascinated by the dark side of human nature. Is it really shocking that working retail wasn't fulfilling her?"

"So what, I'm holding her back? Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm saying she's young, gorgeous, and probably bored out of her mind," Sam replied bluntly. "And instead of having a midlife crisis at forty and divorcing you for her gym trainer, she's working through it now by doing something meaningful. That's actually healthy, man."

The doorbell rang, interrupting whatever retort Joe had been forming. He rose to answer it, grateful for the moment to collect his thoughts.

The pizza delivery guy was a teenager with acne and a vacant expression. Joe overtipped and brought the food back to the living room, where Sam had already opened two more beers.

"Look," Sam said as Joe set the pizza on the coffee table, "I'm not saying your marriage is in trouble. I'm saying Evie needs something you weren't giving her. That doesn't make you a bad husband though."

Joe grabbed a slice, the cheese stretching in long strings. "So what am I supposed to do? Just wait around for three months hoping she decides our life together is worth coming back to?"

"Hell no," Sam said emphatically. "You use these three months. Work on yourself. Become the version of Joe Sinclair that matches the woman Evie is."

Joe chewed, considering Sam's words. "What the fuck does that even mean?"

"It means," Sam said, "you do what you told me you'd do just a few days ago. First of all, you stop moping. Then you start growing. Hit the gym. Take up a hobby that doesn't involve engineering blueprints. Meet new people. Live a little."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It's not easy. It's necessary." Sam grabbed his own slice of pizza. "Think about it. Evie comes back after three months of whatever intense shit she's doing, with all these new experiences, and finds you exactly the same, just sadder and more clingy? Recipe for disaster."

Joe bristled. "I'm not clingy."

Sam leveled him with a look. "Dude. You've worked late every night this week to avoid being alone in your empty apartment. That's not healthy."

"Fine," Joe conceded. "So I join a gym, take up... what, rock climbing? And that fixes everything?"

"No, but it gives you something to talk about when she gets back. Shows her you're capable of growth too. Women love that shit. Especially women like Evie."

Joe took another long pull of his beer. "You know what bothers me the most? What if she's been waiting for an excuse to escape. Like our life together was just... marking time."

"That's not fair and you know it," Sam said, his tone softening. "Evie's had to be the responsible one her entire life. Her whole identity has been built around taking care of others."

Joe nodded reluctantly. "I know. She practically raised David after her dad was killed."

"Exactly. She was what, ten when Officer Sinclair took that bullet? And suddenly she's cooking dinner, helping with homework, making sure her little brother didn't fall apart while her mom worked double shifts."

"Triple shifts sometimes," Joe added quietly. "Evie told me there were weeks she barely saw her mom. Just notes on the refrigerator and extra shifts picked up to cover medical bills."

Sam pointed his beer bottle at Joe. "And then when she should have been going to college, she's working retail to help her mom keep the lights on and make sure David had what he needed."

"She wanted to study criminal psychology," Joe said, a note of regret in his voice. "She never talks about it anymore, but that was her plan before her dad died. Follow in his footsteps, just from the analytical side instead of patrol."

"And that part of her never went away. You've seen her true crime obsession. The way she talks about cases, patterns, evidence. Her mind works differently."

Joe fell silent, considering this. It was true that Evie's analytical abilities had always impressed him. The way she could watch a documentary and identify the killer before the reveal, breaking down behavioral patterns and inconsistencies that most viewers missed entirely.

"I just figured it was a weird hobby," Joe admitted

"It's not a hobby, man. It's who she is. All those years taking care of everyone else, putting her dreams on hold. They didn't change who she actually is inside."

Joe set his beer down, suddenly feeling like he'd missed something fundamental about his wife. "So you're saying this FBI thing..."

"Is probably the first time in her adult life she's doing something that aligns with who she actually is, not just who she needed to be for everyone else." Sam took another bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. "Think about it. You met her when she was eighteen, already supporting her family, already settled into being the responsible one. Maybe you've never actually seen the real Evie. Just the version that circumstances created."

"Jesus," Joe muttered, running a hand through his hair. "You're making it sound like I never knew her at all."

"Not saying that," Sam clarified. "I'm saying parts of her have been dormant. And now they're waking up." He leaned forward, his expression serious. "The question is, when she comes back, will you be ready for that? Or will you be clinging to the version of Evie that fits neatly into the life you built together?"

Joe toyed with the label on his beer bottle, peeling it slowly. "I want her to be happy. I've always wanted that."

"I know you do. But happiness might look different for her now. You need to be prepared for that."

Joe took another long pull of his beer, letting the cold liquid soothe his throat. There was truth in what Sam was saying, even if it stung. He had fallen into predictable patterns, comfortable routines that felt safe but perhaps unexciting. Was that enough for a woman like Evie?

"You know what else you should think about," Sam said, his tone shifting slightly. "She's gone for three months. No contact."

"Yeah, so?"

"So... that's a long time for a healthy young couple to go without sex."

Joe set his beer down. "What are you getting at?"

Sam held up his hands placatingly. "Just being realistic. Evie's gorgeous. She's out there in the world, doing something exciting, meeting new people. And she's not exactly getting her needs met by you during this time."

"You think she'd cheat?" Joe's voice had gone dangerously quiet.

"I think humans are complicated," Sam replied carefully. "And sometimes situations create opportunities that wouldn't normally exist."

"Evie wouldn't do that."

"Maybe not," Sam agreed. "But you've been her only guy, right? People get curious about what they've missed."

Joe felt his jaw tighten. The reminder that he was Evie's first and only sexual partner had always given him a sense of pride, of exclusivity. Now Sam had transformed it into a potential liability.

"She made a promise," Joe said. "Evie doesn't break promises."

"Maybe not," Sam agreed again. "But what about you?"

Joe blinked. "What?"

"Look, I'm not saying you should go out and hook up with random women. I'm saying three months is a long time to be celibate when you're used to regular sex with a beautiful woman."

Joe shook his head emphatically. "I'm not interested in other women."

"Right now, sure. But talk to me in month two when you're wondering what Evie's doing every night."

The implication was unspoken but clear. The thought of Evie with someone else sent a spike of something dark and unpleasant through Joe's chest.

"She promised she'd come back to me," Joe said quietly. "I believe her."

Sam nodded, relenting. "I hope you're right, buddy. Truly. I just... I've seen this kind of thing before. The partner who goes off on some journey of self discovery doesn't always come back the same person. And the one left behind needs to be prepared for that."

They fell into silence for a few minutes, eating pizza and drinking beer. Finally, Sam spoke again, his tone lighter.

"So. Gym membership. I know a place near your office. Good mix of people, not too hardcore. We could go after work."

Joe almost smiled at the attempt to change the subject. "You're not letting this go, are you?"

"Nope. And I'm thinking rock climbing is actually perfect for you. Analytical mind, decent upper body strength. You'd take to it naturally."

"There's not exactly an abundance of rock faces in Miami."

"Indoor climbing, dummy. There's a place in Wynwood that's supposed to be great."

The conversation shifted to sports, Sam's latest dating disasters, office politics. Sam recounted his recent date with a pharmaceutical sales rep he'd met at a convention.

"She was gorgeous, man. We're at dinner, everything's going great, and then her phone rings." Sam took a theatrical pause. "Her husband."

Joe winced. "Ouch."

"Turns out the wedding ring was 'in her other purse.'" Sam shook his head, laughing. "Story of my life. Three dates last month, and not one second date."

"Maybe if you stopped using the same lines on every woman at the bar," Joe suggested.

Sam clutched his chest in mock offense. "My lines work. That's how I close deals and open bedroom doors. Can't argue with results."

Around 10 PM, Sam stood to leave, collecting the empty bottles.

"Thanks for this," Joe said, walking him to the door. "I needed it, even if your advice is questionable at best."

Sam grinned. "My advice is excellent. You just don't want to hear it." His expression softened. "Seriously though. Take care of yourself. And text me if you need anything. Even if it's just someone to drink beer with."

After Sam left, Joe cleaned up the remaining evidence of their evening, his mind churning. Sam's words about Evie potentially changing, about the risk of her meeting someone else during her assignment, had lodged themselves in his thoughts like splinters, small but persistently painful.

Was he being naive? Trusting that their life together would simply resume once her assignment was complete? Evie had sounded so certain on the phone, her love a tangible force even across the distance. But three months was a long time. People changed. Feelings changed.

Joe readied himself for bed, the apartment quiet around him. The blue light of his phone illuminated his face as he scrolled through photos of Evie again, lingering on one taken just a month ago.

She was looking slightly away from the camera, her profile backlit by sunset, a small smile on her lips as if she knew a secret. Staring at the image, Joe realized that maybe she had. Maybe some part of her had already been planning this departure, this transformation into someone new. The thought sent a chill through him.

He set the phone down and turned off the light, darkness enveloping the room. Evie would return. The question that now haunted him, thanks to Sam's words, was which Evie would it be?

---

Evie's alarm shattered the silence at 12 PM, yanking her from dreamless sleep. She fumbled for her phone, squinting at the screen. 12 PM. Noon. In what alternate reality did noon qualify as morning?

She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Joe would be taking his lunch break right now. He was predictable that way, always brown bagging the same turkey sandwich, apple, and protein bar. Sometimes, when deadlines loomed, she'd bring him something from that Japanese place he loved, and they'd eat at his desk while he explained the latest problem with whatever project he was working on. She'd nod as if she understood engineering principles, and he'd smile because he knew she didn't but appreciated her listening anyway.

The sheets tangled around her legs as she stretched. She took inventory of her body. Surprisingly, nothing hurt too badly. Her calves were tight from hours in heels, and a dull ache radiated from her hip flexors, but it was nothing compared to the agony she'd anticipated. Those grueling training sessions with Lexi had paid off, preparing her muscles for the specific demands of dancing.

Evie swung her feet to the floor and stood, momentarily dizzy as blood rushed from her head. She steadied herself against the nightstand, then glanced at the time again. Her first official debrief was scheduled for 1 PM at the yoga studio. No time to linger in memories of her old life.

She prepared coffee and a light breakfast of yogurt with granola. Her appetite hadn't fully returned, still suppressed by the lingering adrenaline of last night's performances.

The yoga outfit came next. Black leggings and a fitted tank top beneath a loose gray pullover. Her cover for the weekly meetings was a standing private yoga session. It was overpriced and exclusive, the kind of self care indulgence that aligned perfectly with Vanessa Blake's persona. Evie grabbed a water bottle and yoga mat she wouldn't actually use.

The yoga studio occupied a converted storefront in a gentrifying neighborhood filled with similar wellness businesses. "Serenity Flow" announced itself in minimalist lettering across frosted glass, promising transformation through mindful movement. Evie pushed through the door at precisely 1 PM.

A woman at the front desk looked up from her computer. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I have a private session with Bryan at one," Evie replied.

The woman nodded. "Of course. Just down that hallway, last door on the left."

Evie nodded her thanks and headed down the corridor, her heartbeat quickening. This wasn't anxiety about meeting her handlers. It was the anticipation of finally unloading everything she'd experienced, of momentarily shedding Vanessa Blake and speaking as herself.

Evie followed the directions, reaching the door marked "Private Instruction." She knocked twice and entered without waiting for a response. Both Grant and Lexi were waiting. Grant sat on a folding chair while Lexi stood near the window, arms crossed.

Grant rose as Evie closed the door behind her. "Right on time," he said, offering a small smile. "How are you holding up?"

Before Evie could answer, Lexi stepped forward. "Let's establish the protocol first. These debriefs follow a specific structure."

"Hello to you too, Lexi," Evie muttered, dropping her yoga mat against the wall.

Grant gestured to the folding chairs arranged in a small circle. "Have a seat. Sorry about the accommodations, but this arrangement gives us the most privacy."

Once they settled, Grant opened a laptop. "As Lexi mentioned, we follow a specific protocol for these sessions. Three areas. Intelligence gathering, cover maintenance, and progress evaluation. We'll record key points, but no audio or video."

"We've been over this in training," Evie said, "but I appreciate the reminder."

"Good," Lexi interjected. "Then let's begin with intelligence gathering. Walk us through everything from the audition to this morning. Focus on interactions with targets or potential intelligence gatherers."

Evie inhaled deeply, organizing her thoughts. She recounted her audition with Tanya, the tour with Mia, her shopping expedition, and finally, her first shift at Elysium. She described the club's layout in greater detail than the briefing materials had provided, the security protocols she'd observed, the hierarchy among the dancers, and most importantly, her brief meeting with Victor Maddox.

"He called me to his office," she explained. "Very calculated, very controlled. He gave me this speech about power dynamics in the club. How the dancers actually hold the power over the customers. The whole time, I felt like I was being evaluated, like he was running some kind of assessment."

Grant nodded, typing occasional notes. "His exact words about power? Can you remember?"

Evie closed her eyes, recalling the conversation. "He said most people believe the customers hold all the power because they have the money, but in reality, the dancers hold the power. They control desire, they dictate the terms of engagement, they determine how much or how little the customer receives for his money."

"Interesting," Grant murmured. "Consistent with his control issues. What about Damien?"

"No direct interaction," Evie replied. "He watched my stage performance after Victor's meeting. His attention felt... different. More intense, less analytical."

Grant continued typing. "Any conversations about business operations beyond the club?"

"Nothing," Evie said. "But Victor mentioned watching my progress. He said one good night means little, but a pattern of excellence 'opens doors.' I got the impression that those doors lead to whatever they're doing upstairs and behind the scenes."

"That tracks," Lexi nodded. "They don't bring anyone into their circle quickly."

"Moving to cover maintenance," Grant continued. "How comfortable are you with the Vanessa Blake identity?"

"Actually, it's been surprisingly... easy," Evie admitted. "The dancers assumed my nervousness was first night jitters, which it partly was. And Vanessa's backstory as someone escaping a controlling relationship is a convenient explanation."

"And the physical aspects?" Lexi pressed. "The dancing?"

Evie hesitated. "The stage performances were easier than I expected, once I got past the initial shock. It's strange, but when you're up there under the lights, the audience becomes almost... abstract."

"And the private dances?" Lexi's gaze was unflinching.

"Those were..." Evie struggled to find words that wouldn't reveal too much. "More challenging. The intimacy is a bit difficult to compartmentalize."

"Meaning?" Lexi pushed.

"Meaning it's complicated performing sexual movements for strangers in close quarters," Evie snapped back. "I managed it. I was convincing. That's what matters."

Grant intervened. "Any suspicion from staff or customers that might put your cover at risk?"

"None that I detected," Evie replied, grateful for the redirect. "Tanya seems pleased. Mia's been very helpful, almost protective. The customers responded... enthusiastically."

"$2,000 on a Sunday night certainly supports that assessment," Grant noted. "That's exceptional for a first shift, especially on what's typically a slower night."

"And main stage on your first night?" Lexi asked.

"Yes," Evie confirmed. "Mia said that was unusual for new dancers."

"Very," Lexi agreed. "They must see significant potential in you."

"There is one concern," Evie added. "There's an intensity to Victor that's a bit... unnerving. He seems like someone who notices inconsistencies, who catalogs details others would miss."

"That aligns with our profile," Grant nodded. "Victor's exceptional pattern recognition is what makes him dangerous, and what makes your observational skills so valuable for this operation."

"What about psychological stress?" he continued. "How are you managing the transition between identities?"

Evie laughed without humor. "You mean how am I feeling about stripping for strangers while my husband thinks I'm just gathering intelligence? About grinding against men's erections for money? About maintaining this lie? About becoming someone else entirely?"

"That's exactly what I mean," Grant replied. "It's not a trivial concern."

"I'm handling it," Evie said firmly. "It's a performance, nothing more."

Lexi's eyes narrowed. "Don't underestimate the psychological impact. Cover identities can become surprisingly comfortable over time."

"I know who I am," Evie insisted. "I'm aware of the risks. I'm managing them."

"For now," Lexi said. "But extended deep cover operations can blur lines in ways you can't anticipate. The longer you live as Vanessa, the more natural her responses will feel."

"Which brings us to progress evaluation," Grant interjected. "You've established your cover successfully, made preliminary contact with a primary target, and positioned yourself for continued advancement within the club. That's significant progress for a single shift."

"Agreed," Lexi nodded. "Faster than anticipated, though the real challenge will be converting that initial interest into meaningful intelligence gathering."

Grant cleared his throat and glanced at his notes. "When's your next shift scheduled for?"

"Tuesday. Then Wednesday, and Friday," Evie informed them. "Same hours, 7 PM to 3 AM."

Lexi's eyebrows rose again. "Friday? That's unexpected. Friday shifts are usually reserved for experienced dancers."

"That's what Mia said," Evie confirmed. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," Lexi replied. "It's an opportunity. I'll be working Wednesday, by the way. We'll maintain our cover as strangers who happen to work at the same club."

Evie frowned slightly. "Why are you still working there? I mean, aren't you already established? Don't you already have access to the VIP section?"

Something flickered across Lexi's expression. Annoyance, perhaps, or reluctance to explain herself. "I maintain limited shifts to preserve long-term cover credibility."

"But do you work upstairs?" Evie pressed. "In the VIP section? Have you gotten close to the Maddox brothers?"

Lexi's jaw tightened. "I've been invited upstairs occasionally. But my role is different from yours. I maintain a broader surveillance position, while you're being positioned for deeper integration." She leaned forward slightly. "Plus, the dressing room is an intelligence goldmine. The girls talk. They share customer information, management decisions, club politics. Half our intelligence comes from seemingly meaningless gossip between sets."

"What she means," Grant exclaimed, "is that different operatives have different objectives. Lexi's value is in her longevity and established presence. Yours is in your immediate appeal to the targets and your observational skills."

Evie didn't miss the fact that neither had actually answered her question directly. "So, after all this time, you haven't been able to get close to them?"

"This isn't a competition, Evie," Lexi said. "It's an operation with multiple components. My continued presence provides background stability while you advance from a different angle."

"Got it," Evie nodded, deciding not to push further. "So, should I wear the recording devices on my next shift? The pendant or the earrings?"

Grant shook his head. "Not yet. Save those for when you're invited to the VIP section. Using them prematurely creates unnecessary risk."

"Understood." Evie paused, gathering her courage for what came next. "There's something I need to address."

Grant's expression showed guardedness. "Go ahead."

"You lied to me," Evie said flatly. "About the contact with my family and friends. You told me I'd have minimal contact, occasional calls from a burner phone. Then you switched to a complete communications blackout after one final call."

Grant had the decency to look uncomfortable. "We already discussed this, Evie. The risk assessment changed-"

"No," Evie cut him off. "I don't think it did. I think you told me what I needed to hear to get me to agree, then you changed the terms once I was committed."

"We made a judgment call based on operational security," Lexi said. "Your cover identity-"

"It's not just that," Evie continued. "You weren't exactly honest about the earnings either. Lexi, you told me I'd make 'two thousand on slow nights, over ten thousand on busy weekends.' But that's not what regular dancers make. That's what the VIP dancers make."

The room fell silent for a moment. Grant exchanged another look with Lexi.

"We presented the earnings potential accurately," Lexi finally said. "Those figures represent what you can make once you're established."

"So what else aren't you telling me?" Evie demanded. "What other convenient omissions or half truths should I be aware of?"

Lexi and Grant exchanged glances again, a silent communication that only heightened Evie's frustration. The tension in the room rose as seconds stretched into uncomfortable silence.

"We've been transparent about all mission critical elements," Grant finally offered, his tone careful in a way that immediately raised Evie's suspicions.

"That's not an answer," she pressed. "That's deflection. I need to know exactly what I've gotten myself into."

Lexi crossed her arms. "Intelligence gathering is fluid by nature. Parameters adjust as new information becomes available. That's standard procedure."

"I'm not asking about standard procedure," Evie countered, her patience wearing thin. "I'm asking what specific aspects of this operation you've misrepresented or conveniently failed to mention."

Grant sighed, closing his laptop. "The time frame," he admitted. "Three months is our target window, but operationally, we're prepared for the possibility of extended deployment."

"Extended deployment," Evie repeated. "How extended are we talking?"

"It depends entirely on how quickly you gather actionable intelligence," Grant replied. "Three months might be sufficient if you advance rapidly. If not..."

"Six months," Lexi supplied. "Possibly longer."

"Longer?" Evie's voice rose. "You told me three months. I made decisions based on three months. I told my husband three months!"

"And it may very well be three months," Grant tried to reassure her. "But we had to maintain operational flexibility."

"Bullshit," Evie hissed. "More lies. More manipulation." She stood abruptly. "I'm done. Find someone else for your fucking bullshit operation."

"Sit down," Lexi said, her tone hard. "You're upset. That's understandable. But walking away now helps no one."

"It helps me," Evie retorted. "It gets me back to my husband, back to my life, away from this... this mess of half truths and moving goalposts."

"And your brother goes to jail," Lexi reminded her coldly. "The charges don't disappear because you're having second thoughts."

Evie's hands curled into fists. "That's low, even for you."

"It's reality," Lexi countered. "And there's another reality you should consider. The Maddox brothers and Malcolm Kessler represent a genuine threat to national security. The courthouse bombing was just the beginning."

"She's right," Grant added, his tone gentler. "We wouldn't have recruited a civilian for this operation if the stakes weren't extraordinary. Lives are at risk, Evie. Many lives."

Evie remained standing, her body rigid with anger and conflict. "What about the hundred thousand?" she asked. "Is that real, or is that another convenient lie?"

"It's real," Grant assured her. "And given what we've discussed about potential extended deployment, the compensation package would increase proportionally."

"Plus the money you're making at the club," Lexi added. "Which, based on last night, could be substantial over time."

Evie slowly sank back into her chair, mind racing. The money wasn't the point, not really, but the idea that they'd manipulated her, that they'd withheld critical information that might have affected her decision, felt like a betrayal.

"There's something else you should know," Grant said. "The danger level is higher than initially indicated."

"Of course it is," Evie laughed bitterly.

"We have intelligence that the Maddox brothers have eliminated individuals they perceive as threats to their operation," Grant continued. "Not just business rivals or witnesses. Employees."

"Employees?" Evie asked, her voice tight.

"Yes," Lexi nodded. "A bartender suspected of skimming, a bouncer who talked to local police, and a dancer who attempted to blackmail Damien over information she discovered."

Evie swallowed hard. "And Malcolm Kessler?"

"Significantly more violent," Grant replied. "His organization has claimed responsibility for three bombings beyond the courthouse."

"Jesus," Evie whispered. These weren't just criminals she was investigating. They were murderers who wouldn't hesitate to eliminate her if her cover was blown. She thought of Joe waiting for her at home, of the possibility that she might never return to him.

Evie stared at them both, processing this information. "So let me get this straight. I'm potentially looking at more than three months away from my husband and family, no contact whatsoever, dancing naked for organized criminals who might kill me if they discover who I really am. That's what you're telling me."

"It's why we've insisted on such strict protocols," Grant replied, his voice gentler now. "The communication blackout, the daily check-ins, the secure channels. Every precaution is designed to minimize that risk."

Evie stood abruptly, pacing the small space. "This is insane. You recruited a civilian, me, for a suicide mission, and you didn't even have the decency to be honest about the stakes." Her hands were shaking now. "I could be killed. Joe could become a widower... why didn't you tell me this before I accepted?"

"We made strategic decisions about information disclosure," Grant added. "We assessed that full disclosure of worst-case scenarios might have prevented you from accepting a role for which you're uniquely qualified."

"In other words, you manipulated me," Evie translated.

"We recruited you," Lexi corrected. "Like every other operative in the field. No one walks into an undercover assignment with perfect information."

"We've been building this case for eighteen months," Grant said. "We're closer than we've ever been, but we need someone on the inside who can access what our surveillance can't. Someone with your specific skills. You're the key, Evie. Without you, more people die."

Evie fell silent, weighing her options. She thought about walking away, trying to rebuild her life with Joe, finding another job. David would face consequences, but she could help him through that. Or she could continue, accept the revised parameters, and do the job she'd already started. A job that, if she was honest with herself, she'd found strangely exhilarating despite its moral complexities.

"If I walk away," she asked, "how long before you find someone else who can do this?"

"The operation would be severely hampered," Grant admitted. "Possibly ended entirely. Finding someone with your unique combination of observational skills, physical attributes, and psychological profile..." He shook his head. "It could be years. We don't know if we'd ever find a suitable replacement."

"The surveillance network we've established has limitations," Lexi added. "Without someone on the inside who can access what cameras and informants can't, this case might never advance beyond circumstantial evidence. Your connection with Victor Maddox represents a huge breakthrough."

"This operation matters," Grant emphasized. "We need to stop them before the casualty count enters triple digits."

Evie took a deep breath, steadying herself. The responsibility weighed heavily on her. People's lives against her safety. Strangers' futures against her own.

"I need a minute," she said, moving toward the window. She stared out at the Miami street below, watching people move through their normal lives, unaware of the dangers she was confronting or the choices she was making. Would her father have walked away? Would he have prioritized his family's peace of mind over the greater good?

She knew the answer. It was the same reason she'd become obsessed with true crime, with understanding the patterns of violence that had taken him from her. Some evils couldn't be ignored once you knew about them.

After a long silence, she turned back to face them. "I'll continue," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "For David. But no more lies. No more manipulations. Complete transparency from this point forward."

Grant nodded. "And moving forward, you'll get it."

"Can we proceed with the debrief now?" Lexi asked, her tone suggesting she'd never doubted Evie's decision.

Evie sighed. "Fine."

"Let's discuss operational practicalities for your upcoming shifts," Grant suggested, reopening his laptop. "Lexi, what should Evie anticipate for Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday?"

"Tuesdays are typically business focused," Lexi explained, seemingly grateful for the subject change. "Fewer young men, more regular clients, often business travelers extending their stay. The atmosphere is more conversational, less raucous."

She leaned forward. "Wednesdays are industry nights. Lots of hospitality workers, bartenders, servers from other venues. They're well versed in club etiquette but tip conservatively. It's about building relationships that pay off long-term."

"And Fridays?" Evie asked.

"Controlled chaos," Lexi replied. "Bachelor parties, birthday celebrations, corporate outings. High volume, high energy, high profit potential. The main challenge is managing your time efficiently, not getting trapped with low spending groups."

"Any specific intelligence gathering priorities for these shifts?" Evie asked.

"Focus on regular clients first," Grant advised. "The men who return consistently are more valuable than the one-night partiers and out of towners. They often have business connections to the Maddox brothers, which could provide entry points to their broader operation."

"And watch for who gets invited upstairs," Lexi added.

"Okay. So do I need to check in tonight?" Evie asked. "Through the burner phone?"

Grant shook his head. "Not on debrief days. Resume normal check-ins tomorrow after your shift."

Lexi glanced at her watch. "We should wrap this up. Maintaining cover means keeping to schedule."

"Alright," Evie said. "Anything else I should know?"

"Just take care of yourself," Grant said. "Eat well, sleep when you can. This kind of work takes a physical and psychological toll. Be mindful of it."

Evie gathered her yoga mat and water bottle, feeling simultaneously more informed and more unnerved than when she'd arrived. "Same time next Monday?"

Grant nodded. "Unless something urgent comes up that requires an earlier meeting. In that case, we'll contact you through the secure channel."

As Evie turned to leave, Lexi called after her. "Last night was a solid start, Evie. Two thousand on your first shift is genuinely impressive, regardless of what I said during recruitment."

The acknowledgment wasn't quite an apology, but it was the closest Lexi had come to one. Evie nodded her acceptance of the olive branch. "I'll see you Wednesday, then. Though I won't see you see you."

A ghost of a smile formed on Lexi's lips. "Exactly."

The yoga studio's tranquility seemed a world away from the pulsing energy of Club Elysium, yet both were now integral parts of her existence. Evie's mind churned with the new information: the potential extended timeline, the heightened dangers, the complex web of relationships she needed to navigate.

"Three months," she muttered to herself as she started the Honda engine. "Six at most. You can do this."

---

The next day, Evie pushed through the employee entrance, the heavy door swinging shut behind her with a muffled thud that marked the boundary between worlds. Another night. Another descent into Vanessa's skin.

From the corridor, she could already hear the dressing room's particular chaos. Laughter, music from personal speakers, hairdryers. She adjusted the strap of her duffel bag, heavy with the fruits of yesterday's shopping expedition. After her debrief with Lexi and Grant, she'd spent the afternoon at three different boutiques, expanding Vanessa's wardrobe.

Evie pushed through the dressing room door and stepped into space, which buzzed with energy.

"Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence again," came a voice from near the center couches.

Evie turned to find two brunettes watching her, identical smirks on their faces. She recognized them immediately from Mia's introductions during her first shift. Jasmine and Kylie, the inseparable duo. Jasmine, the one who'd spoken, was examining her manicure while clearly monitoring Evie's reaction.

"Destiny, right?" Kylie added. "Two thousand on your first night? That's... impressive."

The subtle emphasis made it clear she found it suspect rather than impressive. Evie forced a smile, channeling Vanessa's confidence.

"Thanks," she replied simply, moving toward her assigned makeup station. "Beginner's luck, maybe."

"Must be," Jasmine said. "Or maybe management has a soft spot for blondes this month."

Evie set her bag down, recognizing the territorial display for what it was. They'd heard about her meeting with Victor, about her tips, about the immediate interest she'd generated. In the club's ecosystem, she represented a threat to the established hierarchy.

"Hey, new girl!" A familiar voice called out, and Evie turned to see Mia approaching. "How's it going? Recovered from your first night yet?"

"Mostly," Evie replied, grateful for the friendly face. "Still a little sore."

"Wait till after tonight," Mia laughed. "Tuesdays are long. Not as wild as weekends, but the guys tend to talk more, want more of your time." She lowered her voice. "And ignore the welcoming committee. They're just worried because Damien was asking about you yesterday."

Evie's heart skipped. "He was?"

"Yep. Asked Tanya if you were scheduled."

Before Evie could process this information, another dancer joined them, a beautiful Vietnamese woman with high cheekbones and large almond eyes. She wore a silky robe tied loosely at the waist.

"Babe, can I borrow your setting spray? Mine's empty and I forgot to-" she paused, noticing Evie. "Oh, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

"Not interrupting," Mia said. "Kimmy, this is Destiny. She just started Sunday."

"The new girl everyone's talking about," Kimmy smiled, extending her hand. Unlike Jasmine and Kylie's reception, her friendliness seemed genuine. "I'm Kimberly, but everyone calls me Kimmy. I missed your debut. It was my night off."

Evie shook her hand. "Nice to meet you. And yeah, that's me. Still trying to figure everything out."

"You and me both," Kimmy laughed. "Though I get the inside scoop living with this one." She nudged Mia with her elbow.

"Roommates for almost a year now," Mia explained. "Makes carpooling to work convenient."

"And splitting rent in this overpriced city actually manageable," Kimmy added.

"Kimmy's one of the good ones," Mia said, handing over a bottle from her makeup collection. "Unlike some people, she understands there's enough money to go around."

"Most nights," Kimmy corrected, smiling. "But yeah, we're not all sharks. Some of us actually like having friends."

Jasmine and Kylie had moved on to other targets, now critiquing a blonde across the room for apparently stealing someone's regular customer.

"Ignore them," Kimmy advised, noticing Evie's glance. "They've been here three years and think that makes them royalty. What they don't realize is that they're actually just stuck. Too scared to try anywhere else, too comfortable to grow." She spritzed her face with Mia's spray and handed the bottle back. "Anyway, I heard you met Victor? That's... not typical for a first night."

"It was brief," Evie said carefully, aware that every interaction was potentially building or damaging her cover. "He just wanted to make sure I understood the club's standards."

Kimmy and Mia exchanged a look that Evie couldn't quite interpret. There was something unspoken passing between them. Concern, perhaps, or skepticism about Victor's intentions. The silent communication made Evie wonder what they knew that she didn't.

"Well," Mia said finally, "we should let you get ready."

As they moved away to their own stations, Evie began unpacking her bag. She arranged her new makeup purchases, the expanded collection looking significantly more professional than her first night setup. It was another small step toward convincing authenticity.

She then took out the carefully folded outfits she'd selected for tonight, the ones she'd purchased yesterday.

She was hanging them carefully when a voice came from behind her.

"Well, someone's been shopping."

Evie turned to find Loretta standing there, her auburn hair impeccable as before, her makeup flawless.

"I figured I needed options," Evie replied.

"Smart girl," Loretta nodded approvingly. "The ones who treat this like a real job are the ones who make real money." She gestured toward the outfits. "Good choices, too. Quality pieces."

"Thanks," Evie said. "I wasn't sure what would work best."

"Every client has different tastes," Loretta said, moving closer to examine the garments. "The trick is having enough variety to appeal to different types without losing your signature."

The insight surprised Evie. She'd thought of the outfits purely in terms of aesthetics and functionality, not as strategic marketing tools.

"I hadn't thought about it that way," she admitted.

Loretta smiled. "Most don't, at first. They think it's all about being the prettiest or the sexiest. But pretty is common. Planning is rare." She adjusted the hanger holding the emerald ensemble. "This one, by the way. Save it for when you really want to make an impression. The color is stunning with your complexion."

"You sound like you speak from experience," Evie ventured.

Loretta smiled. "Fifteen years on stage before I became house mom. Started when I was nineteen, retired at thirty-four when my knees couldn't handle the heels anymore." She shrugged. "Could've left the industry altogether, but why would I? Best job I ever had."

"No regrets?" Evie asked, genuinely curious.

"Only that I didn't start sooner," Loretta laughed. "Look, this life isn't for everyone. But for some of us, it's freedom. Financial, sexual, personal. Where else can a woman with no college degree make six figures and set her own schedule?"

The question wasn't really meant for answering, but it lingered in Evie's mind as Loretta moved on to help another dancer with a costume malfunction.

Evie decided on a midnight blue outfit to start the night. As she laid out her makeup, she considered her approach for the evening. Her first shift had been about survival, about proving she could handle the basic requirements of the job. Tonight needed to be about connections, about establishing relationships that would lead to useful intelligence.

Beginning with the club staff seemed logical. The bartenders, the security team, the support personnel. They saw everything, heard everything. Developing rapport with them could yield insights that wouldn't come from customers or even other dancers.

Once dressed, makeup perfected, and hair arranged, Evie made her way to the floor. The club was already open, though only about a quarter full this early in the evening.

She made a deliberate circuit, stopping first at the bar. The bartender, Jason according to his nametag, was arranging bottles.

"Hey there," Evie said, leaning slightly against the polished surface. "I'm Destiny. Started Sunday but didn't really get a chance to introduce myself properly."

Jason glanced up, his initial professional smile warming slightly as he took in her appearance. "The new girl everyone's talking about. Nice to officially meet you."

"Everyone's talking about me?" Evie feigned surprise, though Kimmy had already confirmed as much.

"When a new dancer gets called to Victor's office on her first night, yeah, word gets around," Jason replied, lowering his voice slightly. "Plus Damien was in yesterday asking if you were on the schedule."

That was the second confirmation of Damien's interest. Evie filed the information away, maintaining her casual demeanor. "Is that unusual?"

Jason laughed. "Let's just say the Maddox brothers don't typically take notice of new girls that quickly. Must've made quite an impression."

"I didn't speak two words to Damien," Evie said truthfully.

"Sometimes looks are all it takes," Jason shrugged. "Anyway, what can I get you? First drink's on the house for new dancers."

"Virgin sunrise?" Evie asked, remembering Mia's tip about the code for a non-alcoholic drink disguised as a cocktail.

Jason's eyebrows rose slightly, a flicker of respect crossing his features. "Coming right up. Someone's filled you in on the tricks of the trade already."

"Mia's been helpful," Evie admitted. "Figured it's smart to stay clear headed, especially while I'm still learning the ropes."

"Smart girl," Jason agreed, mixing her juice cocktail with the same showmanship he'd use for an alcoholic version. "Some girls think they need liquid courage to do this job. Those are the ones who flame out fast."

He slid the drink across the bar, the orange-red gradient making it indistinguishable from the real version. "Word of advice? The bartenders see everything. We know which customers tip well, which ones cause problems, and which ones management wants handled with special care. Make friends with us, and your job gets a lot easier."

"I'll remember that," Evie said, genuinely appreciative of the insight. "Thanks, Jason."

She continued her circuit, making her way to the DJ booth where Ray was queuing tracks for the night. He wore expensive headphones around his neck and looked like someone who took his craft seriously despite the venue.

"Destiny, right?" Ray asked as she approached. "What can I do for you?"

"Just wanted to introduce myself properly," Evie replied. "And maybe share some music preferences for when I'm on stage."

Ray's expression brightened immediately. "Now that's professional. Most girls just expect me to read their minds." He pulled out a small notebook, flipping to a blank page. "What works for you?"

Evie shared her preferences, slower, bass-heavy tracks that allowed for fluid movement rather than the frantic beats some dancers preferred. Ray nodded approvingly, making notes.

"Good choices. I'll keep these in mind for your sets." He gestured toward the main stage where another dancer was performing. "Noticed your moves Sunday. You've got good rhythm, which makes my job easier."

"That's high praise coming from the guy who controls the music," Evie said with a smile.

"We're all part of the same show," Ray replied, tapping his notebook. "Just different roles."

From there, Evie made her way toward Marcus, the head of security she'd briefly met during her audition. He stood near the entrance to the VIP section, his posture military straight as he surveyed the floor. Unlike the more approachable Jason and Ray, Marcus's expression remained neutral as she approached.

"Marcus, right?" Evie began. "I'm Destiny. We met briefly during my audition."

"I remember," he replied, his voice deep. His eyes continued scanning the room even as he acknowledged her. "You've been drawing attention."

"So I've heard," Evie said. "I wanted to introduce myself properly, since we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

Marcus's gaze finally settled on her. "Security is your first and last line of defense in this place." His expression didn't change. "Any problems so far?"

"None," Evie assured him.

"Keep it that way." With that, he returned to his surveillance, the brief conversation apparently concluded.

As Evie moved toward the main floor, she nearly collided with a mountain of a man in security attire. Billy, according to the badge clipped to his suit jacket, stood at least six-foot-eight, with shoulders that strained the seams of his jacket. Despite his intimidating size, his face broke into an unexpected grin.

"Whoa there, almost didn't see you," he said, then laughed at his obvious joke. "You're the new girl, Destiny, right?"

"That's me," Evie confirmed, having to tilt her head back. "Nice to meet you, Billy."

"You too." He lowered his voice, the gesture comically conspiratorial given his size. "Little tip? If any customer gives you trouble, just make eye contact with me. Don't try to handle it yourself."

The genuine concern in his voice surprised Evie. "I appreciate that, thank you."

"No problem. My sister danced for years," he explained. "Taught me a lot about what you ladies put up with. Just doing my part to keep things professional."

As Billy moved on to continue his rounds, Evie found herself smiling. These small human connections, from Jason's advice to Ray's appreciation for her professionalism, even Marcus and Billy's protective instinct, reminded her that even in this environment, genuine moments existed alongside the performances and deceptions.

The floor was beginning to fill as the evening progressed. Evie moved between tables, introducing herself to new customers, engaging in the light conversation that was as much a part of the job as the dancing itself. When her rotation on the main stage came, she performed with confidence, her movements more fluid, her interaction with the audience more natural than her first night.

As she was collecting her clothes and tips after her stage set, she spotted a familiar face at a corner table. Henry, the businessman who'd been the first man she'd approached and her first private dance customer, sat alone.

Evie made her way toward him once she'd redressed, noting how his expression brightened as she approached.

"Henry," she greeted him, genuine pleasure coloring her tone. "You're back."

"I said I would be," he replied, gesturing to the empty chair beside him. "You were even better on stage tonight."

"Practice helps," Evie said, settling into the chair. "Where are your friends tonight?"

"Back to Chicago this morning. I'm the lucky one who actually lives here." Henry sipped his whiskey, his eyes never leaving her face. "I was hoping you'd have time for another private dance."

"For you? Of course," Evie smiled. "Sapphire Room again?"

Henry hesitated, then said, "Actually, I was thinking the Diamond Suite this time. If you're comfortable with that."

The Diamond Suite. More private, more expensive, more intimate. Evie felt a flutter of nervous anticipation. During her tour with Mia, she'd seen these rooms but hadn't yet performed in one.

"I'd like that," Evie heard herself say, the words coming from Vanessa rather than Evelyn. "Follow me."

She led him through the main floor toward the curved hallway housing the Diamond Suites. The security guard at the entrance nodded to them before they made their way inside.

"Much nicer than the Sapphire Rooms," Henry commented, settling onto the circular leather couch that dominated one side of the space. "More private."

"That's what you're paying for," Evie replied with a teasing smile. "Privacy has a premium."

She adjusted the lighting using the wall panel, dimming it to a warm glow. As the music shifted to a slow track, she began to move, her body finding the rhythm easily.

As Evie danced slowly for Henry, a thought slipped through her. There was an economic equation at work. Greater intimacy equaled greater compensation. For a moment, she weighed the boundaries she was willing to cross to have a regular high-spending client like Henry. If she could solidify his loyalty through a more memorable experience, he might become a consistent source of income. And her rising earnings would catch management's attention, fast tracking her access to the VIP section.

She moved closer, standing between his knees as she had before, but with a new certainty that transformed the dynamic. Her hands traced her own body before reaching for the clasps of her top. She turned slowly as she removed it, offering him the view of her back, glancing over her shoulder with a smile.

Henry's breathing had changed, becoming deeper, his posture shifting slightly as he leaned forward. When she turned to face him, now topless, his gaze was heated, hungry.

"You're so god damn beautiful," he said.

"You can touch, you know," Evie heard herself say, the words emerging from some newly awakened part of her. "Here, the rules are different."

Henry's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't hesitate. His hands reached for her waist, warm against her skin. Evie continued dancing, now moving against his touch, letting his hands guide her slightly as she swayed to the music.

"I didn't expect this," he admitted, his thumbs tracing her hipbones.

"The Diamond Suite has certain privileges," Evie replied, her voice taking on a husky quality she hardly recognized. "Within limits, of course."

His hands slid upward, hovering just below her breasts as if seeking permission. Evie nodded slightly, and he cupped them, his touch gentler than she'd expected. Her body responded to his touch in ways that confused and alarmed the part of her that was still Evelyn Sinclair.

She straddled his lap as she had before, but this time, when she felt his erection pressing against her, she allowed herself small movements of her hips that drew a groan from him. His hands moved to her ass as she ground against him through their clothing.

"Jesus, Destiny," he muttered, his voice strained.

Evie leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, her lips close to his ear. "Enjoying yourself, Henry?"

"Definitely," he replied, his hands squeezing her ass firmly.

The song ended, but neither of them moved immediately. Evie felt suspended between identities, the part of her that was Joe's wife, that should be recoiling from this intimacy with a stranger, and the part that was Vanessa, that found power and satisfaction in his reaction, in his obvious arousal, in the control she wielded over him in this moment.

Henry cleared his throat. "Another song?"

"I'd like that," Evie replied, surprising herself.

The next track began, and Evie rose from his lap. She turned away from him and bent forward, unhooking her bottoms slowly, revealing the midnight blue thong beneath. Henry's hand found her calf and slid upward along her thigh as she straightened. The touch sent shivers across her skin.

Evie turned back to face him, now nearly naked save for the thong and her heels. This time when she straddled him, the contact felt even more intimate, only the thin fabric of her underwear and his suit pants between them. His hands roamed more freely now, squeezing her ass, sliding up to cup her breasts again.

The physical pleasure was undeniable, her body responding to his touch with a readiness that both thrilled and disturbed her. She was wet, aroused, her nipples hard against his palms. Yet underneath the pleasure, a voice reminded her that this reaction belonged to Vanessa, not to Evelyn.

As the second song ended, Henry looked up at her with an intensity that suggested he was considering asking for more than just another dance. Evie carefully extracted herself from his lap, gathering her discarded clothing while maintaining eye contact.

"That was..." Henry trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Just a sample," Evie replied, the teasing tone concealing her inner conflict. "Maybe next time, we can explore further."

The promise was ambiguous enough to maintain interest without committing to anything specific. Henry nodded, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation as he handed her several hundred-dollar bills.

"I'll hold you to that," he said. "I'll be back to see you."

Evie smiled, slipping her top back on. "I look forward to it."

She exited the Diamond Suite ahead of him, her mind racing. The encounter had been more intimate, more physically affecting than she'd anticipated. She'd let him touch her in ways that crossed lines she hadn't expected to cross. More disturbing was how natural it had felt, how easily she'd slipped into the role of seductress, how genuine her body's responses had been.

Back in the dressing room, Evie took a moment to collect herself. She changed into her second outfit of the night, the white lace teddy, a costume change that would give her an excuse to approach tables she'd already visited.

As she was applying a fresh coat of lipstick, Kimmy appeared beside her, already changed into a new outfit herself.

"Hey," Kimmy said, sitting at the adjacent makeup station. "Saw you coming back from the Diamond Suite. Henry's a good customer, isn't he?"

"Seems to be," Evie replied. "You know him?"

"Most of us do. He's a regular, always polite, tips well, doesn't push boundaries unless invited to." Kimmy applied a touch of highlighter to her cheekbones. "The ideal client, basically."

Evie nodded, relieved to hear her assessment confirmed. "He mentioned he lives here, unlike his friends from Sunday."

"Yeah, he's some kind of investment banker or financial advisor. Has an office downtown." Kimmy hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Listen, I have an idea. Have you ever done a duo dance before?"

"A duo?" Evie repeated, trying to sound merely curious rather than completely uninformed.

"Two dancers, one client," Kimmy explained. "We've got a rare Tuesday bachelor party coming in soon, and the best man was asking about duos in the Diamond Suite. They tip well, and I need a partner. Mia's already booked, and honestly, I'd rather work with you than most of the others."

The invitation caught Evie off guard. She hadn't prepared for this scenario, hadn't discussed it during training. But refusing could seem suspicious. What dancer would turn down premium money?

"I haven't done one before," Evie admitted, deciding honesty was safest. "How does it work exactly?"

Kimmy seemed to appreciate her forthright approach. "It's pretty straightforward. We dance together, putting on a show that's partially for the client but mostly involves interaction between us. Light touching, maybe kissing if you're comfortable with that. The client watches and possibly joins in with limited touching if that's on the table."

Kissing another woman. Touching her intimately. The scenario hadn't appeared in any of the briefing materials and Lexi certainly hadn't included it in their training sessions. Evie's mind raced, weighing options. Refusing might damage her cover, might make her seem prudish or unprofessional. Accepting meant crossing yet another boundary.

"I'm game," Evie heard herself say. "But you might need to guide me through it."

Kimmy's expression brightened. "No problem! We've got about twenty minutes before they arrive. Let me walk you through some basic moves we can incorporate."

They retreated to a quieter corner of the dressing room, where Kimmy demonstrated how they might interact, the way their bodies would move together.

"It's about making it seem spontaneous while we actually choreograph it," Kimmy explained.

Evie nodded, absorbing the information with the same focus she'd applied to her training with Lexi. This was now just another aspect of the job, another skill to master, another layer of her cover to perfect.

When the bachelor party arrived, Evie and Kimmy were ready. They approached the group of six men who were clearly already several drinks into their celebration and focused on the groom and best man. The negotiations were handled smoothly by Kimmy, who'd clearly done this many times before. Within minutes, they were leading the two men toward a Diamond Suite, leaving the rest of the group to be entertained by other dancers.

Inside, Kimmy took charge, setting the atmosphere with a music selection from the room's control panel and adjusting the lighting to a sultry red glow. The best man and groom settled onto the circular couch, their excitement palpable.

The first song began, a slow, pulsing beat.

"Last night of freedom," Kimmy said to the groom, a conventionally handsome man in his early thirties. She trailed her fingertips along his jawline. "Let's make it memorable."

Kimmy set the tone, moving to Evie. She traced her nails up Evie's ribcage, then let her hand rest just below her breast, eyes never leaving Evie's. The stillness between them became electric. Evie responded, fingers slipping into Kimmy's hair, tugging her close. Their lips just brushed, but Kimmy's hand curled behind Evie's neck, blocking the audience's angle for a heartbeat, a faux kiss that sent the men reeling anyway.

They then undressed each other slowly. Kimmy hooked her thumbs beneath Evie's bra strap and slid it off, baring her breasts to the room in one slow reveal. She then arched her own back as Evie did the same, exposing her breasts. Both women were left in nothing but G-strings and stilettos.

Kimmy pressed her forehead to Evie's. "You're killing it," Kimmy murmured, too soft for anyone else.

The second song was darker, with a pulse that demanded movement. The girls turned outward, straddling the men's laps, Evie settling on the best man, Kimmy on the groom. The men's hands went to their waists, tentative at first. Kimmy didn't break eye contact with the groom as she rocked into him, guiding his hands lower to her ass.

Evie let the best man's hands drift to her hips, then her thighs. She ground down, slow and deliberate, feeling his cock straining through slacks.

"Relax," she whispered in his ear.

The men, emboldened, let their hands roam waists, asses, and thighs but never overstepping thanks to a glance, a word, a warning squeeze.

The best man tried sliding a finger under Evie's g-string. She caught his wrist, holding it with just enough force to make it clear: "Not tonight, sweetheart." Her smile, the smile of Destiny, made it feel like foreplay, not a rebuke.

When the second song finished, Kimmy cranked the controls, killing the overhead lights and bathing the room in crimson. "Bed," she ordered, and led the way. The men all but stumbled after her.

Evie straddled the best man, knees planted wide, just enough of her weight pressing into his hips that he groaned. Her G-string grazed his cock, and she rotated her hips, grinding down in slow, cruel circles.

Kimmy mirrored her on the groom, teasing with her thighs, running her hands over his chest, up his throat, lightly brushing his lips with her finger before pivoting away.

The men's hands wandered, stroking thighs, gripping hips, greedy for more. Kimmy let the groom's palms slide up her sides, then caught them, pinning his hands to the bed above his head.

"Look but don't touch, remember?" she chided, winking at Evie.

Evie played along, grabbing the best man's wrists. She leaned down, her nipples brushing his chest, her lips close to his ear. "You're going to be thinking about this for a very, very long time."

The men were panting now, eyes glazed, cocks straining for friction against their own clothing. The girls, perfectly in sync, rolled their hips, arching and teasing, until the music peaked and faded.

Kimmy slid off the bed, licking her lips and scooping bills from the mattress. "That is where the story ends, gentlemen."

Evie, still breathless, gathered her top and shot the best man a sly grin.

Both men watched the women dress, spellbound, hands visibly trembling.

"Congratulations on the wedding," Evie said to the groom as they prepared to leave, finding her voice had taken on some of Kimmy's teasing quality. "I hope she knows how lucky she is."

The comment, delivered with a wink, was pure Destiny. Playful, flirtatious, completely at ease in this environment of commercialized intimacy. The groom laughed, then looked momentarily guilty, as if suddenly remembering the fiancée waiting somewhere beyond the club's walls.

Back in the dressing room, Kimmy counted out the money, dividing it into two equal stacks. "Not bad for fifteen minutes' work," she said, handing Evie her share. "You're a natural. You sure that was your first duo?"

"Beginner's luck," Evie replied, tucking the money away. "Plus, I had a good teacher."

Kimmy laughed, the sound genuine and warm. "Teachers are only as good as their students. You picked up every cue like we'd been working together for years." She leaned against the makeup counter, studying Evie with newfound respect. "Some girls never get comfortable with the duo dynamic. Too worried about looking gay or too focused on the guys. You found the balance, connecting with me and keeping them engaged."

"I just followed your lead," Evie said, though she felt a flush of pride at the compliment.

"We make a good team," Kimmy continued. "We should do this again sometime. The regulars love it. And a blonde white girl and an Asian girl working together? That's fantasy material."

Evie found herself smiling and nodding, genuinely intrigued by the prospect. "I'd like that."

The rest of the shift included more private dances, stage performances, and table visits. By 2 AM, Evie's feet ached from the heels, but her energy remained high, fueled by adrenaline and the steadily growing stack of bills in her locker.

The crowd had thinned considerably when Tanya appeared as she returned from a private dance.

"Destiny," she said, her tone businesslike but not unfriendly. "A moment?"

Evie followed her to a quiet corner near the bar, curiosity mingling with a flicker of concern. Had she violated some unspoken rule? Had her duo with Kimmy somehow crossed a line?

"Relax," Tanya said, noting her expression. "You're not in trouble. Quite the opposite."

"Oh?" Evie managed, relief washing through her.

"Your numbers for tonight are incredibly impressive. Over twenty-five hundred in private dances alone, not counting stage tips. That's beyond exceptional, especially considering this is only your second day. Most dancers don't reach those figures until they've been working for weeks. Sometimes months."

Evie maintained Destiny's confidence while Evie's mind reeled at the figure. Twenty-five hundred dollars. In one night. For taking off her clothes and grinding against men's laps.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm trying to make the most of the opportunity."

"I can see that," Tanya nodded. "Which is why I'm adding you to the Saturday rotation. You'll do both Fridays and Saturdays effective immediately."

Weekend shifts. Prime earning potential. Exactly what she needed to advance her mission.

"That's fantastic," Evie said, genuine excitement bleeding into her tone. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"You've earned it," Tanya replied. "But remember, consistency matters. One good week doesn't make a career." She paused, studying Evie's face. "There's something different about you. Most girls with your looks coast on them. You're actually working."

The observation was unexpectedly insightful. "I don't take anything for granted," Evie said simply.

Tanya seemed satisfied with this response. "Good. That attitude will take you far here." She checked her watch. "Finish out the night strong. I'll see you tomorrow."

As Tanya walked away, Evie took a moment to process the conversation. She was advancing faster than expected, securing prime shifts, making connections with staff and regulars. The mission was progressing better than she could have ever expected.

There had been no sign of the Maddox brothers tonight, but their presence loomed in the club's atmosphere, in the way the staff mentioned them, in Damien's reported interest in her schedule.

An hour later, Evie counted out just over three thousand dollars in total earnings.

As she gathered her duffel bag from the locker room, she found Mia and Kimmy similarly preparing to leave, both changed into comfortable clothes that transformed them from exotic dancers back into ordinary women. Minutes ago, they'd been provocative fantasy figures. Now they looked like they might be heading for a late-night grocery run or returning from a casual dinner.

"Heading out?" Mia asked, zipping up a hoodie over her tank top.

"Yeah," Evie nodded, suddenly aware of her own exhaustion now that her shift was over.

Kimmy laughed, shouldering her own bag. "You'll build stamina. First month is always the hardest."

The three women made their way down the back corridor toward the employee exit, their conversation shifting to complaints about customers, jokes about wardrobe malfunctions, and speculation about upcoming shifts. The normality of it struck Evie, how quickly this strange world had begun to feel normal.

"You parked out back?" Kimmy asked as they pushed through the heavy exit door into the night air.

"Yeah, same spot as Sunday," Evie replied.

"We'll walk with you," Mia offered. "Safety in numbers and all that."

The parking lot was dimly lit, with a few other dancers at their cars or walking in small groups. Music from the club was barely audible, a muted thump that seemed to pulse through the asphalt beneath their feet.

"We should exchange numbers," Kimmy said to Evie as they walked. "In case you need shift coverage or want to coordinate duo bookings."

"Good idea," Evie agreed, pulling out her phone. She recited her number as Kimmy entered it into her contacts.

"There," Kimmy said, sending a quick text so Evie would have her number too. "Now you're officially part of the club."

"Literally and figuratively," Mia added with a grin.

They reached Evie's Honda, the three of them pausing beside it. The night had cooled considerably, and Evie found herself wrapping her arms around her middle for warmth.

"So," Kimmy said, fishing car keys from her purse and dangling them at Mia, "you driving or am I?"

"You drove last time," Mia reminded her, grabbing the keys. "Besides, you had that second vodka soda."

"It was watered down," Kimmy protested before turning to Evie. "Perks of being roommates is a built-in designated driver."

Mia smiled and nodded.

"Anyway, what's your story, Destiny?" Kimmy asked. "Beyond the 'escaped a bad relationship' thing, which, don't get me wrong, I totally respect. But most people don't just wake up one day and decide to become strippers."

The question caught Evie off guard. During her first night, everyone had accepted her backstory without probing deeper. But relationships were forming now, and with them came natural curiosity.

"There's not much more to it," Evie said carefully. "I needed money, needed to be independent. Turns out I'm better at this than I expected."

"No shit," Mia snorted. "Three grand on shift two is beyond 'better than expected.' That's prodigy territory."

"I think it's the innocence thing," Kimmy observed thoughtfully. "The guys can tell you're new to this world. It makes them feel special, like they're getting something real rather than professional. Ironic, since the professionals are usually better at the actual job."

"The girl next door who's secretly a sex goddess," Mia agreed. "Tale as old as time."

Evie laughed, the sound genuine despite her inner tension. "I'm hardly a sex goddess."

"Tell that to Henry," Kimmy teased. "That man looked like he'd seen the face of God when you two came out of the Diamond Suite."

"Or the bachelor party guys," Mia added. "Kimmy texted me that you two killed it."

Evie felt her cheeks warm despite the cool air. "Just following Kimmy's lead."

"Modest too," Kimmy said, bumping Evie's shoulder playfully. "The perfect package."

A comfortable silence fell between them, the kind that forms when conversation isn't forced. For a moment, they were just three women standing in a parking lot after work, sharing the camaraderie of a shared experience.

"I should get going," Evie said finally, unlocking her car. "It's late."

"Same time tomorrow?" Mia asked.

"I'll be there," Evie confirmed.

"Me too," Kimmy added. "Maybe we can grab coffee before the shift? There's a decent bakery about five minutes from here that's got good pastries."

The invitation was casual but represented something significant, a genuine connection forming, a friendship developing that went beyond professional courtesy.

"I'd like that," Evie said, surprised by how much she meant it.

She slid into the driver's seat, offering a final wave as she closed the door. In the rearview mirror, she watched Mia and Kimmy continue toward their own car, still chatting, their forms gradually disappearing into the darkness of the parking lot.

As she started the engine, Evie felt a strange mixture of emotions. The satisfaction of another successful night. The confusion of her physical responses during her Diamond Suite performances. And now, an unexpected warmth at having made what seemed like genuine friends.

---

A half hour later, back inside the apartment, Evie grabbed the burner phone and sank onto the couch, her mind organizing the information that needed reporting. Her fingers hovered over the keypad, composing and recomposing the message in her head. How to distill the night's events into something concise yet meaningful? How much should she include about the Diamond Suite with Henry, or the duo dance with Kimmy?

She began typing:

"Second shift completed. Status green. Building relationships with staff and other dancers. Damien Maddox inquired about my schedule yesterday according to two sources. Advanced to weekend rotation including Friday and Saturday nights effective immediately. Earnings significantly above average, which is drawing attention."

Evie stared at the message. It felt detached from the messy reality of what she'd experienced. Nothing about Henry's hands on her breasts or how her body had responded to Kimmy's touch or the growing ease with which she slipped into Destiny's skin.

She added:

"No direct contact with targets tonight but positioning improving rapidly."

Her thumb hovered over the send button. Was there anything else Grant would need to know? Anything that might affect operational security or advance the mission?

She typed one final line:

"Cover identity solidifying. Vanessa/Destiny becoming more natural."

That was the truth, wasn't it? The frightening, exhilarating truth. Each hour spent as Destiny made Evelyn Sinclair feel more distant, more like a character she'd once played rather than her true self.

Evie hit send, watching the message disappear. Within minutes, a response appeared:

"Excellent progress. Damien's interest creates opportunity but exercise caution. Weekend shifts will accelerate access to priority targets. Maintain current approach. Sleep when possible."

The last instruction made her smile faintly. Sleep when possible. As if it were that simple. As if she could just close her eyes and shut off the memories of men's hands on her body, of their hungry gazes, of her own unexpected responses.