"I am, aren't I?" Thank heavens she'd allowed him the opportunity for a cover.

Mo turned away in a huff and strode in a direct line to the bar.

Ross didn't see any other female customers. Mo was garnering a good deal of interest from the male patrons. Even with much more skimpily clad women "workin' it", the louts weren't too busy to ogle Mo. Ross had to admit the jeans she'd changed into before they left her house made her legs look like they stretched on forever. What she probably considered a plain black t-shirt, was tight enough to create a perfect display of her pear-sized b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He had thrown on clothing from her brother's closet offered up by Mo. A white dress shirt matched with jeans.

"Do you really think this is the right time to drink?" Ross asked as they continued their way past the customers. One lout leered at Mo and reached out as if to pinch her behind. A "don't-try-it-buddy" stare from Ross stopped him.

"I like a good drink as much as the next man, but don't you think we need our wits about us?"

"You want to spend your Booty Bucks, don't you? Or were you hoping to save up to buy a lap dance with the fake Britney?" Mo shouted to be heard over the new track of pounding music coming from the nearby speaker.

The bartender, a twenty-something with a scorching body and a face only a mother would love, strolled over to Mo and she ordered a bottle of light beer.

"I don't suppose you have Guinness?" Ross asked.

The look from the bartender indicated she'd never even heard of the British ale.

"Whatever you have in a dark beer will be fine."

The bartender quickly produced and opened two bottles. "Twenty Booty Bucks."

"Twenty? For two bottles?" Ross asked.

"Just pay the woman," Mo said, taking a swig of her beer.

Ross pulled the bucks from his pocket.

"Is the owner here tonight?" Mo asked. "We'd like to talk to him."

The bartender shifted uneasily from foot to foot. "I don't know."

Ross handed twenty of the booty bucks to the bartender and Mo grabbed the other twenty out of his hand before he could form a protest. Mo placed the bucks on the bar, keeping them in place with her index finger.

The bartender bent forward and spoke softly. "I don't think you really want to see him. He's been in a scary mood lately."

"Give me a hint where we can find him," Mo said.

The bartender looked from side-to-side around her and then slid the bucks from under Mo's finger. "You might find the Booty Callz room interesting." The bartender nodded her head toward her left.

A neon sign identified a curtained area as the room in question.

Mo nodded, clutched Ross by the arm, and pulled him in the direction of Booty Callz room and the Russian mobster in a scary mood.

Perhaps Ross was right. The closer Mo came to the curtain, the more certain she became that she didn't want to see what was hidden behind it. However, she didn't want to admit to Ross she might be wrong. Plus, braving the area beyond the curtain seemed the only way to find out what was going on. Was Yuri Kubikov behind the break-in at her house? Did he control Gigantor or not? What did they want?

"Wait." Ross pulled her to a stop. "Going into that private lap dance-or whatever-room isn't going to provide us the protection of the public we were planning on."

"You're right," Mo admitted. "We have to find a way to get him out here."

They stood for a moment. The events of the day had already collapsed half of the synapses of her brain, and the pulsating music was working on collapsing the other half, making it difficult to think of a solution to the dilemma.

"I have it," Ross said.

"What?"

"Let's announce there's a celebrity in the house."

"Who?"

"Me."

It was a good idea, but she refused to feed his ego. "You're a celebrity?"

"Ha ha. Just go along with whatever I do."

"Okay, Mr. Celebrity," Mo said.

Ross claimed an open table in the corner, with seating for two of its four sides provided by red vinyl covered booths and the other two with chairs. Taking a seat at the center of the one booth, Ross motioned for Mo to slide in beside him. When she did, his arm came up around her to hang over her shoulder like a human stole.

Mo glanced at his face in surprise and barely recognized him. In an instant he had transformed himself into the arrogant, swaggering persona of his character from SpyMatrix.

An almost naked woman in a bikini, four-inch stilettos, and carrying a tray, scurried to the table. The nearly naked barista-all long blonde hair extensions and big white teeth-locked her eyes on Ross. "Can I get you anything, sir?"

Mo looked down at her hands and wiggled her fingers. Despite all indications from the waitress, she hadn't gone invisible.

"How about s.e.x on the beach," Ross answered with a suggestive waggle to his eyebrows that had Mo blinking to clear her vision. Was she seeing this in person or on the big screen?

"The drink?"

"That'll be great for a start, baby," his voice lowered to a baritone and he gave the barista a wink.

She giggled in response.

"And a club soda for my agent," he said with an inclination of his head toward Mo.

"Who?" Then she glanced at Mo. "Oh yes, sir. Anything else?"

"Yes." He leaned forward as if to speak confidentially. "We're expecting the producer for my next film to arrive any minute. Would you be a darling and bring him to the table when he gets here?"

The girl almost jumped out of her skin. "Your film?"

He placed a finger to his lips. "Shhh. I don't want anyone to know I'm here. I want a quiet evening. No autographs."

She drooped with disappointment until he said, "Except for you." He punctuated the sentence with a wink.

"Thank you, sir." She giggled again and trotted away with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and bottom bouncing.

"She doesn't have a clue who you are," Mo said.

"I know."

"But you have her convinced she wants your autograph anyway."

"I know."

"You are a good actor." Mo smiled.

"You don't have to sound so amazed. It's a bit insulting."

"No, really I knew you were good, but it's incredible to see it up close like this. You must be remarkable on stage."

"Thanks." Ross both glowed and turned ruddy at the same time. He cleared his throat, switching back into all arrogance again. "Now go to the ladies room and give them a chance to question you. Make sure they know how important I am and that I'll want lots of special attention from the ladies after my meeting with the producer."

"Aye, aye. It's virtuoso." Mo delivered a tiny two-fingered salute, which met with a glower from Ross.

The waitress caught Mo about halfway to the ladies' room. "I know I recognize your client. I'm so embarra.s.sed because I don't remember his name," the girl said.

"Oh no, don't let him know that. Mr. Grant will be so upset. Ross Grant." At her continued blank stare, Mo continued, "The star who played Stephen Dagger in SpyMatrix?"

"Stephen Dagger, I can't believe it," she squealed. "Now I remember!"

Mo relayed the "script" including the bit about how the star didn't want to be interrupted until after his meeting with the producer. With a.s.surances of discretion from the waitress about keeping the presence of the VIP secret, Mo continued to the ladies' room in keeping with her cover. After a very brief visit to the horribly grimy facilities-where she didn't touch anything-Mo returned to the table.

"She's already whispering to another waitress," Ross said as she joined him. "And now they're both looking over here."

"Then it shouldn't be a long wait."

The way the news of the VIP spread through the crowd at the club reminded her of seeing the fans perform the wave in a football stadium. Many of the patrons looked ready to stampede in their direction. One shouted,"I'm gonna go over there and get that super spy guy to buy me a drink. He must be rich. My girl forces me to watch that dang movie whenever it's on TV. I bet he gets paid every time I'm forced to sit through it. He owes me." Fortunately, his buddies were holding him back.

The Britney look-a-like was the first to act on the news and headed toward Ross. Her approach conveyed a peculiar blend of hesitancy and boldness.

"Sir, I don't want to disturb you," she said in a sweet child-like voice when she reached the table. "I just want to say that I'm your biggest fan."

"I'm always happy to meet my fans." Ross gave an exaggerated, pompous wave.

Mo certainly hoped his behavior was an act and not authentic.

"Particularly, the beautiful and talented ones like you," he continued. "My agent and I watched your performance when we arrived."

"Thank you so much," the fake Britney said. "It's such an honor to dance in front of Stephen Dagger. My mom is going to positively flip when I tell her. SpyMatrix was the first movie my mom took me to when I was eight. She's an even biggester fan than I am."

Ross's smile lost a little dazzle. "Thank her for me."

"I know I'm not supposed to ask, but could I just have a little autograph?"

"Certainly. Do you have a pen and paper?"

A black ballpoint, along with a handbill advertising the club, was thrust in front of him with unexpected swiftness.

"Make it out to Britney."

"Of course." Ross wrote with a flourish as he spoke. "To Britney, my favorite exotic dancer. Best wishes for your dancing future. Ross Grant."

"Could I request a tiny change or two?" the high-pitched child-like woman asked. "Would you change exotic dancer to stripper and sign it Stephen Dagger."

Ross smiled through gritted teeth.

"Certainly."

"It would be an even huger honor if I could do a lap dance for you," Britney offered.

"What would your mom think of that?" Mo couldn't resist asking as she tried not to laugh at the stripper's eagerness.

Britney didn't hesitate. "She'd flip so many times she'd probably go into a coma."

Mo bent to whisper into Ross's ear. "Apparently, she'd be proud of her daughter."

"Maybe later," Ross said, handing the stripper the pen and autographed advertis.e.m.e.nt.

Britney looked at the paper. "Oooh. Could you write something for my mom?"

"Anything for my biggest fan and my biggester fan." Ross took the black pen and paper. Pressing so hard into the table Mo feared the pen would break, Ross wrote again. "P.S. to Britney's Mom. Continue to be proud of your beautiful daughter."

Awwww. Now matter how arrogant Ross appeared on the outside, he had a spot of sweetness inside the size of the sun. Mo liked that trait a lot.

Kubikov was in the midst of receiving a lap dance when one of his men popped his head around the curtain of the private room.

"Boss," he said. "You'll never guess who's in the club."

"It better be good. The dance not done yet." The warning shot back. "My wife. She come to club later. So I must enjoy now."

"It's good, boss. Stephen Dagger is here with his girlfriend."

A group of fans had started to a.s.semble and loiter behind Britney. Three tall, burly bouncer-types pushed through them and then walked up single file. They could have been triplets, except the first in line was an inch or two shorter than the one in back of him, who was an inch or two shorter than the third. They resembled a human step stool.

The first guy in line clamped a hand on the stripper's shoulder. "Beat it, Britney. Mr. Kubikov wants to meet the VIP."

"Sure thing, Little Joe." Britney gave a nervous t.i.ttering giggle as she backed away. "Joe," she said, nodding at the second guy. "Big Joe," she acknowledged the third before turning to run toward the opening to the backstage area.

Little Joe stepped to his right. One, two, three. Like a ch.o.r.eographed dance. The move revealed that a smaller, much stubbier, man had been sandwiched between Little Joe and Joe. He couldn't have been much taller than five feet. From his clipped little bangs, to the soles of his shiny loafers, the demeanor of this man screamed "napoleon complex". The handle of a gun stuck out of the waistband of his pants.

Yuri Kubikov had finally appeared.