Title: Hungry Eyes
Author: Misty Flores
Email: mistyjox@hotmail.com
Teaser: When Angel Investigations investigate a murder at a local strip joint, one of the crew gets a little more undercover than they bargained for.

--

Chapter Two

The Dancehall was not by appearances an intimidating place.

The fact of the matter was, for a strip club, it was damn classy. Valets in red jackets and black boutonnieres stood waiting under the canopy, brilliantly lit with a soft hue of reds and whites; subtle, elegant.

A red carpet greeted the guests who pulled up in their cars, doors opening to reveal women in heels, hair done up, eyes glinting with smiles of expectations as the men took their arms, opening the doors to lead them in.

One of the hotspots of Los Angeles that catered to women exclusively, going to the Dancehall meant you had money, and were willing to spend it.

Cordelia had told him these words as he had waited for her to gently fix his gelled hair just so, leaning forward in front of him, hazel eyes shining with worry, concern and just a little big of anger. She didn't like that he had to do this, didn't like any of it, and even her part, she seemed to accept with reluctance.

Every concern and worry had bubbled up to the surface and it was true, a lot was riding on him, and it was true, he didn't know much of anything when it came to this line of work, but Angel knew that the death of a friend was still unsolved, and that something needed to be done.

But why couldn't it have been killing someone, or breaking down a window?

Swallowing down the uncharacteristic turmoil that seeped through his body, Angel walked forward, hand clenched into a fist around the bowtie, shoved into the pockets of his trench coat, moving around the valet entrance, into the side alley, knocking on the much less glamorous back door.

Two quick raps made it open a creak, as a young black man peered through the hole, eyes roving over Angel's body before opening it wider.

"What do you want?" he demanded. "You want to see the show you gotta go up front."

"What? See the-" Angel paused, shifting his feet and shaking his head. "I'm not- I'm the new guy."

The other man paused, and suddenly nodded briskly, opening the door wider to let Angel in. "Sorry, man. Sometimes these guys-"

"These guys?"

"You know- men who like men? Their night is Thursday and well… with the coat-"

Angel looked down at his coat and buried his fists into defensively. "It's a masculine coat."

"Whatever." The bulky young man moved away, picking up a clipboard and eyeing Angel over it. "You're… Angel, right?"

"Right."

"Cute name," he answered dryly. "What's your real one?"

"Huh?"

"Real name. I need it for the W-2 forms."

"That is my real name!" Angel answered hotly, eyes narrowing as a small growl slipped from his throat. "What the hell kinda name is…" quickly he scanned the ID tag, "Brian, anyway?"

Brian just raised an eyebrow, and Angel sighed, turning away.

"All right, ANGEL," he said, scratching on the clipboard with a pen. "What's your full name? On second thought here," he came forward, thrusting the pile of papers into Angel's arms, moving around him, quirking a finger in the process. "Just have them filled out by your next shift. Come on, I'll show you the dressing room."

Angel considered letting a fist accidentally slide into Brian's face, but thought better of it, instead following him through the crowded, narrow doorways as he quickly explained the rules as they went.

"You get here thirty minutes before your shift. You're a Floor Boy, you guys change in there," he pointed to a small room. "Black pants, and the bowtie. You keep your tips and that's it, so shake that booty, boy. Now, over there," he pointed to a much larger door, amply varnished and with a star on it. "That's where the strippers are." Brian paused, turning and eyeing Angel. "Rebecca said you might be in there soon, provided you learn your routine. Angel. Geez. That's gonna be a pussy run."

Angel narrowed his eyes, glared, but managed again to say nothing.

"Hey Brian, this the new pretty boy?" A naked man called out, and Angel's eyes widened as the shaved headed Latino winked in his direction laughing as he opened the door and went inside.

"That's Rolando- he's a slut. Don't mess with him," Brian said, pulling him by the forearm. "Alright, Rebecca and Donald's offices are in the corner, don't go into Donald's without some padding on your ass, dude likes the pinch, Rebecca at least asks."

Angel choked, and Brian patted him on the back distractedly. "All right. You're all done here. Take off your shirt, put on the tie and then meet Rebecca outside in the lounge. She'll take you through your job."

Angel was left in the middle of the room with about ten or so well built men staring at him, most half naked, some hostile, some smiling.

He was a vampire with a soul. He could handle this.

Offering a smile and a shrug, he gave a little wave. "Hey. I'm Angel."

The laughter that erupted made him blush, as he moved to the small dressing room, reaching out and pushing one of the floor boys and making him skid across the floor as he did.

As he closed the door behind him, he noticed with some contentment that the laughter had stopped.

--

"Are you sure this is the place?"

Gunn smoothed his hand over the steering wheel, pursing his lips as he craned his neck, not answering Fred's question right away.

"Looks like it," he said after a minute, eyes scanning over the numbers. "Yeap. This is the place."

"Jennifer's roommate still lives here," Fred answered, holding up the small pamplet as Gunn opened the door the truck, waited patiently until he came over and opened her door, holding out her hand and allowing him to guide her out of the truck while she kept reading.

Gunn watched patiently, a smile tugging on the corner of his lips before he came forward, a palm on the small of her back. "Fred, baby. It might be easier if you looked up while we walked up the stairs."

Her eyes jerked up from the pamphlet, and she blushed, nodding before sliding the papers into her purse.

"I don't suppose we could have convinced Wesley to come," she remarked as they slowly walked up the stairs to the apartment.

Gunn only frowned slightly. Honestly, the fact that Wesley was coming to work and allowing himself to take charge at all was considered progress.

His breath hitched slightly as he remembered the terrified face on Winnifred's face, tripping and falling with horror in the hallways of the Hyperion, running from an ax-wielding Wesley who was attempting to kill her, would have raped her or something much worse-

He shook himself, tried to shake the emotion off, and in a selfish bout of relief, thanked God that it hadn't been him, that he had been able to keep enough control to get Fred to knock him out before he had done anything.

A possessive hand settled on Fred's shoulder, and when she gave him a distracted smile, he felt a tug inside of him, making him breathe a little irregularly as they reached the steps of the immaculate townhouse gated place.

"Uh… last name… Sanders, I think," she said, and Gunn obediently pressed the numbers to the corresponding name on the callbox, waiting until he heard a scratchy, 'hello' before he began to speak.

"Ms. Sanders?"

There was a pause.

"Yes?"

"I apologize for intruding. My name is Charles Gunn, I'm here with my associate Winnifred Burkle. We're here investigating the death of Jennifer Suddage. We were hoping we could ask you some questions?"

When the voice finally answered, it seemed hesitant, almost scared. "Are you with the police?"

"No, ma'am, we're detectives."

Again, there was a pause.

"Angel Investigations?"

Gunn and Fred shot each other looks, and Fred quickly spoke into the machine. "Yes, ma'am."

The door was buzzed open immediately, and Gunn didn't waste time, opening the gated door and letting Fred through first.

--

Rebecca Hull wore a black pantsuit that was expensively tailored. She wore diamond earrings that appeared deceptively small, and her hair was cropped shoulder length, loose, but never moving an inch.

As she stood in the middle of her domain, a martini in her hand, hazel eyes roving over the as yet empty strip club, she looked very much like a cat.

When Angel entered, her eyes caught his, and she smiled, waving him over.

"You're on time. That gives you better marks than over half the men here."

"Hi," he said, hands clenched to his side, looking down at his bare chested body when he noticed she had yet to meet his eyes.

She frowned, and leaned forward, letting a finger slid over his chest.

When he stiffened, she merely gave him a look, shaking her head. "Don't worry, this is business. I play for the other team."

The cough she received only made her roll her eyes, as she smoothed her hand over his chest, walking around and proceeding to do the same to his back.

"Nice, firm tones. You work out?"

"I do a lot of fighting."

"Martial arts?"

"Something like that."

"Hmm." She pursed her lips, crossing her arms, and stepping back, as if to take in the whole package. After a second, she asked, "Do you have a girlfriend, Angel?"

There was hesitancy in the answer, and Angel wasn't sure why, as the words formed in his mouth, and then carefully came out, "No."

She waited, another smirk on her lips. "Next time, do yourself a favor, and answer immediately. Women around here don't like guys with girlfriends. Especially not you. You're Angel, untouchable." She came forward, cocking her head. "Angelic face, but something else completely. Wolf in sheep's clothing."

He couldn't help but let a grim smile of irony escape. "That about sums it up."

"One more question before I get you your tray."

Angel pursed his lips, crossing his arms as he looked into the woman's eyes. Cold, calculating, mischievous, he knew the kind. Taking a sniff, he found the results confusing. Completely confusing.

Human…

"Okay."

"This little hesitancy of yours, the little girl that popped in your head before you answered, that's not going to be a problem, is it? I pay my men well, Angel. But I need them free and clear."

The grin that emerged was pure Angelus, and it came almost too easily, as the vampire chuckled, grim and foreboding as he answered, "Don't worry, you've got all of me. I need the money."

She gave him a long look, and nodded, satisfied.

"Good, then get to work. The bouncers will make sure the girls won't feel you completely up." She began to move off, and suddenly turned, arms brushing his as she leaned forward, voice softer, firmer. "One more thing. The ladies with the roses? Look like they have money? You give them anything they want. And I do mean everything. You got it?"

Angel paused, looked at her, slightly startled at the blatant innuendo, but he nodded. "Sure, I got it."

Her hand reached up and pressed against his face, smiling. "Thank you, Angel. I have a feeling you'll do just fine here."

--

It was a curious problem.

Cordelia Chase, though she had long since been aware of her own weakness when it came to the new fall collection, and her overwhelming desire to overspend on all of it, simply because she now had free license too, actually had her mind on other matters.

Her hands moved over the catalogues, mind filled with attempting to get back into the rich bitch mode, and instead found it pulled into two different directions.

The first was Angel, and that was no surprise. As her best friend and closest confident, the fact of the matter was that he was always on her mind. Fear of Angelus, and love for her friend, and with grim reluctance even she had to acknowledge that there was a sweet sense of irony in the fact that the one person she trusted above anyone else in the world and the one person she feared above all else were all in one very sweet face.

Angel was a vampire who had faced down hordes, and had done trial by fires by the thousands. He had gone to hell and back, literally, at least twice, and survived.

But when it came to human, social situations, Angel truly sucked.

There was no way around that, and she felt the knot in her stomach that refused to let her concentrate at the thought of him now, in that club, all alone, with no one there to really shelter him, provide the needed buffer that overly, dark and broody had come had come to rely upon.

She sighed.

"Something wrong?"

The voice belonged to the other distraction, one Wesley Wyndham Price, the man who had recently given her own vampire a run for his money in brooding and self blame.

She gave another breath out, and shrugged, turning her eyes back down to the pages. "Just thinking about Angel, is all."

"Oh?" He came forward, glasses glinting slightly as he lowered himself into the chair, watching her with a crease in his forehead.

Her eyes were frank, begging him to be honest. "Do you really think he'll be okay?"

Wesley gave a small shrug, eyes dark and pensive as he rested his chin on his forearms, leaning forward as if at a soda fountain. "If I hadn't believed in him I wouldn't have allowed him to do this."

Cordelia frowned, and finally nodded, turning back to the pages. "I guess." He was quiet, and she waited, patiently, until she finally said, "What?"

"Nothing, I just…"

"She doesn't blame you, Wesley. And you're not talking to anyone about it. It's going to fester. And if it doesn't get out soon you'll explode or recede and you'll lose her completely." He had gone completely still, as she turned, tone gentle, but firm. "Wesley, get over it. Find a way. If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine, talk to Angel, or Gunn, or Fred even, but please. Angel's enough of a masochist, we don't need another one."

That got a small smile, and she leaned forward, her hand a gentle caress on his cheek, disrupted when the door opened and Gunn and Fred walked through the door.

On their faces were grim expressions of worry.

"What happened?"

Fred came forward first, laying down the papers she carried with her, and turning to Gunn as he offered his usual summary.

"This is some serious crap, ya'll."

"Perhaps something a little more descriptive?" Wesley suggested, straightening up.

"We talked to her roommate," Fred said, her accent giving her words a honeyed faded drawl. "She said that before Jennifer died, she was scared… she said she owed all this money and if she pay up… bad things would happen."

"And homegirl also said Jennifer never said who she owed the money too, but she's been a regular at the DanceHall for a while, and come to think of it, according to this chick, all these problems started when she started going."

"So at least we know we're hitting the right nerve," Cordelia acknowledged, secretly thankful there had been no vision to pound into her head and incapacitate her completely in order to get that information.

"So Jennifer was in trouble before the murder," Wesley said. Gunn gave a grim smile as he nodded, and Wesley shook his head, immediately lost in thought. "I just find it odd…"

"Find what odd?" Fred asked.

He was staring at the counter, mind focused completely, "Why on earth wouldn't she come to us? We had helped her before, we could have helped her again."

"Maybe she didn't want our help."

"Or maybe it wasn't anything we could help with," Cordelia interjected. When Gunn gave her a quizzical look, she elaborated, "What I mean is, maybe it's not supernatural. I mean, don't you think I would have gotten a vision by now if it were?"

"So homegirl just got in trouble with her bookie?"

"That doesn't explain the other disappearances."

Gunn grabbed the file that contained the information on the other missing persons. "Fred and I can look into this tomorrow, right Fred?"

He winked, and she smiled, nodding as she pulled one long bang out of her face, eyes locking with Charles', moving to take the file to peruse the contents.

Cordelia observed the interaction, and Wesley's own look of observance and the passing sadness, with a frown.

"Why don't you go along, Wes?" she asked pointedly.

When both Fred and Gunn looked at him expectantly, he only flushed, and slowly shook his head no. "I would rather- I have some things to do here. Gunn and Fred will do just fine on their own."

Fred's smile curled into a frown, but Gunn only nodded, oblivious to the female's agitation to Wesley's state. "All right, dude. But get some sleep okay? You look kinda tired." He gave Fred a grin. "What do you think? Ready to try that new race car game?"

Fred let her eyes slip from Wesley's gaze, and immediately nodded, taking Charles' outstretched hand and allowing him to lead her into the game room.

Cordelia was quiet, letting out a soft sigh, as Wesley looked down, pulling off his glasses.

"That's not going to work."

"Pardon?"

"The glasses thing isn't going to work, Wesley. You can see the situation as clearly as I can."

He was quiet, and his tone was firm as he answered, "Perhaps you might be of better use concentrating on your guise instead of deconstructing me?"

Oooh. Ouch.

Cordelia sighed, and let it go.

"Fine, Wesley," she muttered, snapping the magazines closed and grabbing her coat, heading towards the door. "Fester. But I'm not going to let it go, as long as you keep holding on to it."

--

It was late, or early, when he walked through the doors of the Hyperion, and in a true testament to the hours that had become regular, the lights were all on, and voices were still flitting through the halls.

Gunn's laughter could easily be heard from the foyer, followed by Fred's chatter, and he paused, almost smiling as he heard it, distracted for just a moment from the utter turmoil in his heart.

Wesley's office light was on, and he headed that way, finding the Englishman seated as his desk, reading.

"Hey, Wes."

Wesley looked up, eyes somber, losing that glint that had come and never really returned since Billy.

Billy.

Angel took a breath, leaning against the doorway, pushing away the feelings that had come so easily with the bastard. The look of pain in Cordelia's eyes had been telling enough to allow him to lie, to say there was no one responsible for Billy, but the truth was it was him, and he would do it again.

If it came between choosing Cordelia and something of that nature, there simply wasn't a choice.

In the long run, he wondered where that put him on the Powers' ideals.

And then he realized he no longer cared. He didn't fight for them.

But what it did to Wesley was something he would carry with him for a long while.

"How'd it go?"

"I survived, but to be I'd rather be back in hell." Angel offered a wry grin, and Wesley smiled back, removing his glasses. "Have you seen Cordelia?"

"I imagine she's up in her room."

"Her room."

"The one she stays in on late nights. She went shopping today."

"Oh. Thanks." Angel turned out of the doorway, and turned back. "You okay, Wes?"

"Fine thank you."

The tone was dismissive, and Angel frowned, but turned, anxious to see his Seer.

He crossed the lobby, and was suddenly met with Fred and Gunn's voices, who called to him as they stood in the doorway, smiles on their faces.

"Yo, Angel! How'd it go?"

"Not going to talk about it."

"Did you get your booty pinched?"

Fred giggled and said something and Gunn smirked as Angel growled at Charles.

"Charles, leave him alone," Fred said, pulling back into the room, the giggling and laughing making Angel turn his head and shake it in wonder.

Taking the steps two at a time, he was at her door in less than a minute, knocking carefully.

"Who is it?"

"It's me."

"Oh, hi! Come in!" Angel carefully uncurled the knob, steps faltering when he saw the bareness of her back as she carefully slid the spaghetti strap over her shoulder. "Can you zip me up?" she asked.

Angel paused, throat suddenly dry, looking behind him to make sure it was he who was getting asked this question.

"What?"

She gave him an impatient look, motioning with her head. "Zip me up! I'm limber and all but…"

"Oh, okay." With a curiously closed throat, Angel stepped forward, hesitantly reaching for the zipper that rested on the painted tattoo on the small of Cordelia's back.

She smelled nice, and he found his eyes transfixed on the bare back, smooth and creamy, with out blemish, silken to the touch.

"Angel!"

"Sorry," he said, reaching forward, hands gentle, a shiver jolting unexpectedly through him as he gathered the soft fabric in his hands and with his large fingers fumbled the zipper up to the top. "There," he said hastily, stepping back.

"Geez. Barney the dinosaur would have been gentler."

Stepping back, she turned to inspect herself in the mirror, hands at her sides, adjusting the line of the dress as she walked backwards on the stiletto heels, the red dress slim fitting, reaching down to her calves, arms and shoulders bare save for the little spaghetti straps that Angel suspected would break if he even thought about tugging down-

"So how'd it go?"

He blinked. "What?"

She rolled her eyes, giving him a huff as she moved to the dress, reaching into another box and pulling out a roll of beads. "The Dancehall, silly. How'd it go?"

"I…uh… Cordy where'd we get the money to pay for all this?"

"Nabbit. Wrote it off as a donation," she answered flippantly, handing the pearls to him and turning around.

Angel felt almost proud that he knew what to do without being told, gently reaching around her and moving the pearls around the column of her neck. "It was… not good," he answered. "But I got tips. A lot of them."

"Oh yeah?"

He grinned at the distracted, but slightly angry tone as he clipped the pearls together. "Yeah."

"Well don't get too comfortable, stud muffin," she grumbled. "It'll only be a few days before I go in there and break up the little party."

"Umm… right." She reached for the jewelry box, this time picking up a gold bracelet and handing it to him.

He frowned, fussing with the clip. What was it about these damn things, just the wrong pressure and the thing would-

*snap*

Angel's eyes widened, and then looked at Cordelia who was staring in open mouthed horror. "I'm sorry."

She sighed, huffed and plucked the bracelet with the broken clasp away. "I'll do that myself," she said with a forced grin. "Moron."

"Cordelia."

"Hmm."

"I have this routine I have to learn." From his pocket he produced a video tape cassette.

She whirled, eyes fixed on the cassette. "Already?"

"Rachel thinks I'm hot."

"Who the hell is Rachel?!"

He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it at the sight of Cordelia with her hands on her hips, heels tapping, and closed it.

"No one."

"Oh, no, Mr. Studly who is she?"

"Just a lady… she's… old. OLD. Really OLD. And-"

"Rich, and snobby and wants to get in your pants?"

"Something like that," he admitted.

"Have I mentioned I hate you doing this?"

He felt something give inside of him, a warmth that made him smile. "A few times."

She came forward, shaking her head as she took the cassette from his hands, shifting it between her palms. "So?"

"So… I was… you know… since you… well you danced… and…"

"Angel," came the impatient huff.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want me to help you learn the routine?"

Damn. He was a bad ass vampire, right? What the hell was wrong with him?

Almost meek, he nodded.

For that, he was blessed with a smile.

"First thing tomorrow morning, what do you say we forgo sword practice and work on 'pet me I'm a whore' instead?"

He gave a relieved grin. "Sounds good."

"Great. Now leave me alone. I have to change."

"You look… really nice, Cordy."

"Thanks Angel. Bye." He backed away, sneaking another look and opened the door. "Angel?"

His head swiveled back. "Yeah?"

"Stay the hell away from this Rachel bitch."

Her eyes were glinting and he found it much easier to just nod and agree as he closed the door, shaking his head in bewilderment, and finding himself smiling even as he did.

--