by Vicki Tharp
St. John sat at one end of the table, Finn on the other. Soto pulled the jacket on and took a seat across from Jenna. “That’s not the word out on the street.”
Drug runners must be bigger gossips than Pearl, down at the diner.
“What are they saying?” Quinn asked.
“Talking about the fight. How you had a couple of opportunities in which you could have run, but you didn’t.” Finn didn’t look happy about that. In fact, he didn’t look happy about anything. “That’s why we think we have a good shot at getting you on the inside. These boys are all about loyalty.”
Quinn nodded. “I understand loyalty.”
“This loyalty is different,” Finn put in. “It’s a one-way street that runs downhill.”
Jenna sat back. “What does that mean?”
“The little dogs are loyal to the big dogs. Not so much the other way around,” Soto said.
Quinn glanced at Soto. “So, basically, trust no one and watch our backs.”
“Ding, ding, ding,” Soto said, “we have a winner. What does our contestant win, Bob?” Soto said, in what was an impressive game-show-host voice. She must binge-watch The Price Is Right.
“Can you be serious for five minutes?” Finn had that sour look on his face, like his kid had just embarrassed him in front of the entire PTA.
“Ever think about asking for a little less starch on those collars?”
Finn tossed his pen on the table and leaned back. If this wasn’t so serious, Jenna would ask when intermission was so she could grab popcorn for the second act.
“If nothing else,” St. John said, “you got instant street cred. The fact that you got arrested with the rest of them kind of sealed it.”
“What am I supposed to do with this street cred?”
“We,” Jenna said. “What do we do with this street cred?”
“Exploit the hell out of it.” Soto rubbed her hands together as if anxious to start.
St. John said, “Starting out, we don’t want anything else but to make contact. Show interest in getting some drugs. Get those samples Moose promised you.”
“Those samples were dependent on a pool game. Which we never got to finish,” Quinn said.
The answer was obvious to Jenna. “Then we finish it.”
“No.” His tone left no room for argument, but that only made Soto smile like a kid who thrived on confrontation instead of sugar.
“Why not?” Finn said.
“Because the other part of that bet was if she lost, Moose got to buy her a drink. Alone. That’s not going to happen.”
“That’s only if I lose.”
Quinn ducked his head and closed his eyes. He must have started counting down from a high number because it took him a long time to say, “I beat you. What makes you think you can beat him?”
“You didn’t beat me, Quinn. I let you win.”
Jenna let that sink in a moment. Not the part about he’d only won because she let him. He wasn’t the kind of guy who cared whether a girl beat him at a game.
What she let sink in was the fact that she’d let him win, because his winning meant he’d won a night with her. Quinn was a smart man. Quick on the uptake. He shook his head, a smile ghosting across his lips.
“Moose is all brute strength and no talent,” Jenna said. “It won’t take much to beat him.”
“Quinn, I like your girl.” Soto slapped the table and stood. “Sounds like we have a plan.” To Finn and St. John she said, “You guys deal with the wires and procedures and catch me up later. I got a date with a three-toothed drug dealer.”
She strode to the door, but before she left, she stripped off Finn’s jacket, much slower than necessary. The flush that ran up Finn’s face put the devil’s smile on hers.
Finn caught the door and called someone else into the room. A middle-aged woman stepped in with a hard-sided case in her hand.
“This is Ms. Burnett,” St. John said. “She’ll be the one fitting you two with the wires.”
“No wires,” Quinn said. “Moose is jumpy enough about them.”
“But he trusts you,” Finn said.
“It’s not like we slashed our palms and become blood brothers or anything. He may trust me more than Joe Blow off the street, but we’d be stupid to assume he won’t check.”
Burnett glanced at St. John. St. John eyed Finn. Apparently, the fed had the final say.
“We’ll forego it this time. But next—”
“No. No wires. Not this time. Not next time. Not ever.”
“We need proof.”
“I—” Quinn glanced to Jenna. “We’ll come up with something.”
“Fine,” Finn ground out, waving a dismissing hand at Burnett. He dug around in his briefcase and came up with two sets of papers. “These are the liability release forms, a list of rules that govern confidential informants, as well as your limited permission to accept drugs for the sole purpose of giving them to Agent Soto for testing.”
The documents were several pages long, and Jenna settled in to read. Quinn breezed through it. Finn passed out a pen each, and Jenna turned to the back page to sign and date.
“Don’t sign it,” Quinn said.
“Why the hell not?” If St. John’s patience wore any thinner, it would be transparent.
“It says we can’t be armed.”
“No guns, no knives. No weapons of any kind. It’s for your own safety.”
“Our safety? I may not be in law enforcement, but it doesn’t take police training to know that we’ll most likely be the only ones not armed. How does that make us safer?”
“Those are the rules.” Finn likely had them tattooed all over his body. Unless tattoos were against the rules.
“Wouldn’t the bad guys know the ‘rules’?” Jenna asked. Quinn’s double-dimple smile flashed at her. “If we show up without weapons, won’t it scream ‘snitch’?”
“They’d probably shoot us on the spot.”
“No. Weapons.” Finn’s left eyelid started twitching.
Quinn shoved the papers back at Finn and they stood. “Then no deal.”
Jenna heard a muffled snap. It might have been the pen breaking in Finn’s fist, or Finn’s will to live starting to crack.
“Sit down,” Finn ordered.
Jenna sat. Quinn did, too, but he wasn’t in any hurry. Finn took each set of papers, scribbled out the no weapons clauses, initialed, and signed. Then passed them over. His willingness to forego the requirements showed how desperate they were to infiltrate the cartel.
Finn stood to leave. To St. John, he said, “I trust you can take it from here. Make sure they have Soto’s contact number.”
He graced Jenna and Quinn with a curt nod and left. St. John tossed the broken pen in the trash and slid the other one over for them to sign. “Moose said he’d find you. Tonight, your job is to make that easy for him.”
Quinn passed Jenna his packet, and she stacked it on top of hers and handed them over to the sheriff.
The sheriff’s face was grim. “Let’s all hope this decision doesn’t get you killed.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You think he’s ever going to show?” Jenna said, as she leaned over the pool table and missed a shot that a one-armed, blind man could have easily made.
Reluctantly, Quinn pulled his gaze off the curve of her ass and went around the table to make his shot. The holstered gun hidden under the shirt that Boomer had lent him dug into his abdomen as he leaned over. “Relax. The Mustang is parked out front. Give him a chance to know we’re here.”
He made that shot. And the next and the next, clearing the table despite the torn felt in front of the corner pocket he’d chosen.
Jenna racked the balls Quinn rolled down to her. “It’s been three hours. I can only play pool and fake-drink for so long. The poor pot
ted plant is looking drunk.”
Quinn smiled. “I was wondering where you were putting it all.”
“What about you?”
“The floor drain. I’m switching to beer next. I hate wasting whiskey, even if it’s cheap enough to strip paint.”
Jenna broke without sinking any balls. Panic lay in shallow furrows at the bottom of his belly. These games were supposed to be practice for the real deal. At this rate, they’d never get the drug samples from Moose.
And Moose would be buying her a drink. Alone.
“You okay?” he asked.
Quinn lined up on the nine ball and shot it into the side pocket. And scratched. Holy hell. They were so screwed. How did he ever let Jenna talk him and the rest of the task force into such a screwed-up plan?
He straightened as she came around the table and leaned against the side. “Are you?”
No point in bullshitting her. “I don’t know. A part of me wants to nail these bastards. Another part says Kurt’s dead and there’s nothing anyone can do to bring him back. Or make that better.”
“It’s gonna work out. It has to. We’re in this together.”
“That’s what worries me. There’s no reason for you to put yourself in danger.”
“And there’s a reason for you to be at risk?”
“That’s different.” He didn’t know how. He didn’t think he was being chauvinistic. He didn’t have an issue with women being in the military, or even combat, if that’s how they rolled. But this, with Jenna, was different.
“How?” She laid her cue down and boosted herself up onto the table, tugged the hem of her dress down to her knees, and crossed her boots at the ankle. She wasn’t going anywhere until she got an answer. A real answer.
He traced one of the inlaid diamond sights with his finger and finally said, “You matter. You found a way to help wild mustangs and veterans. You have a list of veterans who are waiting for the chance for you to help them. You have all these people in your life who depend on you, who love you. Friends. Family. The world is a better place with you in it.”
She picked up his hand and traced the ridges, the valleys, the vessels on the back of his hand. She swallowed hard. When she met his gaze, her eyes were soft, sympathetic. “Even if that’s all true. That doesn’t make you expendable. Your CO—”
“Can replace me next week.”
“Your friends—”
“Are dead.”
Her mouth tightened. “Your family—”
“Is ashamed of me.”
She socked him in the shoulder, her knuckle hitting a nerve. “Ow! What the—”
“Quinn Powell, you matter, too. To me.”
The words made his chest tight. He would have told her that she was wrong, but he wasn’t up for an argument. He shook his arm until the sting abated, then stepped between her legs, resting his hands on her hips. “Show me.”
Her eyes narrowed as if she was deciding whether she’d let the subject change slide. “Right here? On the pool table?”
Quinn’s fingertips found bare skin at the back of her dress as he glanced around. A few guys were at one end of the bar, eyes glued to the baseball game. The conversations and the jukebox were quiet. “Might liven this place up.”
Moose bulldozed his way through the front door dragging a couple of baby-sized moose in his wake.
“Looks like that won’t be necessary.” Jenna nudged him away and hopped down. “Showtime.”
“Where you going?”
“Ladies’ room, to freshen up. I’ll be right back.”
* * * *
In the ladies’ room at Cruisers, Jenna stared at her reflection in the mirror above the rust-stained sink. The fluorescent lights flickering overhead sallowed her skin, and highlighted the hollows of her cheeks. She needed to eat more. Not that she’d had much of an appetite lately.
Her stomach growled, though she couldn’t be hungry. She’d been feeding herself a steady supply of doom and gloom all afternoon.
Someone knocked on the door.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
She straightened her dress, readjusted the lace holster around her thigh that Mac had given her to hold the Sig Sauer P938. She pushed her boobs up to make them look perky and readjusted her neckline to show a little more cleavage. Next she put on her game face. This wasn’t a game they could afford to lose.
“Hurry up in there,” a woman said, her fist pounding on the door.
Jenna yanked the door open. “All yours, sweetheart.”
The heels of Jenna’s boots tapped on the concrete as she sauntered back into the bar, injecting an extra little sway in her hips for good measure.
Over by the pool table, Moose handed Quinn a shot of whiskey. Quinn tossed that one back, not wasting a drop on the drain.
Quinn greeted her with, “You owe our friend a game of pool.”
Moose’s face sported assorted bruises and a couple of black eyes. Moose didn’t bother with hello; instead he handed her a shot and said, “Rack ’em up.”
Like Quinn, Jenna threw the whiskey to the back of her throat. Her gut gave the liquor a turbulent toss, and she prayed it wouldn’t come back to haunt her. “Best of five?”
“One game.” Moose rubbed chalk on the end of his cue. “You win, you get the samples. I win, I get you.”
Quinn made a sound at the back of his throat, the kind a wolf does over a fresh kill.
Moose flicked a glance at Quinn. When Moose looked back, his smile went feral. “For a drink.”
Quinn racked the balls with as much enthusiasm as a member of a chain gang headed to the rock quarry.
“I’ll break.” Moose didn’t even feign courtesy this time.
His mini-moose sat at a table in the middle of the bar. One eye on them, one on the television. Neither of them had a drink. They weren’t here for fun.
All the ligaments in her knees went weak. Jenna leaned on her cue against the side of the table. Don’t look at Quinn. Don’t look at Quinn. Don’t look at Quinn. If she did, if she saw any doubt, any fear in his eyes, she’d lose it.
The cue ball shot across the green felt, and a blur of white and primary colors exploded across the table. Moose sank two balls, and Jenna tasted the whiskey again. She swallowed it back down, her throat burning, her eyes stinging. Moose tapped another ball into the corner pocket. Her mouth went dry, and Jenna heard a snap. She fell against the table as her cue gave way.
“Here,” Quinn said, quick to hand her his. “Use mine.”
She dried her hands on the front of her dress. Moose didn’t notice how nervous she was. He also didn’t make the next shot.
Her turn, and like earlier with Quinn, she missed an easy shot. Moose drained two more before it was her turn again. Quinn touched a hand to her back. Strong and steady and stable.
She missed the next shot. The seeds of dread lining her stomach germinated.
Quinn’s touch might have given her strength, but it certainly didn’t give her any skill. She chanced a look at him. He sat on a bar stool, his back against the wall, her cracked cue in his hands. She’d expected to see concern, with perhaps a healthy dose of fear mixed in. But with a wink, he mouthed, “You got this.”
You got this. The tension in her chest eased.
“You’re up,” Moose said.
What she’d been doing clearly wasn’t working, so Jenna scanned the table for the most difficult shot. If she made that shot, she could make them all. Jenna calculated angles in her head, trajectories and forces. Finally, she lined up on the cue ball.
Quinn was in the background of her field of vision. She shifted focus to him, and he smiled, like he read her thoughts, knew her strategy. He nodded once, almost imperceptible.
Taking a deep breath, she focused on the sweet spot of the ball and struck it. It bounced off the sid
e cushion, hit the end, then bounced to the other side, hitting one of Moose’s balls, which tapped hers near the corner pocket. She’d miscalculated the force needed, and her ball was going to fall short of the corner pocket by about an inch. Then, as if in slow motion, the ball hit the frayed felt and rolled into the dip, gathering just enough momentum to sink it into the pocket.
“Whoo!” Jenna hollered.
Quinn double-dimple grinned.
Moose eyed her, his confidence still in place. She had a lot more balls to sink if she stood any chance of winning.
Jenna went around the table, keeping to her strategy of hitting the most difficult shots first. Building her confidence, her momentum, and crushing Moose’s. Finally, she whittled down to the eight ball. She’d sunk much harder shots in the last ten minutes, but this shot held a good likelihood of scratching.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Moose said.
Jenna stopped her cue mid-stroke. “What kind of deal?”
“I give you the samples.”
“And in return?”
“A drink with you.” He looked at Quinn and said, “At the bar.” That Quinn wasn’t invited didn’t need saying. But at least it was in public.
“Afraid you’re going to lose?” Jenna asked.
Moose shrugged. “It’s a way for both of us to win.”
Jenna glanced at Quinn. He raised one hand as if saying “your call.”
She searched for the loophole, tried to calculate all the ways this deal could go tits up. But aside from having to spend a few minutes having a drink with Moose, she was having trouble seeing the downside.
Reaching across the table, she handed Moose the eight ball. “I’ll have a Scotch and soda.”
When Quinn stood, Moose handed him his cue. “You can wait here.”
Quinn said, “Sure,” but in her head, it sounded more like “fuck you.”
Either Moose didn’t notice the tone, or he didn’t care; either way, he led her to the bar, his hand low at the base of her spine.
She stopped. “Buying me a drink doesn’t mean you can put your hands on me.”
His expression was unreadable as he considered what she’d said, his hand now at her hip. The reality was, this man pretty much did whatever he wanted. She and Quinn could try to stop him, but they were outnumbered, and Quinn still wasn’t a hundred percent from the brawl. But she also knew that if she didn’t stand up to Moose now, in whatever dealings they were to have in the future, her hesitation might make him more likely to take advantage.