Even though I most definitely knew what she was talking about, I didn't take the bait. "How did you get in here? Waitresses don't have access."
"I've been staying with Sandra until I find an apartment. She let me have her keycard and code."
My eyes met hers, and I stared her down hard looking for any hint of lies. I'd been in and out of the bar area hauling trash and getting supplies. It was thin, but she could have slipped in while I was in the back.
"Hey Baby, I have to roll. It looks like you have this under control."
While I'd been talking with our intruder, Ethan had reclaimed his boots and pulled his vest over his bare chest.
"Are you sure? Miss Hyatt is leaving."
He jumped on the stage, gathered a handful of my hair and tilted my head to kiss me. With his tousled hair and gleaming arrogant eyes, Ethan was all the way back in character.
"Yeah, I'm sure. I need to let the brothers know mission accomplished."
Another kiss, this time accompanied by a grope of the tattoo on my hip, and he strutted to the door without a look back. The fading growl of his bike and he was gone.
Until tonight.
A quiet cough reminded me I wasn't alone.
"Hyatt, I've fired people for a lot less than this. You're lucky that you're good, and that I need you. Get out of here and don't come back until your next shift. And while you're at it, tell Sandra that I expect to see her sequin-spangled ass in my office tomorrow before the dance rotation. She's busted to the floor for a week.
"Please don't punish her. I made her do it."
"Your opinion doesn't carry much weight right this minute. Take me up on my offer and make yourself scarce."
A scuttle of heels on the hardwoods, a flash of blonde curls, and the click of the door told me that I was alone.
Despite the full shift, the acrobatics, and the intimate aches, coupled with adrenalin, had my eyes wide open. I gathered up my clothes, relishing the memory, and let Simon out of my office. After I pulled on a pair of gym shorts, I knotted Ethan's shirt tight at my waist, broke out the rags, and didn't stop until I could see myself in the brass. It was bright daylight when I propped a note on the bar with a list of chores and a promise of violent death to anyone who woke me up before two. With my dog snuggled under my chin, I fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER 7
Evidently, I don't take my own threats seriously. I was awake and out of the shower before noon. That's okay, I could grab a nap before the Saturday night rush. Cup of coffee in hand, I considered the pile of paperwork on my desk.
Hell no.
I'd catch up on Monday, my usual day off.
"Come on Simon; let's go see what the mice have been up to while the cat was in bed."
Joey was wiping down the bar. "What happened to sleeping in?"
"What, and let you all think you could run this place without me? I'll handle the bar. Go back and make sure everything is ready for tonight."
I like working lunch. Unlike many dance clubs, the Lightning doesn't look like a tired old shack when the neon goes dark. Sunlight filtered through the blinds and glinted off the wood and brass. Only one stage was working, with the music mellow and muted. We'd become popular for business lunches, and the tiered corners made excellent meeting places for those with more discreet things to discuss.
"Excuse me, can I see a menu?"
I looked up from my lime slicing. My new customer seated himself at the far end of the bar away from the dancer and our resident daytime drinkers.
"Sure thing. What can I get for you while you decide?"
"I'll take a Jack neat and do you have something light to go with lunch?"
The locals drink generic draft by the barrel. I keep a few good craft and imported beers in stock for the tourists. I opened the fridge and checked my choices.
"Do you have a preference?"
"Surprise me."
That's when it hit me. No accent. Not a hint of a drawl or twang. I reached to the back of the cooler and grabbed a Stiegl Radler.
"Canned?" he asked.
"Humor me. This Shandy is the perfect thing for a sticky Mississippi day. In other words, it's always the right choice."
He drank deep and smiled from behind the menu.
"It's perfect, exactly like I knew it would be. Why don't you order my lunch as well? Bring me a plate of whatever this place does best."
This threw me. I've fielded more than my fair share of come-ons. They didn't call me a tight-ass bitch for no reason. This guy wasn't going there. Instead of the leers that I shut down with a glare, his voice came across as educated and neutral, almost amused. There was no hint of a threat, but the familiarity piqued my suspicion. My gut told me not to back down from the challenge.
"One special coming right up." I bent into a mock bow as I backed through the double doors toward the kitchen.
I jotted down a list of dishes for the cook. I use a lot of fresh local ingredients because I hadn't lost my touch for barter, and the farmers liked what I have to trade. I picked out the best because, for some reason, I wanted to impress this guy.
When I returned, my mystery customer had his nose buried in a newspaper. As I walked by, he slid the empty mug toward me without a word. After getting him a refill, I played a game of Liars Dice with the regulars, letting an old guy who came in every Saturday win a free draft. Before he could roll again, a flashing light over the door let me know the order was ready.
The newspaper didn't come down until the plate clinked on the bar.
"A hamburger and hot wings?"
"Yes and no. My cook calls it Buck and Cluck. The burger is venison sausage, and the wing sauce is a local favorite."
I got my first good look at him while he sprinkled salt on the fries. He was average, in a calculated way, like he worked hard to blend into the background. His gray-streaked hair and goatee were short and neat, but the accountant-insurance-agent glasses were out of character with his dark tan. The navy polo shirt wasn't tight, but it didn't hide his trim toned physique. Lean muscle roped the forearm working the shaker.
"Juliana, you are right. This is outstanding."
I almost dropped the mug I was drying and the skin on my arm prickled. It wasn't being called by name; it was the droll humor in his voice. He'd gotten to me and was enjoying it.
A voice from the other end of the bar broke the tension. Well, I was tense. My guest was casually dismembering chicken wings and licking sauce off his fingertips. I called Joey on my radio. I had a feeling I was going to be busy for a while.
CHAPTER 8
"What are we going to do about our boy Ethan," asked the stranger between bites. Fear and anger zinged through me. I glanced down the bar to where Joey had taken my place in the dice game. The measured conversational tone hadn't carried nor had his expression changed as he loaded coleslaw onto his fork.
"I'm done playing. Who are you?"
"Calm down. I'm a friend. In fact, I'm the best friend both of you have." As he reached for his drink, he slipped a business card under my hand. It was hard to keep my face composed as I read it. It advertised a luxury sailboat outfitter from Florida. I knew better.
"Max Gano?"
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Martin. I can see why Ethan's so taken with you. You're as lovely, tough, and smart as he said. Sorry about the dicking around, I needed to verify how you handled yourself. You reacted with the style I expected. By the way, this beer and lunch combo is the best damn thing I've ever tasted." He punctuated the last sentence by soaking fries in the wing sauce before popping them into his mouth.
Concern warred with curiosity. Max is Ethan's watchdog in the FBI. More like his lifeline. When Ethan is undercover, Max got the information and resources needed to make the assignments work. Results were more important than methods. This man who looked like a dentist on vacation from his McMansion was a career operative that walked both sides of the street with impunity.
"So, I'm passing through on my way to check
out a Regatta Yacht east of New Orleans. She's a beauty, built at the German Kiel Shipyard in 1932. The owner died, and his family is looking to turn dad's money pit into cash. Any luck I'll get it for a song."
Max's loud slurred voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I turned and almost plowed into a busboy coming on duty. I sent him to Joey for instructions. I also got the game. Turning back to the bar, I tidied up his dirty dishes.
"That sounds awesome. I'll admit, being from Dallas, I don't know much about boats. Please, tell me more."
"Pretty lady, get me a cup of coffee with a shot, and I'll tell you anything you want to hear. In fact, I'd love it if you joined me. Watch out, though, my first wife said I could talk the bark right off a tree."
In a heartbeat, Max was another tourist trying to get over on the bartender. It gave me a chance to talk with him without raising suspicion. I was doing my job and running up the tab.
Max morphed back to his cultured demeanor as he mixed Jack Daniels and cream into the mug. His slow wink didn't chase away all of my concerns.
"Why are you here? Is Ethan in trouble?"
"Since I don't have time for subtleties, I'll give it to you straight. The suits two pay grades above me think he's gone rogue and want me to file a report based on my observations. Any opinion or did you two get any talking done last night?"
Before I could respond, he said, "I've been in town for a couple of days watching this place. I knew the MC was headed here and put two and two together. I saw him pull in, but thought you deserved a reunion before I complicated things. Was I right?"
My blush must have been enough of an answer because he saluted me with his mug.
I leaned in and acted like I was flirting with him, "Why do they think that? One of the last things he said to me was that he had intel on the club that he wanted me to deliver to you. Like you so charmingly pointed out, we got sidetracked. I don't know the details, but I do know Ethan. He's completely invested in this."
Max's smile twisted into a smirk that had no humor in it at all. I got a glimpse of the dangerous man lurking beneath the benign surface.
"Sweetheart, there's the right way, the wrong way, and the government way. You don't know the depth of the hatred for him in certain sections of Justice. That clusterfuck of a busted op in Austin embarrassed a lot of self-important people. Careers are dying on the vine. My guess is they're setting him up. Claiming he's gone native is the first step in discrediting him. I decided it was worth the risk to make contact. Before I can help him, I need to know what's going on, and I need to hear it from him in person."
My hand strayed to the scar covered by my shirt. His face softened. "I'm sorry."
"You know? The whole story?"
"Yes, I do and don't worry. The secrets about your Texas associates are safe with me. While he was on leave, Ethan was a mess. One night I bundled him onto the boat, sailed to the Keys, and poured whiskey down his throat until he broke and told me what wasn't in the file. You need to know that he would have gladly died to have spared you that ordeal."
Tears threatened. I busied myself refilling our coffee. Around me, business was picking up.
"Max, we need to finish this. What do you want from me?"
"First, I have a question. Be honest. Do you think he's using?"
I knew where he was coming from. A guy with a huge hole in his heart thrust into a situation where drugs flowed like water was a risk. My mind filled with images of Ethan's calm humor, his passion, and the smooth unmarked skin taut over his muscled frame.
I shook my head. "In my practice, I dealt with a lot of meth heads. He's not one of them. Has he chipped around to keep up his cover? I don't know. He's not a regular user."
"Good. I'll trust your judgment for the initial cut. I need you to set up a meet."
"He's coming over tonight."
"No, not here."
"Why not?"
"I had no problem stalking him last night. This joint leaks like a sieve. I guarantee it's already getting around that you're sweating it up with an outlaw biker."
Despite all, I'd heard, I had to laugh. I liked Max very much.
"You're right. Gossip is a full-body contact sport around here. I know a place. At the east end of the public beach in Ocean Springs, there's a string of fishing piers. Are you familiar with them?"
"I can be."
"A few are private with locked gates. One of them is easy to jimmy. A friend showed it to me. It's a nice place for a quiet drink and watching the water."
"A friend?"
I finished my coffee.
"He's not that kind of friend. Someone who did for me what you did for Ethan. He got me to talk and didn't try to fix it. Instead, he listened and kept the wine and tissues coming. Not the whole story but I was able to tell him enough to lance the wound."
"Sounds good. Not tonight. There'll be too many people hanging out at the beach on Saturday night. How about Sunday, say three in the morning? And don't tell him why I'm here. Say it's about the op. I know you don't like lying to him, but this is important. I have to see how he reacts to me."
"You're right. I don't like it, but I get it. How should I contact you to confirm?"
"Call the number on the card. If it's a go, leave a message saying you're in Dallas and want to sell your dad's sailboat. If it's a no-go or there's a problem, tell me you're from Austin. In fact, that's your code for the time being. Any problem or emergency, you're from Austin. If you have info or need to talk, you're from Dallas. Which gate is it?"
"The red one. Use a screwdriver to pop the lock." I liked the idea of someone with Max's talents out there watching over me. I wasn't stupid enough to believe he was all about altruism. I'd earn my keep. In less than an hour, he'd already pulled me into the operation. He'd made it clear I was part of the family. Like the old days, money is good but favors are gold.
I put the check on the bar. "Normally, I'd say it's on the house, but that would draw comment."
"I wouldn't let you. I can be quiet and self-absorbed or a loud half-drunk asshole and forgotten in an hour. Any special treatment and people remember."
He tucked several bills under the check, patted my hand, and left without another word.
Joey was at my side in a flash.
"Is the boss lady finally going to get laid? Wait, too late."
Max's words about the club being a sieve were still in my head when I turned. Joey's eyes danced with humor and unasked questions.
"Explain yourself. What are you talking about?"
"Mason is on call for graveyard this month. He stopped by here last night for a drink and caught your performance. Later, when he was on his way to work, there was a real big motorcycle parked by the side door. It was still there when he came home. Then you leave orders to let you sleep in, well, what's a guy to think? The biggest tell of all is that you're in a good mood. For that alone, I'd like to shake that man's hand and buy him a beer. I'm guessing Mr. Badass delivered the goods."
Busted in less than a day. He was right though, I was in a good mood, even with Max's revelations. Joey was messing with me. He's the friend who'd taken me out to the pier and helped me purge my heart. That night he'd shared his own secrets. I was one of the few people who knew he was gay. He came to work for me when he quit the chemical plant after a disastrous affair with a very married and deeply-closeted manager. He took up with Mason, an engineer at the same plant, a few months later. Their lame "roommates" story had held up well.
"I need to check my notes. Have I told you to go to hell today?"
"It's early. I want you to weigh your options. Mr. Straight-And-Narrow tooled in driving a sweet bottle-green '65 Mustang. As your friend, I want to point out that he may be a better provider and potential partner than your first choice. Although, I will say that biker-boy totally rocked that denim and black leather."
"Go to hell, Joey."
His laugh told me that I had a long day ahead of me.
CHAPTER 9
Max was right.
By the time the night bar crowd started to filter in, news of my good mood and the reason behind it had spread through the staff.
I fielded a steady stream of requests to swap shifts or take extra days off. What the hell, if I could grant it without messing up my razor thin schedule, I said yes. I've been a bitch lately, even more than usual. Planning Sheriff Sheldon's party was making me crazy.
The party.
At least half of the paperwork on my desk concerned the party. The bar owner told me the sky was the limit. Three days of round-the-clock open bar and buffet with continuous music and dancers was going to stretch every resource I could muster. All to celebrate the execution of convicted killer Billy Ray Simpson. Tomorrow was Sunday, the start of two days of downtime for the club. I need to drop the secret agent shit and work on the arrangements without distractions.
"Juliana, we've got a problem."
With her hair in a scarf and no makeup, my lead dancer Chloe was indistinguishable from the PTA mothers she ran with during the day. Working here was the shortest distance between having to apply for food stamps and providing a nice home for her kids. I let her schedule the talent and music. After ten years on the stage, she had an uncanny sense of what generated the best tips.
"What's up?"
"Laura called in sick. With Sandra waiting tables, we're short on the poles. I could sure use her back."
My new found mellow hadn't extended to Sandra when she crept into the club earlier that afternoon. I'd thoroughly chewed her ass before confiscating her keycard and knocking her down to waitress for a week.
"Please? The crowd loves her, and she's the only one with enough hours left not to pull overtime. Plus, she's really sorry."
"I do believe this is the first time you've ever tried to appeal to my better nature."
She didn't say anything. Her expression told me all I needed to know.
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