“Oui,” she said dryly, mocking his accent. “We’re partners, but only to solve this Raptor case. Nothin’ more.”
“The hell you say?” Ace gave her a once-over. “Is he fuckin’ blind? You’re a knockout. You’ve got this whole super-hot, kick-your-ass kinda vibe. Steele hasn’t tried to tap that?”
“How kind of you. Steele’s never touched me.”
Well, that’s not quite true.
“What an idiot.” Ace slid back into the booth.
Evidently, her leprosy had been cured.
“I’m not disagreein’ with you.”
Voo hmphed in response but kept his thoughts to himself. Thank God.
Ash changed the topic. “I know you don’t have menus, but—”
“Don’t worry none, I’ll bring you somethin’ delicious.”
Yeah, Ash wanted something delicious, but she needed something nutritious. Eating anything other than some combination of yogurt, fruit, and/or grains would screw with her routine. All of those rituals didn’t allow for going off script—order, control, discipline.
“Thank you, but I only feed my body healthy food.”
“And what do you feed your soul?”
She stared at him, completely flummoxed. “Uh, I care about carbs and fats, and how many grams of protein.”
He stared at her as if she’d said something incredibly stupid or offensive.
Probably both.
“Non. Food is life. Food is important. It should be an event, an experience, and if it ain’t, you’re eatin’ the wrong things.”
Okayyy.
Most people praised her food choices. There was this whole assumption of virtuousness built into eating well—as though people assumed you were a better person for resisting temptation. Ash thought it had to be some sort of puritanical hang-up built into society. Why else would high-calorie food be assigned decadent names—Devil’s Food Cake and Death by Chocolate.
But Voodoo didn’t think so. Maybe because he was a chef, he was more concerned with how the food tasted than its calorie content. Regardless, he seemed deeply offended, and Ash didn’t know what to say without making the situation worse.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
“I don’t think—”
“Close them.”
Ash shut her eyes.
“I want you to concentrate. Take the time to reflect before you answer. What’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten?”
Ash considered the question. The best thing she’d ever eaten was chocolate mousse at her graduation dinner. Her parents had taken her and Abe, along with Steele, to a fancy French restaurant, Délicieux. The meal had been wonderful, but the dessert was amazing.
She opened her eyes. “Chocolate mousse. I had it at my graduation dinner.”
“An excellent dish. My grandmere used to make it for me the night before an important day. She said it was good juju and would bring me luck. How was it prepared?”
“The chef made it with farm-raised eggs, heavy cream, and dark chocolate. They served it in a chilled silver goblet with curls of chocolate and real, hand-whipped cream on top.” She’d savored every single bite.
“And wouldn’t you say that dessert was an experience? That it gave you pleasure? Joy even?”
Ash felt perilously close to tears. She hadn’t felt joyous in nearly a decade and, no, she didn’t just mean the delicious dessert.
That night she’d accomplished something wonderful, and she’d spent the evening with everyone in her life who’d mattered most, including Steele, though she hated admitting it. Shortly afterward, she’d gone off to war, and life had never been the same.
“It did.”
“There’s no shame in allowin’ yourself simple pleasures. But I’ll have Angel bring you something…healthy.” He said the last word as though it should have four letters. The biker turned and stalked off majestically, his dreads whirling around his handsome face.
“Damn. You’d think you insulted his mother or somethin’.”
She shook off her sudden funk. “So it’s not my imagination?” Ash jerked a thumb at the retreating biker.
“No, ma’am. He’s mad as an old wet hen.” Ace gave her a lazy sort of smile, a bedroom look he’d probably perfected during puberty. “But enough about him. Let’s talk about you.”
Terrific. Here we go.
“You and Steele aren’t hot and heavy then?”
“Nope.” Ash didn’t want to talk about Steele. “Trust me, we’re cold and light.”
Ace’s head whipped toward the door.
Ash couldn’t help but turn in her seat to see what caught his attention so thoroughly. He wasn’t the only one engrossed either. The Horsemen at the counter turned to watch a leggy brunette stalk to the front counter. She wore a pair of tight jeans, black leather knee-high boots, and a matching jacket.
The brunette had a long slim neck, and her hair fell in waves around her face. Large-framed sunglasses perched on the pert end of her nose. She had a take-charge, get-outta-my-way vibe which denoted some military or para-military training.
Angel handed the woman a white pastry box tied with string, and she made conversation with the prospect, though Ash was too far away to hear.
“Who’s that?” Ash asked Ace, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he watched the woman with rapt attention. He reminded Ash of a hungry cartoon dog presented with a juicy steak just out of his reach.
Ash snapped her fingers.
He shook his head. “What?”
“Who is she?” Ash nodded to the counter.
Ace cleared his throat. “Glory Banks. She’s a private investigator.”
Glory Banks walked out, and everyone went back to normal. The bikers returned to their breakfasts, and the locals chatted with one another.
Ace rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Damnation. I’m guessin’ I blew my chances with you.”
Ash laughed. He hadn’t had a shot, but no harm in letting him think he had. “No woman wants to be second best.” Lord knew she knew what it felt like to pine away for someone. How many years had she wasted on her obsession for Steele? And what had it gotten her? Not a damn thing.
“You speak from experience?”
Ash stiffened. “Hell no.”
“Bullshit. I struck a nerve. I think you like Steele more than you let on.”
“You’re wrong.” Why hadn’t she kept her trap shut?
“I’m almost never wrong, darlin’.” But he dropped the line of questioning. He ran a hand down his face. “Glory used to be a cop.”
“Yeah, I got the vibe.”
“She’s my type—beautiful and dangerous.” He winked at her.
“I fit the bill on the second half.” Ash had no illusions about her appearance.
“Haven’t you ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder?”
“Yeah? I bet an ugly person came up with that quote.”
He chuckled.
“What the fuck are you two doin’ here?”
Ash glanced up to see Steele standing over them. She hadn’t even heard him approach. She hoped he hadn’t heard much of the conversation.
“Well?” Steele demanded.
“Talkin’. Do you mind?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He glared at Ace. “Leave. Now.”
Ace made a show of stretching and getting comfortable in the booth before he took a sip from his coffee. “Hell no,” he said over the rim. “In case you missed it, Ash and I are havin’ breakfast together. Besides, if you’re goin’ after the Raptors, you’re gonna need my help.” He glanced at Ash, puffing out his chest a bit. “Did I mention I was a fighter pilot?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Are you impressed?”
“Very.”
“You should be.”
Ash chuckled. “You clearly have self-esteem problems.”
Ace flipped his hair back. “Uncle Sam only lets men with big hairy balls drive multi-million dollar aircraft.”
Steele made a disgusted noise.
She’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy tweaking him. For some reason, he didn’t want her getting familiar with his buddies.
Too damn bad.
The Marine butted into the conversation. “From what I remember, fly-boys stayed above the action in their birds—droppin’ bombs and streakin’ off—while Marines were in the thick of it on the ground.”
Ash rolled her eyes.
Ace placed one arm along the back of the booth, the other half over the table—taking up as much room as possible. “Air support saves lives, brother. You should come up with me some time. Tell you what, I’ll even throttle back so you don’t power puke.” His gaze flicked to Ash. “Airsickness is a bitch.”
The flyboy raised a brow. “She said you two weren’t an item unless you’re tryin’ to tell me different?”
Steele squared his jaw. “No, we ain’t.”
“Okay then.” Ace gave her his bedroom look once more. “She’s fair game.”
Steele’s phone rang, and he glanced at the screen. “Fuck, I gotta take this.” He pointed at Ace. “When I get back, you better be elsewhere.” Steele hoofed out to the parking lot, pacing in front of the window as he talked on the phone. His eyes were on her, watching every move through the glass.
Ace whistled. “So, you wanna revise your statement on Steele? Because it sure as hell looks like somethin’ is goin’ on…and it’s juicy.”
She took a sip of coffee and did her level best to appear unconcerned. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“You know, we could have some fun with this here situation if you wanted.”
Ash was sorely tempted. Steele deserved whatever he got.
As soon as Steele waltzed back into the diner, Ace placed his hand over hers. Steele stared at his brother like he’d palmed her breast instead.
She didn’t knock his hand away.
“Have supper with me tonight, darlin’.” Ace used a husky tone.
If he’d asked her earlier, she’d have turned him down flat, but Steele’s reaction spurred her on. Steele was practically seething—his chest thrust out, muscles cording in his arms.
Ash smiled, slow and wide. “I’d love to, Ace.” She slid her phone across the table, and he put in his digits, then she called him so he’d have her number.
“It’s a date.” He winked at her and slid out of the booth. He stood chest to chest with Steele and, for a second, Ash thought one of them might take a swing at the other.
Finally, Ace backed off. “Wish I could stay and eat, but I’ve got a busy day so I’ll catch you later. How about a late dinner? Ten?”
“Perfect.”
With a grin, Ace sauntered off.
To tweak Steele further, she turned to watch the other biker walk away. Ace had a damn fine ass–high and tight. If only she were interested.
Although Ace wouldn’t care if she was. His heart—or at least his attention—clearly belonged to another—a former cop, no less. She doubted an outlaw and a former officer of the law had a chance in hell.
“Are you finished?” Steele plopped down across from her. With one finger, he pushed Ace’s cooling cup of coffee to the edge of the table as though his brother had the cooties.
She blew out a breath. “For now.”
“Ace is a dick.”
“I didn’t ask, and I don’t give a damn about your opinion. You and I are strictly business.”
Angel brought over a mug and poured coffee for Steele. Ash told him Ace had left and then ordered her food to go so she could get away from Steele as soon as possible.
After the biker waiter left, Ash pulled a small notepad from her jacket. During an investigation, she kept detailed notes on all the interactions she had with people involved in the case.
“I’ve got a lead we should follow up on.”
“What kind of lead?” Steele glanced at the pad.
Justice walked over. Evidently, he’d been having breakfast at the counter, and she hadn’t picked him out amid all his brothers. All of them looked the same from behind—jeans, leather cuts, and nice rear ends.
Ash continued speaking. “I’m hopin’ it’s a helpful one. The DEA keeps tabs on people of interest. In a records search, they came across someone who might have worked at one of the Raptors’ businesses. It’s been hard to sort out since the bikers did a lot of things off the books. Enid Poole might have stripped at the Pussycat Palace, and now she works in nearby Crimson Creek at a new place called The Lone Star Lounge. Her stage name is Ginger Heart.”
Ash would rather not go to a strip club, but it was the only lead she had. It wasn’t the first raunchy place she’d gone looking for criminals, and it wouldn’t be the last, but going in there with big guys at her back might make it easier.
The criminal element gravitated toward dives and drunken party types. She didn’t begrudge anyone making a living the way they saw fit or patronizing those establishments, but it made her wonder about chasing some high-end, white-collar criminals. Maybe she’d get to go to a ballet or an opera instead of bars filled with nude girls.
“Crimson Creek is mafia territory,” Steele said. “Hold up.” He narrowed his eyes. “They gotta strip club now?”
“The Lone Star Mafia. How do they figure into all of this?”
“Long story.” Steele didn’t answer the question, the tight-lipped bastard.
The Raptors had an association with the mafia, but the evidence trail was tenuous at best. According to her boss at Cole, DEA leadership was more interested in nailing the Tres Erre. They’d leave busting the mafia to the FBI.
Justice slid into the booth with Steele. “Well, this oughtta be interestin’.” He turned to Steele. “Are we gonna make a scene or go in stealth mode?”
“No, we’re gonna get the intel we need and get the hell out before we run into the devil himself.”
“Are the mafia enemies of yours or what?” She could sense a story there.
“No comment.”
Ash let him have his secrets for now, but she’d snoop to get some answers later.
Angel brought her a white Styrofoam container. She opened the lid to find a yogurt parfait with fresh berries and granola on the side.
Hmph, Voodoo had known exactly what she’d like.
“I should be going,” Ash announced. “I gotta sign the agreement with your club president and fax it back to Cole.”
“Any idea when the stripper’s gonna be there?” Justice asked. “If you got her home address, we could show up, maybe avoid an unnecessary confrontation.”
“I don’t have a residence on record. I tried all the databases but didn’t come up with jack shit. I got a feelin’ she’s transitory. Maybe stayin’ with friends or relatives?” She pulled out her cell phone, searched for the Lone Star Lounge, then dialed the number.
Ash grabbed her breakfast and stood. “I’ll text you if she’s working tonight,” she called over her shoulder and walked away from Steele as fast as her feet would carry her. She wished she’d practiced the maneuver when she was younger.
It might’ve saved her a lot of pain.
Chapter Six
Later in the evening, Ash rode with Justice and Steele over to the strip club. The drive to Crimson Creek had been awkward and silent. Ash hadn’t done the teamwork thing since being in the military. To make matters worse, the bikers had insisted on driving, so she was squished between them as she rode in one of their trucks.
Her Forrester had four seats, more leg room, and bulletproof glass. She’d been shot at more than once, so it came in handy. For some reason, Ash had an uncanny ability to piss folks off.
They stood in the parking lot, staring at the glitter and glitz. The strip club was wrapped in red, white, and blue neon lights. On the club’s sign, a glittering cowgirl flexed her shitkickers with a wicked grin.
The lot was nearly full, and a group of guys in their twenties leaned up against the wall near the entrance. They wore identi
cal blue shirts, but she stood too far away to read them. Ash guessed they were probably part of a bachelor party.
“You sure you wanna go in with us? It might get rough in there.”
She bristled. “I can handle myself, Steele. Unless you got another reason? Afraid your mafia pals will stop by and rat you out?”
After she’d signed the contract with Axel that morning, the president had let the club’s business relationship with the mafia slip. He’d been light on details, but she’d figured out the club had done one drug run across the border. Now, she’d be forced to work with the Horsemen to find the Raptors, and Steele’s club wouldn’t face any criminal repercussions.
Steele shook his head. “Not now, Ash.”
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
“Who pissed in your oatmeal?” Justice shot her a look, but she pretended not to hear him.
They trudged to the door. Both bikers paid an entry fee to a big, beefy guy in a tight white T-shirt and jeans working as a bouncer. He wore a ten-gallon hat, and his muscled arms were as big as her thighs.
“No charge for you, ma’am.” He tipped his cowboy hat.
“Why?”
He leered at her chest even though she’d dressed down in a sweatshirt and jeans. Walking into a strip club in provocative clothing would invite unwelcome attention when she was trying to lay low.
“We don’t get many ladies. You here to watch or strip too?”
Ugh.
The men draped against the walls whoohooed as if they expected a re-enactment of the creepy Aerosmith video, Crazy, where Alicia Silverstone and Liv Tyler jumped on stage at a strip club and took it all off.
One thing she loved about her job was the opportunity to channel all the rage she’d stored up. Bouncer Boy might be big, but she had tricks she’d bet he’d never seen before. Laying him out flat on the pavement would be easy and kind of funny.
Ash pulled back her fist, but Steele seized her elbow and hauled her in the door.
“Take it easy.”
“Hey!” She shoved him away once they were inside.
“We’re keepin’ this quiet-like, remember? Enemy territory and all.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” She shook her arm as if he’d tainted her by touching it.
Wild Ride (Let it Ride Book 2) Page 19