by Kallie Lane
The guy was out cold, a trickle of blood at his hairline. Natasha noticed a ring of keys attached to his belt loop. She unclipped it and slipped it into her pocket when Skip leaned over him, helping himself to the Sig from Mitch’s shoulder holster before checking for a pulse in his neck. He tucked the gun at his waist beneath his shirt, hefted Mitch over a shoulder and moved him out of the broken glass before setting him down again. He nodded to Rena. “Take care of him. Tas, you’re with me.”
“Wait a minute.” Natasha dug flashlights from a drawer and handed one to Skip. “Give me the gun.”
“Not a chance in hell.” His expression grim, he swept his gaze over what was left of Trailblazer's. She did the same, shivering in an icy blast of wind. Sleet blew through the bar like confetti at a tickertape parade. Skip ignored it, focusing on a dark corner by the pool tables; although how he could see back there, she wasn’t sure. He must have eaten a lot of carrots as a kid, either that or his eyesight was trained—like maybe in the military? Before she could process that unlikely thought, he was on the move again, tugging her along with him. “Over there. Watch your step.”
Men slowly got to their feet, some of them staggering from shock, minor injuries, or maybe too much alcohol. A couple of them hooked arms under their buddies’ armpits and pulled them free of debris. One of the motorcycles suspended from the ceiling had crashed to the floor. A body lay beneath it. Skip knelt beside the man, searching for signs of life. Nothing. He covered him with a jacket lying in the twisted metal.
Natasha stiffened her spine, refusing to feel anything for the dead biker. She’d known the scumbag by reputation. He’d beaten one of the girls senseless in a room upstairs. And Deuce hadn’t done anything to stop him. The world was better off without him. And Deuce. She wouldn’t allow herself to be swayed from her mission. By the time she was finished, Deuce would either be dead or spending the rest of his life in prison, doing lap dances of his own.
Cripes, she should be the one in charge here, not taking orders from Skip. This was her best chance to search for Zach without drawing attention to herself. But, as if reading her mind, Skip wrapped his fingers around her wrist.
“Stay close.” Midnight blue eyes challenged her. She was about to move off when his hold tightened. “The ceiling’s sagging. We need to get everyone out of here before it collapses.”
“We can do this quicker if we split up,” She shook loose from his grip. “I’ll see if the dining room’s safe while you help herd everybody in that direction.”
Not waiting for an answer, Natasha made a beeline for the hallway at the other end of the bar. Slipping Mitch’s keys from her pocket, she flicked on her flashlight and moved downstairs to the wine cellar. She fumbled with the door lock until she found the right key. Turning the cold steel handle in her palm, she slipped inside. Track lights shone down on dusty bottles. How could that be when the power was out? Did Deuce have a generator or a solar-powered system she wasn’t aware of?
She shut the door behind her, moving farther inside. It didn’t make sense; why would there be emergency lights down here and not in the bar and dining room? Her gaze travelled the length of the room along the clay tiled floor. Scuff marks leading past shelves of wine and liquor ended at a far wall. She followed the trail and pressed an ear against the paneling. Was Zach down here? Was there a hidden room?
Plastered against the wall, Natasha ran her hands along the smooth edges, searching for a catch or hidden door release. Footprints didn’t end at a wall for no reason; something was back there. Popping up on her toes, she didn’t hear the man behind her until it was too late. He flattened her against the paneling, his hands gripping her hips, a leg shoved between hers and his weight full against her. She twisted, tried to break his hold, a useless move. Panic clawed at her throat. Would he rape her, or worse? She threw her head back, hoping to smash his face. Grunting, he absorbed the blow with a shoulder; too tall for her to inflict any serious damage.
“Behave yourself and follow my lead,” he whispered.
Skip? “You son of a—!”
Blazing heat pumped her bloodstream with the first nip of his teeth on her shoulder. He rocked her against him, the press of his hands guiding her hips. What the hell does he think he’s doing?
“Get off me. Now!”
One minute Skip was there, the next he was gone. Natasha sagged against the wall; collecting herself enough to risk facing—Deuce, who had somehow entered the room unnoticed. He studied her long and hard, as if trying to decide what he should do with her. His bodyguard, Moshpit, had a gun trained on Skip, who lay sprawled at their feet.
Deuce snarled. “How the hell did you get in here?”
“I get it! No means no.” Skip hauled himself to a sitting position to hide the Sig tucked in his belt. He held his hands in the air. “There’s no reason to get bent out of shape and set these gorillas on me, babe.”
“Shut up!” The squirrel he assumed was Deuce kicked him hard in the leg. Ouch. Deuce turned back to Natasha, a meaty paw squeezing her arm. “I won’t ask again. Who let you in here?”
“I, uh, let myself in...I took these from Mitch.” Natasha met Deuce’s gaze, holding up the ring of keys and jiggling it. “He was knocked unconscious by the tree. All the liquor bottles were smashed, and I needed some stock to keep your customers happy. I didn’t think it was such a big deal.”
Kingman watched her, snatching the keys back with a scowl. “Don’t come down here again without one of my security guys. Bad things can happen, like lover boy over there.”
“I see that now.” Natasha redirected her laser gaze to Skip. We’re not out of the woods yet, Tas. You’d better make it good. “I said I’d have dinner with you, jerk face. I didn’t say I wanted to bear your children!”
“I’m sorry, okay? I got a little ahead of myself.” Skip hauled himself slowly to his feet, keeping a wary eye on Deuce’s muscle with the gun. “Hell, sugar, that tree coming through the wall got my adrenaline pumping. And when the ceiling started to sag, I figured if I’m going to die, it might as well be with a smile on my face.”
“You jackass! I asked you to help me carry bottles, not try to strip me naked.”
“Shut your traps, both of you!” Deuce shook his head like he’d heard enough. Still, he seemed to swallow their bullshit. He signaled scar face to stand down. “Get back to work, Natasha, and take Don Juan with you. We’ll be out of here as soon as the fire department arrives.”
Skip breathed a sigh of relief. He recognized Kingman's type; short on brains and long on power. The bastard would kill Natasha in a heartbeat if he believed she posed a threat to him, and enjoy watching her die.
Natasha stumbled off the emergency bus at her motel, sliding across ice on wobbly spike heels. Rena struggled to stay upright beside her while bikers skidded past them heading for the front desk. Skip came off the bus last, hitching her and Rena by the elbows and hustling them to her unit.
“Get lost MacQuade. There's only one bed in my room.”
“Like I’d stay with you, Tas. You’re trouble, plain and simple. I’m out of here as soon as I can rent a pickup. My Duc’s lying in pieces back at the club. I need to load her up before someone steals what’s left of her.”
Uh-huh. Natasha remembered his Ducati—a chrome and black rocket of power and hotness. She loved that bike—had actually drooled over it when he was hauled in for questioning about a murder in Calgary a few months ago. And sure, she’d planned to take it off his hands once he was arrested. Figured he’d need some quick cash to pay his lawyer and post bail. But Skip had skated on the charge, which was plain wrong in her book. She thought he'd be prosecuted. “Use your cell phone.”
“Can’t. It’s in the saddle bags on the Duc.”
“I’ll give you two minutes.” She fumbled with the door lock, her fingers numb with cold. “Then I’m booting you out.”
He wrapped a hand around hers and helped work the key into the lock, pushing the door open and bundling them
all inside. “That’s all I need.”
Natasha crossed the threshold and ground to a halt. Her boss, Blue Falcone, stood in her living room, his muscled arms crossed and a scowl riding his face. Panicked, she whirled and beat feet for the door again.
Skip blocked her path, gave her a light shove, and sent her straight into her CO’s arms.
“I drove all night to beat the storm, and it's a good thing I did.” Blue grabbed her arm and planted her in the desk chair. As close as he was, she could see the strain in his eyes and dark circles beneath them, and had a feeling she had caused both. “What in blazes were you thinking, Nat, infiltrating Kingman’s bar on your own?”
He raked a hand through tangled blond hair that hung past his shoulders. Dressed in biker garb accessorized with a lot of piercings and tats, he looked downright scary—which he was. He had to be. The ability to blend in with scum kept him alive. His shitkickers, filthy denim jeans, studded leather jacket, and the arsenal he carried concealed were all part of the job. So was the hint of marijuana smoke clinging to his clothes. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”
Natasha wished she could disappear. Live to fight another day. She swallowed hard and somehow found her voice. “I wasn’t alone. I had Rena with me. She would have called you if I needed help.”
“Ha! You mean Rena O’Mally?” Blue swung around, taking in the other woman with a smirk. “The confidential informant who sold herself on the streets to keep her boyfriend in drug money? Boy, that’s some backup.”
Rena walked up to Blue and punched his shoulder. “Hey! Take a good look in the mirror, pal, before you start judging me!”
Natasha gave Rena credit for taking on someone as intimidating as Falcone. Heck, even she knew better than to push his buttons. She would never have cut him out of the loop if she hadn’t been so desperate to protect Zach. But, this was a side to Rena she hadn’t expected. The woman could hold her own.
“I did what I did to keep on breathing. The only way a woman left that gang was in a body bag, because knot heads like you controlled us.”
“Knot heads like me?” Blue snarled. “Sweet cheeks, the company you keep is nothing like me.”
“Oh yeah? Could have fooled me, you big bully!” Rena flounced on the couch. “And I don’t have to take crap from the likes of you anymore. I did my time.”
“Sure you did.” Hands on his hips, Blue did an eye roll. “And then you went to work for Deuce. Not what I’d call a big step up from your former profession.”
“Well, at least I’m not working on my back!” Rena exhaled a breath. “Besides, Deuce offered me protection from my old life if I tended bar for him at Trailblazer's.”
“And who will protect you from him?” Blue scowled, leaning over Rena. “He might pay better than the local minimart, but he’s dangerous as hell. Get out of there while you still can.”
“Not until I’ve saved enough to make it on my own. I need money for my taxi license. Then I’m buying a cab.” She spared Natasha a venomous glance. “That’s if your hotshot detective doesn’t get me killed first.”
“About that...” Falcone turned the force of his icy blue gaze on Natasha. “I got word you’ve been pinging your brother’s cell phone. And I know Zach’s off the grid. How long has it been since he disappeared?”
“A week. He called me from Deuce’s. He was scared about something he saw there. That’s when his phone died.” Natasha tipped her chin up to stare at her boss. “I have to find him, Blue, no matter what he did wrong. If you want me off your team, I understand. But, please, don’t blow my cover at Trailblazer's.”
Falcone stared at her long and hard, as if trying to decide what he should do. Then his gaze roamed the room and narrowed on Skip, who hadn’t moved from the doorway. The stare down and barely visible nod between the men unsettled Natasha. They hardly knew each other, except for when Skip was a person of interest in the murder inquiry. Was Blue worried he knew too much about their plans?
Hah, maybe he’ll stash Skip somewhere to keep him out of my hair. Give me a chance to find Zach.
“You want to find your brother? Fine, but from now on, you’ll do things by the book.” Blue’s gaze swung back to her as Natasha inhaled a healthy helping of relief. He wouldn’t block her investigation into Zach's disappearance after all. “MacQuade’s in charge, effective immediately. From here on out, you’ll take orders from him. I forgot to tell you, Nat. Skip is an undercover cop, just like you. He works for me out of the Edmonton office.”
Well, hell for breakfast, this was a fine turn of events. And it didn't look as if she had much of a choice. Natasha could swallow her pride and let Skip head up the operation, or Blue would take her off the case. And it would be a frosty day in hell before she'd let that happen. "Welcome to the team, Skip."
Chapter Four
Skip sweet-talked his way onto the construction crew at Trailblazer's the next morning. Low on manpower, Deuce signed him up with one condition. That he kept his hands off Natasha. No problem there—like she wanted his hands on her anyway.
The safety inspector released the building and renovations got the green light. Skip watched with a wary eye as he helped shore up the ceiling with steel supports. Until he was satisfied the roof wouldn’t collapse, he’d keep his gaze heavenward, thank you very much. Paranoid much? More like a healthy aversion to being buried alive.
Mining coal as a teenager had done that to him—the ghosts of dead miners convincing him to switch his college major to police sciences. Yeah, his dream of being a mining engineer was buried deep, along with his father and some other good men. Nowadays he focused on catching badasses. And Kingman had his full attention.
Natasha hefted a crate of glasses and carried it out the door. She still wasn’t talking to him. Too damned bad. He didn’t care whether she was in a snit or not. Going off half cocked, not requesting backup while searching for her brother was a rookie mistake. And being emotionally involved made her doubly dangerous. He didn’t want to see her hurt, which meant keeping eyes on her at all times.
Hoisting a table, he followed her outside. He figured she’d still investigate on her own if given half a chance. Blue might have blown the lid off her plan yesterday when he threatened to yank her off the case—hell, Skip wished he had—but his gut told him Natasha was bound and determined to find Zach, no matter the consequences. And the fool woman couldn’t afford to let her guard down, even for one second. Kingman would kill her if he discovered who she was.
Setting the table down in the parking lot, Skip angled his head back to feel the warmth of sun on his face. The air smelled crisp, not cold, a slight breeze ruffling his hair. The freak storm was long gone. So was the tree that had done the damage. Lumberjacks loaded what was left of it into dump trucks, the screeches and beeps from front loaders filling the silence. He’d watched the men working chainsaws when he’d come back for his Ducati at sunrise that morning. They’d done an impressive job.
He snagged Natasha’s sleeve when she brushed past him on her way inside again. “Take a breather. There’s coffee and sandwiches set out on a table over there.”
“Kiss my undercarriage,” she hissed. “I’ve got things to do.”
“We’ve been at it for hours, bluebird. We’re no closer to finding your brother.” He wrapped her hand in his big mitt and headed for the coffee urn. “We need to come up with a plan.”
She shrugged her shoulders, accepted the coffee he handed her, and moved to a picnic table out of earshot of anyone standing nearby. “Cut to the chase, Skip. I don’t have time for this.”
“I suggest you make time.” It didn’t take a brain surgeon to look inside her head to see the chaos; the hurt because she’d been shot down by Blue, and discovered Skip was a cop. Disappointment at her brother for messing up again, and maybe with herself for not having a crystal ball and rescuing Zach from his latest fuck up.
She deserved better. Skip wanted to ease her pain. Erase the crease between her brows and tears clouding h
er amber eyes. More than that, he wanted to feel her wrapped around him on silky sheets—as if that would happen.Hell, not today and maybe never. Not if he couldn’t bring her brother back to her in one piece.
“I’m mad at you.” Taking a hit of coffee, Natasha glared at him over the rim of the cardboard cup. “You ratted me out to Blue.”
“Wrong. Blue sent me here to keep eyes on you.” Wasn’t it just like an ornery female to change the facts to suit her situation? Try to fit a square peg into a round hole? “You dug your own grave by not being honest with him from the get go.”
“Still, you could have clued me in you were on his team.” She scrunched her face into a scowl. Kind of cute, if there wasn’t so much piss and vinegar behind it. “At least now I know why you weren’t arrested for murder.”
“Wrong again, Tas.” She seemed hell bent on thinking the worst of him, no matter what. Skip cupped her chin and turned her to face him, holding her gaze with his own. “I walked because I wasn’t guilty. If you think otherwise, you’re mistaken about me and about Blue.”
“You’re right. He wouldn’t have let you off the hook if he thought differently.” She sighed, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk. I just want to find my brother. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Skip curled his fingers into the collar of her sheepskin jacket. He whispered in her ear. “How lucky am I going to get when we find him?”
She indulged in an eye roll, a smile tipping the corners of her mouth. “Not lucky enough.”
“Spoil sport.” He laughed, kissing the top of her head. “Let’s get back to work.”
She tossed her cup in the garbage, shoving her hands deep in her pockets. “How do you want to handle this?”
“You help with the clean up.” He held her back as they neared the door to the club. “And keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. We’ll come back tonight to do a thorough sweep after the place is deserted. Agreed?”
"Absolutely. And thanks."