Racing the Tide

by January Bain

  The man on the phone had wanted younger, newer ideas, telling Tommy that he’d heard he was the brightest star in his uncle’s organization. Yes, he had many big ideas, thinking how often he’d been stymied by his stuck-in-the-past uncle, his thoughts shut down before he even got a fair say. Not right. The man on the phone had been so full of encouragement, too, telling Tommy he could go far, far as he wanted with his backing. His stomach twitched with excitement. One day, maybe soon, Tommy would be the big man in Chinatown. The one everyone came to, heads bowed with respect. In the meantime, he had to be careful, just as the guy had cautioned. Had to be seen to do what Uncle wanted. Outsmart Confucius. Even if it sucked.

  “I got an important job for a fire rat who can handle himself.” Uncle closed the cover of his book and set it aside and took a sip of his green tea from the fragile china cup, his claw-like hands tightening around it.

  Tommy nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  Chapter Two

  Day Two: 8:51 p.m.

  The sexy beat of Dwight Yoakam’s version of Honky-Tonk Man wormed its way through Gabrielle Banks’ body, making her tap her red cowgirl-booted toes on the wide-planked floor. She’d chosen the small round table in the Legend Saloon on purpose for easy viewing of the entire space, keeping a keen eye out for new arrivals. She scanned the Friday-night crowd for the umpteenth time, impatient for the expected guy to arrive. A segment of the bar’s clientele had lined up to one side, busy egging one another on to ride the mechanical bull. Line dancing was about to begin and she’d hoped to escape before then.

  She ran her hand over her long honey-brown hair in its ponytail, smoothing a few wayward tendrils back from her face, wishing yet again she’d been blessed with more height. But she was satisfied with a couple of gifts she had inherited from her beautiful mama, that was, her well-endowed curves and her pretty face, because both of them made her job of tricking men into thinking she was available and just had to have them a whole lot easier. She tried for a better view, sitting up straighter in the chair. At least the music didn’t suck like the last bar she’d been forced to hang out in trying to catch the cheating husband in his finest moment.

  “Want another?” Celine asked. Her decoy friend for the evening and younger sister by all of eleven months and three days gestured, signaling the waitress.

  “Nah, I don’t think he’s going to show, anyway.” She’d been doing this for the past three nights running—sitting and waiting for Mr. My-wife-is-not-enough-for-me Smith to make his appearance, looking for a little action. Yeah, his name was Smith, George Smith, and his soon-to-be-ex-wife was looking to cut his balls off. In financial terms, that was. One taped video of him hitting on her or someone else in the bar, one incriminating moment to begin divorce proceedings saved on her phone, and she was out of there.

  She’d been stuck with too many of these kinds of cases this past year in an effort to make a dint in her ex’s gambling debts. Ah, yes. Her ex. aka the lying cheating skunk who’d fled the country, leaving her in the soup. Why had she hooked up with a con man who ran a casino, again? Oh, yeah, that charming I-can’t-live-without-you persona had hidden his true nature. A coward who’d deserted her the moment it was discovered he wouldn’t be able to repay his mounting debts, leaving her to face the loan sharks—alone. She’d worked out a repayment plan—well, it had either been that or they’d break some part of her, and she was partial to all her limbs, thank you very much. If she was lucky, she’d be finished with the pay-off about the same time as she was due to retire.

  Think about something else. Okay, back to her usual beef. Did every man cheat on his wife? Seemed that way some nights as she watched the antics in the different bars and clubs she frequented to make a living. Last night’s experience still rankled, that asshole who’d thought No was just a preliminary for a future Yes. As though she was blind and couldn’t see the white strip of skin on his left hand where his wedding ring had resided not fifteen minutes earlier. Drunken, stupid assholes.

  But the worst one of all, the one who still stuck like a burr, that creep from that religious sect she’d decided to go after all on her own, for free, when she’d found out about him through a colleague. The one who thought he was God’s gift to the world and should fill his house with all their worldly goods. Bastard, taking advantage of men and women alike, and expecting others to turn a blind eye just because he had what he thought of as religious sanction to build his dirty game upon. Fuck, not on my watch is he going to get away with it.

  She came back to the present with a lurch of consciousness, Celine vying for her attention, tugging at her arm.

  “Hey, you in there or in La La Land? Just one more, sis, okay? I need a little more time to catch that new guy’s eye,” Celine stage-whispered in her ear. She nodded in the direction of a man striding toward them. He sat at an empty table less than eight feet away. Hmm. He looked like the kind of guy who thought he was every woman’s fantasy, his polished yet scruffy appearance a ploy at pretending he didn’t care. She’d bet he used one of those special razors that kept his beard that precise length. No one was that good-looking without doing a little something.

  A big, wide-shouldered man, he wasn’t dressed like the rest of the patrons, having opted for a black T-shirt and faded blue jeans. He spoke to the waitress in a gravelly voice, asking about takeout, and she handed him a menu. He glanced over, checking both of them out then coming back to lock eyes with her for that split second that men and women share in bars.

  Only this time, the effect was paralyzing. His eyes were whiskey-brown and shadowed. And they were hard. Flint hard. Every line of muscle in his handsome face was tight and tense. Worry or something more disturbing? The corner of his mouth twitched into a semblance of a smile that didn’t reached his eyes. The air between them crackled with tension like a direct hit from a lightning bolt. What the hell? Her lips parting, she took a sharp intake of breath, steadying herself. Then he looked away, breaking eye contact. She swallowed hard. Whoa. What just happened?

  “What? That pretty boy?” Gabby said, whispering into her sister’s ear, pretending indifference. She twisted in the chair, facing another direction. She’d seen way too much of what men were capable to ever fall for someone who looked that full of himself. Or that good.

  “Yeah. Well, at least I’m open for business, Gabrielle.” Celine used her sister’s full name for emphasis, annoying her further, though, Celine did keep her voice low enough not to be overheard. Thank the heavens. “Remember the warning in Booty Call—you know—the one about cobwebs? I’d be more worrying about its best-before date.” Celine chuckled, her expression smug, scoring a direct hit.

  Gabby blushed, the jab getting under her skin. She hissed, “It’s not a quart of milk—it won’t go off, for heaven’s sake!” She scanned the bar, careful not to lock eyes with the man again. Never again. Must be the haunting lyrics of the song A Thousand Miles from Nowhere now playing on the jukebox and the terrible longing that always overcame her when she heard it that had temporarily hijacked her brain. That was it. “I’ve got too much self-respect to let a guy like that get in my pants. He’d expect me to do all the heavy lifting.”

  “Huh,” Celine snorted, forgetting to be quiet. “Just ’cause he’s pretty doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to go downtown.” She wiggled her well arched brows for emphasis, tucking her long honey-brown hair behind her ears, her baby-blue eyes with their golden specks feigning innocence. If Gabby ever needed to know what she’d would look like if she took the best care of her appearance and let her hair down once in a while, all she had to do was check out her baby sister. They teased each other over which one of them might be an actual Doppelgänger. Not funny, but quite useful applied to the correct situation. “And furthermore, I find—”

  Gabby held up a hand to block further discussion. “I don’t want to hear it, okay? I’ll get us another round of drinks, but that’s it. All my budget can handle. The prices in this place are outrageous. And I already s
prang for nachos and pulled pork. Going to be paying for that indulgence tomorrow, guaranteed. Wallet and waistline.”

  This earned her a second snort, more pronounced than the first.

  “Hang on, just got a text.” Gabby read the short message, her stomach tightening, feeling bad for the woman wanting to know if her husband had shown up yet. And to tell her she had a referral for her, another woman certain her working-all-the time husband was cheating on her. Love sucked.

  “What is it?”

  “Got another job. And just in time. Between food and drink these past three nights, my expense account is running on empty.” Gabby took a deep breath, about to read it aloud, but a poke in the ribs made her glance up.

  “Look, isn’t that your guy? Your client’s husband? And check out who’s on his arm. Think that’s a coincidence?” Celine asked, her stage-whisper more gleeful than quiet.

  “Shush, we’re undercover here. And no, I don’t believe in coincidences. Everything happens for a reason.” Maybe I won’t have to be the honey trap after all, getting him to spend time alone with me.

  “Like I don’t know that. But, see, buying me pulled pork and dirty martinis is good luck for you. Guy shows up and you get another job.”

  The alleged cheater and his companion disappeared, choosing one of the few intimate booths available. Not too dumb. Harder to catch him at it. But not impossible, of course. At least she wouldn’t have to put up with him hitting on her. And to think he had such an attractive wife and two adorable toddlers waiting at home. Mattie and Connor, four and two. Why, just yesterday she’d played with them as their mother had poured her heart out, Connor crawling up on her lap with his red fire engine and dimpled, chubby cheeks she just had to kiss. The deadbeat in the bar must have promised to be true to Ashley at some time, right? Hell, they’d only been married for five years. But no, here he was breaking his wedding vows as easy as apple pie, well before the supposed seven-year itch. No guy is ever going to get that chance with me. Shut him down first.

  “Ladies and gents, it’s line-dancing time! Cozy up and choose your partner.”

  The female under scrutiny stood and Gabby did as well. She avoided looking anywhere else, following the young woman to the room marked Cowgirls. Someone had written in black marker under the sign since she’d last been there. It now said Cougars Welcome.

  She took out her phone, snapped a photo of the altered sign just for the hell of it, pushed open the bathroom door and began to play a mindless game on her phone as the woman used one of the stalls.

  Gabby tapped her toes, waiting for the young woman to emerge. She did, neglected to wash her hands—yuck—and swanned out. Gabby sighed, washed her own hands and dried them under a blast of sizzling air.

  She followed the female, making sure to pass the booth, checking out Mr. All-Wrong. He kissed the new arrival, planted another one on her neck and nuzzled her for good measure, making her smile and giggle as he draped his arm around her. He let it dangle low enough to cop a feel of a breast. Grrr. So disgusting. They deserved each other. She pretended to stumble from a short distance away, preparing to bring the phone up to snap a quick photo, before grasping the table edge to keep from tumbling to the floor. Classic move well-practiced. She just needed good follow-through.

  But a strong pair of hands grasped hold of her, preventing her from enacting the entire pantomime, and, worse, knocking her phone from her hand to the floor in the brouhaha.

  “What the fuck!” she exclaimed, trying to pull away from the interference. Oh, God, not him. In a state of shock, she looked up at him, forgetting she wanted to get away. It was that guy, the one she’d locked glances with earlier. He must have come in just to order takeout. And that food now lay strewn on the floor, bag torn and contents looking less than appetizing.

  “You all right?” he grunted, his growly voice resonating and tugging on a sympathetic chord deep inside, all the way to her down to her quaking core, and still he held onto her, didn’t let her go. A wild urge to rub up against his hard body nearly overcame her. Good Lord. What the fuck is the matter with me?

  “I’m fine.” She managed to squeak out the words and added a scowl, remembering after an extended interlude to pull out of his embrace. She avoided looking in his eyes. His hands were warm and strong as he held her firmly around the waist before releasing her, brushing a breast that had all at once acquired a sensitive peak. His touch was commanding, electrifying. She swallowed then glanced at the floor, surveying the quick-congealing mess as she gathered up her strewn facilities, wishing they could have stayed pressed together for a whole lot longer. “But I’m afraid your food took a direct hit.”

  “Damn, I wanted to treat them on my first night in town.” The man shook his head, giving the floor a disgusted look. “I’ll need to reorder.”

  “I should pay for it,” she offered, feeling guilty, warmth creeping up her spine. Was he married? She dared a glance and their eyes locked. Again. Oh, good grief. Her physical body found him dreamy as hell while her mental state fought back, battling away at the suggestion of even an atom’s worth of attraction. Failed. Pheromones are a pain in the ass. She took a deep breath. Hot cinnamon shot through with a healthy dose of testosterone tantalized her nostrils, sending her into sensory overload in a flash.

  “No need.” He bent down, giving a great view of his ass as his jeans pulled tight. When he stood back up, she dared a look at his package. Regretted it. Well-endowed didn’t even begin to cover it. Her blood sizzled with anticipation and she overheated. Damn it, now she’d be red in the face. “Your phone looks okay.” He handed it to her and their fingers touched. She jumped back from the static spark that jumped between them, laughing nervously.

  “The air must be dry,” she said. Too witty for words.

  “Must be,” he said.

  “Well, if you’re sure about the food, I’ll get back to my sister.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. No problem.” His tone had a lyrical southern charm she found intriguing. She loved placing accents. And his sounded so much nicer than her boring old Canadian one. Beige, the color of Canada, in her opinion, and the national choice for all home decorating. Well, that might be a small exaggeration, but she’d seen enough beige to last a lifetime. She wanted color, craved it in her life. And knew she couldn’t afford color. Not now, not ever. But a gal could dream, right? This guy gave off waves of off-beat color and heat—maybe that was why the instant lust alert? She shivered, her body inundated with sensations.

  “Texas, right?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Where you came from. Your accent.”

  “Yes, Houston originally. Been living in LA the past few years.”

  ‘“He rides from Texas on a big white horse’,” she recited the lyrics, teasing him. When his expression shifted to one that looked like he was considering her certifiable, she added. “Beach Boys—Long, Tall Texan. Remember?” When he said nothing, she asked, “Here on business?” When was the last time she’d been this nervous around a man? In her experience most were lying, cheating bastards undeserving of even the slightest bit of attention.

  “Yeah, well, I guess I should get going. My friends are waiting for their dinner. I wanted to treat them, tonight being my first night in town and all.”

  Yeah, you said that already. Maybe he was as discombobulated as she was.

  He frowned down at her, his at least six foot frame looming over her five foot, one and one quarter inch one. He didn’t make the move to go, however, just continued to stare at her. His expression was had to read, though she was certain she could see a hint of interest deep in those smoldering brown eyes. Did she just think, smoldering? She licked her lips and watched him follow the action intently, something brighter flashing in his eyes. Oh, yeah, he was interested. She arched her back with the realization of the current resonating between them, a definite live wire, letting a small smile upturn her mouth. Thank goodness she had dressed up a bit tonight in her effort to blend in with the ot
her patrons. She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder in a well-practiced flirty gesture. Always worked.

  “What, without your food?” she questioned in mock horror, ready to invite him back to the table. Wouldn’t Celine be surprised? The guy was new in town, wasn’t it was just being a good neighbor to be friendly?

  “I’ll stop somewhere else. I’m in kind of a rush. Maybe another time. Do you come here often?”

  A harried waitress came bustling up at that moment, mop in hand, ready to deal with the spill. Gabby frowned at the interruption, which forced them to move apart. Just when the evening had gotten a whole lot more interesting.

  “Yeah, a couple times a week.”

  “Then maybe I can hope to see you again.”

  “Sure.” She flashed him a smile that he returned slowly, as if it were an almost forgotten gesture. And this time the smile made it all the way to his eyes, warming them and making the breath still in her body. Oh, my.

  He left, striding away with all the confidence of a big man who knew how to handle himself. Very nice.

  “Get what you needed?” Celine asked as Gabby sat at the table, sipping her dirty martini.

  “What?” It took her a second. “Ahh. No, no. I didn’t.”