by Dana Marton
“Anybody who’d put a grand on that kid is an idiot. He’s a greenhorn.”
“He’s been competing all year. Winning.”
“Where? Podunk, New Mexico? He ain’t never ridden in a rodeo as big as this. There’re a hell of a lot more serious riders here. Kid won’t stack up. You put any money on him, you’ll be losin’ it.”
While he had the chance, Shep passed by the nearest shelf and pressed a bug on the bottom of it, out of sight. He stepped away just in time. Another skinny, tattooed guy was coming from the back room, this one bald with a row of metal in his left ear.
The kid stopped in his tracks. “Who the hell are you?”
“Howdy.” Shep stepped forward, then cleared his throat as if he was nervous. “Someone said I could find Tank down here.”
At that, a mountain of a man appeared, his eyes narrowing as he looked Shep over. Okay, that had to be Tank. He looked as if he could take a guy out just by sitting on him.
He was breathing a little hard, probably from whatever they were doing in the back. His small eyes narrowed in his pockmarked face. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Shep glanced at the tattooed kid, then back to Tank. The two must have gone to the same charm school. “Can we talk someplace private?”
The mountain jerked his head at the kid, and the kid retreated into the back room he’d come from.
Tank stayed where he stood. “Talk.”
Shep shifted his weight onto one foot and tried to look sheepish. Not an easy task for someone who was commando to the core. He didn’t have much practice. But maybe he could pull it off in the dim light. “I’m here for the rodeo. Thing is, I really wanna win it. I’m hoping you could help me.”
Tank glared. “Who the hell told you that?”
“Guy I had a beer with here yesterday. Wagner.”
“Can’t keep his mouth shut now? What the hell?”
“I need this, man.” Shep shifted his weight again. “I’m not from around here. I don’t know who to ask. If you could help...”
Tank raised an eyebrow, waited a couple of seconds. “You got money?”
Shep dug into his pocket and came up with a roll of twenties. He’d come prepared.
The man still looked more aggravated than excited with the new business. “You stay here.”
He went back into the room he’d come from. A couple of minutes passed before he returned with a Ziploc bag of white pills, six of them. Probably performance-enhancing drugs. Shep wasn’t about to ask questions. He needed to look as if he did this all the time.
He looked at the pills. “That’d be perfect. Just what I need.”
The lab could figure out what they were. If they couldn’t get Tank on smuggling, at least they could get him on the drugs. The man named his price and Shep paid it.
“Thanks.” He held the bag as if the pills were made of gold at the very least, careful not to put his fingers where Tank’s had been. He didn’t want to damage the fingerprints. “I really appreciate this.”
But Tank was already walking away from him. “It’s a onetime deal. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. Don’t let me see you down here again.”
* * *
LILLY WAS WALKING by the manager’s office, on her way to the stage, psyching herself up for her performance, telling herself she could still do this, when Brian called her in.
He was sprawled in his chair behind the desk as he looked her over. “You dressed like a nun for a reason? Them cowboys like a little skin.”
She wore bloodred, spiked heels, a skintight black leather skirt that barely covered her behind. It showed off the winding tattoo on her inner thigh—something she’d gotten to gain Shep’s attention, back in the day, which she did, but not in a good way. He hadn’t thought it’d made her a woman. He’d been angry about it.
Brian, on the other hand, seemed to appreciate the art, judging by the way his gaze lingered on the spot. Then slowly slid higher, to the glittery shirt that was pretty much molded to her torso.
“No problem.” She smiled, even if she was gritting her teeth, and undid another button on top. The lace edge of her red bra was showing now. That better be enough. She scanned his desk to see if he had any paperwork out that might give a clue to his illegal activities or a possible link to the Coyote, but all she could see were utility bills.
He kept ogling her with a lecherous grin. “A little more skin wouldn’t hurt.”
But breaking your face would. She kept on smiling as she shoved up the shirt enough so her belly button showed. At the same time, she scanned the windowless office and noted the file cabinets. Would Brian keep anything incriminating here? Probably not. He was slimy, but she didn’t think he was stupid.
He wasn’t subtle, either. “A little more?” He pushed.
“I think I’m okay. Band is waiting.” She walked away before she could have clocked him.
While Brian approved of her way too much, Shep was the opposite. He thoroughly disapproved of her gig here. Thank God he wouldn’t be here tonight to glower at her. As far as she knew, he was on border duty.
She ran up onstage and tore into a song, sang a couple of rock ballads to ease the crowd into the mood, took it easy with the jumping around, since she couldn’t afford to pop a button. Her shirt barely concealed her bra as it was. She picked up volume and energy as she went on, and by the time the first set was finished, people were singing along with her, in a drunken-cowboy choir.
Since the lights were in her eyes, she couldn’t observe the audience as well as she would have liked, except for the first two rows of tables. She would just have to use her breaks and after-hours staff time to do her spying.
By the time she was finished with the first set, she had sweat rolling down her back. The bar had plenty of air-conditioning, but it was still hot under the lights. She grabbed her bag from behind the bar and something to drink then walked back to the bathroom to throw some cold water on her face—reviving herself almost as good as coffee would have.
It’d been a long day. She’d spent the morning and afternoon working at the office before coming here.
She touched up her makeup before squeezing into a stall and switching tops, yanking on a black lace tube top, tight and strapless, she’d brought for her second set. Brian ought to be happy with that.
Except he wasn’t. She ran into him on her way out.
“Overdressed again?” His sticky gaze slid down the length of her body.
She didn’t want to lose the gig so, she kept a smile on. “Can’t go up onstage in just a bra.”
“Why not?” He stepped closer, tilted his head as his gaze settled on her breasts. “Maybe a studded leather one. I guess I could spring for the cost.”
He reached out, dragged a finger up the middle of her belly, between her breasts, to her chin and lifted her head. “You give a good show. No reason why you couldn’t give even better. Maybe I’ll throw in a little bonus.” He winked at her.
She couldn’t remember the last time she wanted to deck a guy so badly. But before she could have lost her cool and her undercover position, someone grabbed her hand from behind, spun her around, and the next second she was brought up hard against Shep’s wide chest.
“Babe.” He flashed a sultry grin. “You were hot up there.” And then he claimed her lips.
For about a half a second she tried to figure out what was going on, then gave in to the firm pressure of his mouth. Oh, man. So, soooo much better than what she’d imagined back in the day. Wow.
She couldn’t not notice how perfectly they fit together, how great he smelled, how strong the arms that held her were. He was pretty damn good, playing the sexy cowboy. She so wasn’t going to fall for it.
But as much as she told herself that, she was still a little dizzy by the time he let her
go.
Brian cleared his throat. “Boyfriend?” He was watching them tight-lipped, his forehead pulled into a displeased frown.
Shep tipped his hat. “It’s still new, but I tell you, I’m over the moon about this little lady. Luckiest day of my life was when I walked in here.”
He stood a full head taller than Brian, all muscle, while the manager was made up mostly of beer weight as far as she could tell. Brian must have noted the difference between them, too, and correctly assessed his chances if they came to blows over her. He walked away with an aggravated grunt.
She pulled back enough from Shep so she could think again. “Now what?”
“Now we play out what we started.” He dragged her to an empty table, yanked her down onto his lap and put a protective hand on her waist. He didn’t look around, but they both knew people took notice that he’d made his claim on her.
“You’re welcome,” he said under his breath.
He had a smile on his face for whoever was watching, but she could feel the tension in his muscles. More disconcertingly, she could also feel the heat of his palm on the bare skin of her lower back.
“I didn’t need your help,” she let him know in a whisper. “Maybe I was flirting with him as part of my cover.”
The fake smile slid off his face. “Don’t.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” She would have said more, but the band was back onstage waiting on her.
She began to rise, but Shep pulled her back down and kissed her again. It really was a chaste kiss, like the first, just his lips resting against hers, and the slightest pressure. But his masculine scent enveloped her, his muscles flexing under her fingers as she reached up to hold on to his arms, their bodies pressing together.
His lips were warm and firm and they...lingered. It was the lingering that did her in, the wondering whether he would go further, the tension in his body that said he wanted to. Or maybe she was reading things into a theatrical gesture.
That would be pitiful on her part. And she refused to be pitiful about Shep Lewis ever again. She pulled away and looked him in the eye. “What was that for?” she asked to clarify things. “Brian is back in his office.”
“To let these other yahoos know that you’re off-limits.”
Right. He was acting a part. The both of them were. She had to make sure she didn’t forget that. She had no intention of walking down the long road that led to heartache.
“I’m going to make sure you’re safe,” he promised.
“No.”
“I couldn’t keep you safe when I should have. I should have never let you run away.”
“I would have liked to have seen you try to stop me.”
“I didn’t try very hard,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure if the system was the best place for you.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Had to be better than the streets.”
“I made it. Chill.”
“I’m going to have your back this time,” he insisted stubbornly.
That protection wasn’t what she wanted from him—then or now—seemed to completely escape him, she thought, frustration tightening her muscles as she walked away.
Chapter Six
Shep went to get another beer while Lilly did her rock-star act onstage, mesmerizing the audience. He stayed at the bar. It was the easiest way to be close enough to people to overhear conversations, to keep an eye on the staff and who they interacted with and how.
Shorty, the bartender, put a beer in front of him. “Weren’t there two of you yesterday? Where’s your buddy?”
“Twisted an ankle in training.”
“Bulls are more polite in Pennsylvania, eh?” He laughed, cracking himself up.
Shep laughed with him.
An older cowboy next to him was leaning against the bar, facing the stage. He pushed up his cowboy hat with his index finger. “That’s one fine filly up there.”
“All mine,” Shep said and puffed his chest out, acting very pleased with himself.
The cowboy grinned, patting his mustache. “If you can hang on to her.”
Shep flashed him a cocky look, as if he didn’t have a doubt in the world. But the truth was he didn’t want to hang on to Lilly. Hanging on to her was doing things to him. Uncomfortable things.
He’d acted on the spur of the moment when he’d kissed her, because he hadn’t been sure which one of them would knock the manager’s head into the wall first. Seeing the oily bastard’s hands on her snapped something inside him. It was a miracle he’d been able to play it as cool as he had.
The kiss had seemed the perfect way to defuse the situation while allowing both of them to keep their covers. The second time, he did it to make sure all those horny cowhands, too, would know she was spoken for.
He hadn’t meant to enjoy it.
It was wrong to enjoy it.
No way was he going to do it again. Unless he absolutely had to kiss her to keep their cover. But he would hate it next time. For sure.
He drew a long swallow as his new undercover girlfriend danced across the stage. No reason why Jamie would have to find out about this latest turn of events. Or Mitch Mendoza for that matter. Thank God Mitch was on an op in South America at the moment.
Shep turned his attention elsewhere and scanned the drooling men. He wasn’t going to discover anything by staring at her like the rest of the idiots.
Brian was nowhere to be seen. Tank, if he was still here, was down in the basement. He would have liked the guy’s full name so he could run him through the system. As it was, he’d have to scan mug shots on the computer at the office in his free time, in the hopes that he’d stumble on the guy by chance.
He drained his beer and got up, walked outside as if for a smoke, leaned against his car in the parking lot and pulled out his phone, set it to the right channel. Out here, he could hear everything the bug was transmitting from the bar’s basement. Inside, it’d been too loud to monitor that, but everything got recorded, so he could go over it later tonight. Right now, all he wanted to do was check in, see if Tank was still down there.
“Is that the last crate?” somebody asked. Enough of the music upstairs filtered down to make the words difficult to make out, let alone identify the speaker.
Still, to Shep, it kind of sounded as if it might have been Tank.
“Yeah” came the response.
“You brought the empty bottles down?”
“Right here.”
“All right, boys, let’s fill ’em up, then.”
Sounded as if they were working with some homemade booze, maybe tequila distilled on the other side of the border, smuggled up here and sold as the real deal. Whenever a genuine bottle of booze ran out, it would be refilled with the cheaper stuff, again and again. But sold at regular prices, it would increase Brian’s profits twofold, at least.
Another thing Tank could be put away for, and hopefully the manager, too. That cheered Shep a little. He’d hated Brian’s hands on Lilly.
He listened some more, hoping either Doug Wagner’s or the Coyote’s name would come up. They didn’t. The good old boys in the basement only talked about booze and women. They had very limited focus as far as that went.
After a few minutes, he turned off the phone and walked inside to check on Lilly.
He wondered what her FBI colleagues would say if they could see her now. The old cowboy had been right. She was plenty hot up on that stage in that lacy black tube top and sky-high heels. She kept the crowd going.
She sang another set, freshened up, then came to have a drink with him. Water for her. He slowly nursed another beer.
“Looks like you’re having fun up there,” he said.
“No point in singing to be miserable.”
She had a point. “D
o you have to wear so...little?”
She laughed. “Brian wants me in less.”
One of these days, Brian would get what was coming to him, he thought morosely.
When she stood to go back up onstage, he figured he better not kiss her again, so he just patted her behind playfully. For appearance’s sake.
Another thing he would have to learn not to enjoy, because on the first run he enjoyed it way too much, unfortunately. He wondered if he could convincingly play her boyfriend without touching her.
Not likely. No man could keep his hands off a woman like her if she belonged to him.
Halfway through the set, he got up again. This time he walked out through the back door. If the basement had any windows, he hadn’t seen them from the front. He wanted to check in the back.
Two ranch hands and a tattooed young kid from the basement were leaning against the wall smoking, listening to the music filtering through the door, discussing rodeo horses. Shep stood a distance away from them, turned so he could examine the back side of the building. Old brick, no windows on the main level or the basement. The building was probably built way before there were building codes requiring outside basement exits.
He pulled the pack of smokes he kept as a prop in his shirt pocket, took a cigarette and shoved it between his lips, but didn’t light it.
A couple of other places had back doors to the alley, a pizza shop on one side, dry cleaner’s on the other, a few more down the row. They all had security cameras above their doors, except for The Yellow Armadillo.
With tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of liquor behind the bar, and more in the basement, their lack of concern over security was interesting. Unless they wanted no recording of who came and went through the back.
The light above the door was maybe twenty watts, not illuminating a hell of a lot. He wouldn’t mind coming back here later tonight, after the bar was closed and everyone had left, to gain entry to that basement and see what Tank was hiding in those back rooms. He shifted on his feet.