by Liliana Hart
Biker dude pressed his palms down on the glass and stared her down. She’d been stared down by worse than him, so she just stared back.
“Can I help you?” she finally asked.
“I believe you have something of mine. It’s a music box. Very old. Wooden. And when you open it and wind it up you can see all the workings on the inside.”
“You’ve lost an antique music box?” she asked skeptically.
“It was my mother’s,” he lied easily. “I was told it was brought here and you paid someone for it. I’ll give you double what you paid.”
“That’s very generous of you, but the only music boxes I have are sitting on the shelf over there. You’re welcome to check them out.”
His jaw clenched and his smile sent chills up her spine. “Maybe you forgot you bought it,” he said. “So I’m going to ask you one more time.” He pressed against the counter and leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. “Go get the music box from the back.”
He couldn’t mistake the sound of her cocking the shotgun, and his brown eyes narrowed with malice. “Like I’ve already said. I haven’t acquired any music boxes recently. Maybe check down the road at Pawn and Go in Myrna Springs.”
Her voice was calm, but her heart hammered in her chest. She’d have to be fast if things went to shit. If it weren’t for the bulletproof counters, she could’ve pulled the trigger and shot straight through. But she knew in her gut there was no way she could be fast enough to pull the shotgun out, aim, and fire. She’d let him get in too close. Her mistake, and she knew better. Civilian life had made her soft.
She stared him down with nothing but bluster, and to her surprise, he took a step back and dropped his hands down to his side.
“Why don’t you keep an eye out for that music box? My brothers and I will come back for a visit soon. Real soon.”
He left the shop, the door banging shut behind him, and she breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Perfect. Now I’ve got an entire outlaw motorcycle club to deal with. Must be my lucky day.”
Mia went to the front door and made sure the latch was closed tight, and then she went into her office and unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk. Inside it sat the wooden music box she’d bought from Tina Wolfe the day before. She’d given her a hundred bucks for it and the woman had gladly taken it.
Mia wasn’t one to judge—she dealt with people from all walks of life—and she knew that sometimes life dealt one shitty hand after another. That’s the impression she’d gotten from Tina. She was a woman who looked like she’d ridden a hard road. Her license placed her at twenty-six, but Mia would’ve guessed a hard forty. A combination of the sun, alcohol, and the smoke that reeked from her clothing had aged her face considerably.
She’d ridden in on a nice Harley and she’d dressed the part. But there’d been a look of weariness on her face Mia found impossible to ignore. And when she looked a little closer, there was also an edge of fear. Tina was running from something or someone, and whatever cash she could get on her way was how she was going to survive.
So Mia had given her the cash and taken the music box. It was a nice piece. Early 1940s and in good shape. And the music still played crystal clear and she watched, fascinated, as the intricate wheels and cogs played You Are My Sunshine. It was a piece that caught her interest enough that she’d decided to take it home. Though now she had to wonder what there was about it that made the biker want it so badly.
She’d moved it to a safe location and grabbed a couple of the estate boxes from the storeroom, moving them to the front counter so she could start documenting the new inventory. Less than twenty minutes later, she’d looked up to see the rookie cop in her parking lot.
He buzzed her door, box in hand, and had a smirk on his face. She’d had about enough of people for the day. The easiest thing to do would be to let him keep buzzing and slip out the back for an early lunch. But he’d be back. He seemed determined.
Mia knew people. She knew how to read them and she knew how to fuck with them. It was all part of the job description—former and current. So she hit the buzzer and released the locks on the door. And then she barely glanced at him as he walked toward the counter. Just a quick look and an arched eyebrow. And then she dismissed him as nothing special and went back to the inventory she’d been cataloguing before bikers and cops had started overrunning her shop.
The box landed with a light thump next to her and he waited a few seconds in silence. His fingers drummed against the counter and he cleared his throat. She tried to hide her smile.
“What am I invisible?” he said. He wasn’t from around this area judging by the accent. Maybe Chicago, if she had to guess.
He was easily summed up. Hot head. Thought he was too good for the job and God’s gift to police. His badge was still shiny and new and he’d moved from the big city to Montana, where none of the departments were very big outside of the major cities. The only reason a man made that big of a change was for a woman or so he could start over. This guy didn’t look like the kind of man who’d do anything for a woman, so she was guessing door number two.
He wouldn’t last a month working undercover in this territory. Drugs were a huge problem, and the agents working u/c were used to the terrain—running suspects to ground across mountains and rivers—facing drug cartels one night and the outlaw motorcycle clubs the next. Manpower was short and physical characteristics determined the job more than ability—if you looked like a crackhead or a meth dealer you worked ops completely different than if you had the build of a biker.
She’d been neither. She’d always looked younger than her age and she’d ended up in various high schools across the state, looking for whoever was supplying the kids with drugs. It was a job that had been finite. She couldn’t look eighteen forever.
“I’m talkin’ to you, lady. Can you take a look at this? I’m in a hurry.”
“Everyone looking for fast cash usually is,” Mia said. “Give me a second. I’m almost done.”
“You don’t seem very concerned about customer service.”
“You’re the one trying to get cash from me. I don’t have to be concerned about customer service. There are other pawnshops. You’re welcome to go there.”
She could practically hear his teeth grinding together and decided she might as well see what he wanted and get him out of her shop. With the clientele she usually catered to, she wasn’t the only one who’d be able to sniff him out as a cop.
The sigh that escaped her lips was genuine and filled with annoyance. She dropped her pen and moved over, never looking at him directly. The inattention seemed to really bother him, so that meant he was something of a glory hound as well. It wasn’t often she felt instant dislike for someone, especially another cop, but this guy rubbed her the wrong way.
“Take your stuff out of the box and set it on the counter.”
He did as she asked and she crossed her arms over her chest, wincing as he jostled it with a heavy hand before setting it clumsily on the counter.
Mia had never been accused of being a bad poker player. Her life had depended on her reactions more times than she could count. But to say that she wasn’t surprised would’ve been a lie.
A wooden music box, identical to the one she’d held in her hands only moments before, sat in front of her. She pulled a pair of latex gloves from under the counter and slipped them on before opening the top of the music box.
It was in excellent condition, and even the green felt on the inside had similar age spots to the other. She wound it up from the bottom and the cogs and wheels began turning as You Are My Sunshine played. She ran her fingers around the edges and all but took it apart, looking for the tiny stamp mark that authenticated it. But it didn’t have one. Because it was a fake.
“It’s a nice piece,” she said as if she’d never seen one like it. “I’ll give you ten bucks for it.”
He sputtered, “Ten bucks? Are you fucking crazy? It’s gotta be worth at le
ast a hundred and fifty. It’s an antique.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He hesitated a couple of seconds before answering. “Walker Barnes.”
“Uh huh,” Mia said, raising her eyebrows skeptically. “Well, Walker Barnes, what you have here is a fake. If this thing was made before last week I’d be surprised.”
“I think you’re mistaken. Why don’t you look again.”
“You’re the second person who’s told me that in the last hour. It’s as irritating now as it was then. I don’t make mistakes. Look how new all the metal is. It’s shiny as a copper penny. And thin. They don’t make things the way they used to.”
“Shit,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “Listen, I’m in a bind here. I really need to find a box just like this one that’s real. Do you have one?”
Mia arched a brow. Now things were getting interesting. The cops were looking for the same music box as the biker. The question was why.
“Yeah, because I always keep identical merchandise sitting in my storeroom just for occasions such as this.”
“No need to be a bitch about it.”
“You’re wasting my time. One of us needs to get back to work. And in case you were wondering, that would be me.”
“Look, my girlfriend really loves this music box, but I don’t want her to find out it was a fake. Where can I get a real one?” he asked, taking a different approach.
“Your girlfriend likes it so much you decided to come in and sell it?”
Barnes flushed red. “No, I was just thinking if it was worth something I could trade it in to get her something a little nicer. She likes jewelry too.”
“Can’t help you. Ten bucks. That’s my offer.”
“Listen, I had a friend who said you can get all kinds of stuff. That you’ve got connections all over the place.”
“What friend would that be?” she asked.
Barnes smirked. “He likes to stay under the radar. But he assures me that you can ‘get’ things for people.”
“I get what I know I can sell or what interests me. You have nothing I want to sell and you don’t interest me. So feel free to buy something or leave.”
“So is it true?” he continued. “I might have a few things I want you to look for that went missing. I know a couple people who could help retrieve them if you can find them. Maybe we can work out a deal.”
Mia was done with the charade, and her blood was boiling at the thought that they’d come in and try to…test her. That was the only way she could really describe how it felt. As if she were auditioning for a job she didn’t know she was asking for. And what really pissed her off was that she was good at reading between the lines. He wanted to know if she was dirty. How far she’d go and if she could be bought. He was lucky she didn’t take that music box and shove it up his ass.
“Let me make this easy for you because you don’t seem too bright,” Mia said. “I’m guessing you’re working with the local task force, and I hope to God this is the first and only job they’ve ever sent you on because you’re the worst operative I’ve ever seen. And believe me, I’ve see some bad ones.”
Barnes stiffened. “Hey—”
“I’m not finished. You’re either here for one of two reasons,” she said. “You’re trying to set me up and get me to agree to buy stolen goods, which seems pretty stupid considering I know there are a lot bigger fish to fry in this neck of the woods.”
“I’m getting pretty tired of you calling me stupid,” he said between gritted teeth.
She ignored him. “The second option is you’re trying to see if you can use me for something for your own gain. You need my expertise or maybe even my shop for a setup. You’re wasting your time and mine. If you’d wanted my help all you would’ve had to do is ask. I like cops—with the exception of you. I run a clean place with clean merchandise. I enter all my inventory into LEADS just like everyone else.”
LEADS was a database where pawnshop owners entered the pieces people sold them. The first place cops looked if there were stolen items was in the LEADS database. “And I don’t know what you’re fishing for, but you’re not going to find it here. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Mia moved back to the items she’d been cataloguing, but it was impossible to focus.
He tried smiling and lifting his hands like he was innocent. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot, but you got it all wrong. I ain’t no cop, and I don’t know what you’re talking about as far as working out any deals. I just thought we could do each other a favor or two.”
“Don’t they have you on a leash? I would’ve thought for sure one of the big dogs would’ve come to rescue you already. You’re drowning.”
His eyes narrowed to hard, mean slits, and she realized maybe he was a little older than she’d originally thought. But she hadn’t been wrong about his personality. A hothead. And he was about ready to explode.
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”
“You don’t say?” she said, wide-eyed. “I’ve never heard that before.” Mia watched as he tossed the music box back into the cardboard box. She tried to even her temper and she took a couple deep breaths.
“Listen,” she said, calmer. “I don’t know who your commanding officer is, but let me give you some advice. I spotted you as a cop the second you got out of your truck. Go back to patrol. Undercover work is going to get you killed. You’re terrible at it, Walker Barnes.”
He gave her a middle finger and said, “Fuck off.”
“I’m all full of fuck offs for the day, but thanks for caring. I’m a pain in the ass. I’m sure your recon on me and this shop told you that up front. Unless you didn’t bother to do recon and came in blind on your superior’s say-so. And if that’s the case, I’m going to call you stupid again.”
He grabbed her wrist and squeezed, his anger calling the shots now instead of common sense. Bingo. She knew that temper was going to get him. Now maybe she could find out what the hell he really wanted.
“I said I’m tired of you calling me stupid.”
“You’re going to want to let me go. Right now.”
“You think you’re so smart? I got news for you. You’re going to help us whether you want to or not. Or we’ll make sure this cesspool you love so much belongs to the government by the time we’re done.”
“Have you ever heard the saying, Don’t Write A Check That Your Mouth Can’t Cash?” she asked sweetly. Then she brought her free hand up and hit him under the chin with the back of her wrist. His teeth snapped together and his head jerked back. She grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face against the counter. And then she leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“Fuck you and everything you don’t stand for, Walker Barnes. Or whatever your name is. You’re a disgrace to the uniform and the badge, and I’m saying this here and now where everyone who’s listening in can hear me. You can take your empty threats and shove them straight up your ass.”
She saw a black Bronco skid to a stop in the parking lot out of the corner of her eye. Mia wasn’t about to be intimidated by anyone. And she knew Sheriff MacKenzie wouldn’t allow it either, even if it meant he’d have to go against another cop. Cooper MacKenzie was the real deal. And he’d always do what was right. Mia wasn’t without connections of her own. She’d been a cop for ten years.
The buzzer at the door rang over and over again, and she let go of Barnes’s hair so he could stand up straight. He stumbled back and looked confused. She released the switch to allow entry and slowed her breathing so the red haze of anger could fade.
The door opened and boots scraped across the hardwood floor. Something in the atmosphere changed—an electric current that was all too familiar. It heated her from the inside out, but chills pebbled across her skin. Her nipples spiked right along with her temper. It had always been that way.
Zeke McBride looked better than she remembered—though he was harder and had more of an edge. He’d always kept hi
s dark hair shaved close to the scalp, but she could see the threads of silver sneaking in, especially around the temples. He’d always had facial hair for as long as she’d known him, but he’d let it grow to full scruff, and there was plenty of silver in that too. The age looked good on him.
His eyes were a dark forest green with flecks of gold, and he had impossibly long lashes for a man. She’d always been jealous. Those eyes never missed anything. One of his eyebrows had a scar running through it. That was new since she’d seen him last.
Zeke had always been big—several inches over six feet and muscled like a bodybuilder. The sleeves of his black shirt fit tight around his tattooed biceps and he wore jeans and a pair of steel-toed black boots. He was one-hundred percent badass, and if she still wasn’t so mad at him she’d have pounced and claimed what was hers.
He’d always loved the undercover life. In his mind it was the ultimate battle of good versus evil. It was a way to feed the adrenaline rush, play within the shades of gray, and ultimately put away the bad guys.
Memories assaulted her—love and fear and chaos and danger and arguments—lots of arguments—and she was suddenly back in the place she’d been seven years before. Hurt and scared and not willing to sacrifice anything more than she already had. And he hadn’t been willing to sacrifice anything at all. Or it least it had seemed that way to her. But she’d been unbending—they both had—so she’d walked away.
“Well, fuck,” she said.
“It’s good to see you too, Mia.”
Chapter Two
Zeke McBride was a gambling man. As any self-respecting, second generation, Irish-American should be.
He’d dealt his own hand. And maybe he’d dealt from the bottom of the deck, but sometimes a man had to go to extremes when the stakes were high. And when it came to Mia, the stakes were as high as it got.