The guy I know only by his first name, Rowan, a name that might very well be an alias like Tawny, has pulled his shirt off to catch the few rays of sun squirting through the viscous clouds overhead. The rain has left behind the fragrance of soggy asphalt and wet tent canvas. The sweet, pungent smell of marijuana drifts up from the joint tucked between Rowan's fingers. He has a smattering of tattoos across his knuckles, but I can't make them out.

I slip the coat off my shoulders as I sashay over to the park bench that is chained to the sidewalk a few feet outside his tent. The bench has every inch of its blue surface covered with graffiti. I drop my coat over the back of it and sit down on an artist's impressive felt tip drawing of a pirate ship. I turn and put my feet on the bench and bring my knees to my chest. I don't say a word and wait for him to speak first.

Rowan takes a long drag on his joint. His chest, also covered in tattoos, puffs out as he holds the smoke in before releasing it with a single cough. He squints at me through the stream of smoke curling up into the cold, humid air. "Where are you from, Taw-nee?" He pronounces the name with a slow, southern drawl even though I don't detect any genuine accent.

"Here and there." I spin on my bottom and put my feet on the ground. I motion to the joint. "You going to smoke that all by yourself?"

His faint smile is appealing. Just like with Yoli, it's hard to fathom how someone like Rowan ended up living in a tent in a remote city park. He sits back on the rickety beach chair, stretches his legs out and holds the joint toward me.

I get up slowly and add a little shake to my shake as I walk toward him. He boldly watches my lower half, then lifts his gaze to my face as I take the joint. It has been a long time since I've had a hit of pot. It burns my throat as I inhale. I have to work hard to subdue the follow-up cough.

"Thanks," I mutter as I hand it back to him still trying to stifle the cough. I haven't eaten or slept much in two days, and the pot goes straight to my head.

The chair creaks with each movement. "So you've got secrets then, huh Red." It's not a question. "I like your hair down. Better than those country girl braids."

I shrug to let him know I'm not that easily wooed. Even though something tells me he's a highly skilled wooer. The flaps on his tent are pinned open. Never able to leave my detective's curiosity behind, I glance inside. A large downy sleeping bag and fluffy pillow are piled in the corner. A small table is set up with toiletries, toothbrush and paste, a comb, which from the looks of it, he rarely uses. There's even a razor. "Nice set up," I comment. "Do you have a sugar momma somewhere keeping you comfy out here in the park?" My teasing provocation is deliberate. I've found it's always easier to pry secrets out of someone who is on the defense, but Rowan seems unfazed.

Rowan dabs the joint out on the cement near his feet and pushes it into his pocket as he stands up. His pants drop low on his hips, and his rock hard abs roll out in an impressive six pack. He walks toward me. It's hard to read his expression. I stand my ground to show him that a muscular build and cool, even stare don't intimidate me.

He's close enough now that I can smell a dab of aftershave on his skin. He's either a fastidious, extra vain homeless person or he really is being kept by someone. He steps closer. I look him right in the eye. His gaze shifts down to my lips.

"That is a million dollar mouth, Red. You could be making a fortune just with those damn lips. What exactly are you doing out here in this park?"

My muscles tighten as I perceive some suspicion in his tone. "I'm just out here trying to survive like everyone else." I worry that I'm just wasting my time, breath and who knows what else by messing with this guy. I've already got him pegged as someone who sleeps around just to get perks and money. I'm convinced he has nothing to do with the Lace Underground.

Rowan's gaze is magnetic. I drag my eyes from his, finding it easier to move on with my fake persona. As my gaze sweeps the flattened cardboard in front of the tent, a sort of welcome mat in front of his home, I see some lettering. In its former life, before it became a welcome mat, the box had contained soda. Cherry Cola to be exact.

I tamp down the rush of adrenaline by clamping my hands into fists. Detective Olson found only one real clue during his time on the street, and that clue was Cherry Cola. There was no other context to the cryptic clue, but I knew I wasn't standing on 'just a coincidence'.

Seconds ago, I was ready to brush this escapade off as a waste of time. My interest is piqued. I need to warm up again and keep Rowan's attention. I lift my gaze and find that keeping it won't take much effort. His eyes land on my lips again, then his scrutinizing gaze drops to my breasts. I purposely push them harder against the thin, cotton fabric of my t-shirt.

"You are a piece of candy, aren't you, Red?" He moves even closer. I can see a short scar on the side of his nose and another on the side of his chin. It seems he's been in more than his share of fights. "How are you at keeping secrets, Red? I mean real secrets, important top secret kind of shit?"

I shrug and bite my lip flirtatiously hoping to use my feminine wiles to knock him off guard. Maddox would have a hearty laugh about my plan.

"What kind of secret?" I ask. I lift my hand and drag my fingertip down the hard muscles of his chest. His abdomen contracts a little as my finger continues seductively to the button on his jeans. I let my hand fall away. He hasn't taken his eyes off of my lips.

"Hmm, let me think of a good example," he drawls. "If I take you into that tent, strip you naked and fuck you hard, would you keep it a secret?"

I flinch inwardly. To do undercover right, you have to resort to anything that keeps your cover solid. I wonder just how far this will go.

I take a shuddering breath to let him think he has me turned on. "I could try and keep it a secret," I say. "But what about when I scream your name as I come? People will hear."

Rowan steps so close now I can feel the heat rising off his naked chest. He lifts his hand and presses his fingers over my mouth. "I could cover your mouth. But then I think it would be much more fun to hear my name on these lips." He pushes my hair back and leans his mouth close to my ear. His breath tickles my skin as he whispers. "And I would definitely make you scream, Red."

A dry chalky taste clutters my throat. I swallow discretely to clear it.

"I've got no doubt of that. Is that your big top secret shit?" A coquettish laugh slips from my mouth. I silently congratulate myself on how convincing it sounds. I sidle closer and jump into flattery mode, a sure fire way to get a guy like Rowan off his game. "Any girl can just look at you and know you've had many girls scream your name inside that tent. But I'll bet you have more secrets to share." Desperate measures are needed. I can't let this guy slip away. He might be my only chance to make this assignment a success.

I press myself up against him and am not surprised when my belly rubs against a rock hard erection. He groans when I push myself a little closer.

"Shit, Red, you are testing my willpower here."

"Then give in to your sweet tooth and taste the candy." I briefly imagine Maddox and me having a good laugh when I recant the story of my undercover flirtations. I switch right over to being angry with myself for even thinking about the jerk. The touch of irritation makes me more bold. I'm determined to make this assignment a big fucking success just so I can rub it in Maddox's face.

I reach between our bodies and rub the back of my knuckles along his rather impressive erection. He surprises me by grabbing hold of my wrist to stop my slow tease. I'm astounded at how insulted I feel. Maybe Maddox would have every right to laugh about my attempt at seduction. It seems I can't even entice a guy living in a tent in the park.

Rowan surprises me again by squeezing my wrist just a little too hard. He lifts my hand to his mouth and drags his tongue across my knuckles. "You are sweet, Red. But I can't risk it."

"Risk what?" I ask airily as if I really don't care.

"If you're chosen, the boss doesn't like spoiled goods."

I laugh to pretend I think he's just teasing me, but he looks plenty serious. "And just who would the boss be? That bearded guy who snores like a bear? Or maybe it's that little lady at the end of the park who likes to talk to the birds."

Rowan smiles at me and winks. "You'll see soon enough, Red. Just be ready. Now since you've got me rock hard, I need to go inside and take care of some business." He turns to go into his tent but takes one last, appreciative look at me. "Fuck, I might just be up for a bonus this time," he says out loud, but it seems the words are just meant for him.

I scurry away, not wanting to be anywhere near when he takes care of business. Olson has dragged his filthy self out of his tent. He's standing against a tree near the bathrooms smoking a cigarette. I walk to the drinking fountain nearby and take a long drink. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and mutter to him as I walk past.

"I found Cherry Cola and I'm in." I keep walking not wanting to draw any connection between us. I don't need to look back to know I've left Olson with his chin on the ground.