Jules counted down the minutes until her shift was over. She quickly cleaned up her area, then ran to the locker room to change. The strippers sat at makeup tables gabbing while they undressed and removed their makeup, but she didn’t stop to chat.
Her goal was to get out of the bar as soon as possible, before the new bouncer held her to having breakfast with him. Getting cozy with him could get her information, but she could slip up too and out herself.
We? Are you a we here, Jules?
She’d let down her guard and that could get her killed if she wasn’t careful. Something was up with that brooding man and she needed to keep her distance until she figured out what that was. Keegan MacDonald. Possibly former SEAL, but also probable agent for someone.
He said he’d left the teams because of a woman. Was he dishonorably discharged? Did he have a vendetta against the military? Or had her SAIC sent someone inside to help her without telling her? So far, Brand Carter seemed like a conscientious boss, so she doubted that was the case. That meant Keegan MacDonald was working for someone else, possibly the radical Islamists or sympathizers she was trying to weed out here.
As soon as she got to her apartment, she would text her boss and ask for everything she could get on him. When she at least knew something about MacDonald, she would covertly interrogate him to pinpoint his reason for being at the club. He had a reason for being there without a doubt. His appearance today and method of getting hired at the Lily Pad were too coincidental.
Jules sat down on the bench in front of her locker and sighed as she took off her heels. She raised her foot to prop it on the bench and rub her sore ankle. It was swollen, but not dramatically. Thank goodness she hadn’t broken it when that drunk bastard fell on her.
“Stupid, drunken asshole,” she mumbled, as she dropped her foot to the floor to stand and remove her bottoms and hose.
After this operation was over, she doubted she would ever frequent a bar again. This was a disgusting assignment, but Jules took it, because it was probably her only shot at a permanent position on the counter-intelligence team, which she’d been denied for ten years. Nobody else wanted the assignment, but she did, since it was likely the only opportunity she’d have to prove herself.
So far, she’d proven nothing except she was better suited to the white-collar crime unit she’d been assigned to for seven years. It was time for her to figure this case out, before they pulled her from it. In three months, she should’ve at least had something to give to Brand, but all she had were unfounded suspicions. She wasn’t throwing those his way because that would just make her look stupid if she was way off base.
Jules pulled out the wad of bills in her bra and stashed them with her holster deep inside her duffle bag. She quickly shed the rest of her clothes then grabbed a bottle of body wash, shampoo, a towel, and her shower shoes, before heading to the shower.
Would she ever stop smelling like stale cigarettes and alcohol? She was almost afraid in the three months she’d been in the club that the smell had seeped into her skin so deep she’d never get rid of it. Fifteen minutes later, she dressed in her jeans and t-shirt, put on her belly band holster and slid her gun inside.
Tired as hell, she towel-dried her hair and felt marginally human again as she stashed her stuff back in her bag. And she still had six blocks to walk to the apartment the agency set up for her. Thank goodness that would be in tennis shoes instead of heels, she thought, hefting her bag onto her shoulder and cringing when she took a step on her swollen ankle.
She needed to ice it down and take ibuprofen as soon as she got home, or she wouldn’t be wearing heels tomorrow night. Limping to the back door, she opened it and stepped outside then leaned against the wall to inhale deeply. She coughed and covered her nose when the odor of hot garbage from the dumpster replaced the bar smell.
Her stomach rolled as she pushed off of the wall and took a step, but the bright security lights overhead were suddenly eclipsed by a large body. The hair on her neck raised as her heart skidded to a stop and she reached under the hem of her shirt. A large hand clamped down on her wrist, holding her hand tightly to her side before she could draw her weapon.
“Are you trying to weasel out of breakfast, Jules?” Keegan MacDonald asked, and his voice rumbling in her ears sent tingles down her neck.
“No, I’m not reneging, I’m just too tired tonight. How about a rain-check?” she asked, as his intense stare set her nerves on fire.
“It’s not night, it’s nearly three in the morning and it’s not raining,” he replied, as his hot breaths fanned her face and his intense energy buzzed around her. “I’m hungry, and you owe me breakfast.” His eyes made it look like he was hungry for more than breakfast, and Jules body wanted to offer him a buffet at that moment.
But she didn’t know anything about him, and he could be the enemy.
“Move your hands,” she said, trying to slide her hand from under her shirt.
“Not until you promise not to shoot me,” he replied evenly, and a burst of fear caused her legs to buckle because he obviously realized she was carrying.
“I won’t shoot you if you get your hands off of me,” she grated, and he smiled as his hands fell away and he took a step back.
“My question is, why are you armed inside a bar? That could buy you time in jail if you ever had reason to be frisked, since you’re a civilian.” he said, and his eyes raked her from head to toe. “I’m sure there would be a line for that privilege.”
Jules felt like she had just had been frisked—with his eyes. Had this man made her out as an agent, or was he fishing?
“I think it would be obvious why I’m armed. I’m a woman and I work in a titty bar,” she replied, adding an eye roll for emphasis.
“Your military martial arts training should be enough of a deterrent and a lot safer, don’t you think? That costume doesn’t offer many concealment opportunities, so if I noticed your hold gun, someone else will, too,” he said, and that statement solidified she’d probably been made.
Fuck, fuckity, fuck. She needed to get in touch with Brand, because this was not good. If this man had ID’d her, she would be useless here now, and if he was the enemy and outed her, she could be dead.
Her eyes slid up his broad chest to meet his stare again and she found him watching her closely. An operator’s standard procedure to gauge her reaction. Was it just because he was a former SEAL and trained in those techniques? Or was he an operative now for someone other than the military? His kind of skills were in high demand with terrorist organizations.
They loved to recruit disgruntled former military guys—a former SEAL would be a gold mine for them. The only way to find out for sure which side of the field he played on was to have breakfast with him. What did she have to lose at this point?
“The café is about five blocks from here,” she said, stepping around him.
“I really just came back here to offer you a ride home because of your ankle. I figured you’d try to sneak out the back,” he replied, grabbing her arm. “My bike is around the side of the building. Let’s go.”
How did he know she was on foot? That she didn’t have a vehicle here? Better yet that she didn’t have a boyfriend picking her up?
When she walked around the side of the building with him and he waved at Candi, who was getting into the car with her boyfriend, Blane, Jules had her answer. This man had been asking around about her with the other employees.
Definitely not good.
When he stopped beside an expensive custom bike parked at the front end of the building, Jules insides took a slow, sexy roll and her mind soared down the road on that bike. Her feet carried her toward him, and by the time she arrived, her mind was halfway to Virginia Beach.
“Wow…that is a beautiful machine, Mr. MacDonald,” Jules said, awestruck as she stopped to take in the full glory of the badass Harley V-Rod Muscle with a lowered front end, black powder-coated airbox cover, billets, and pipes.
When her mind snapped back to the present, she wondered how an unemployed SEAL could afford to own such a bike. More questions that needed answers, because she immediately rejected the answer that presented. He was selling his skills to the enemy at an exorbitant price.
“This is a first. I’ve never had a woman lust over my bike before. I should’ve painted it black a long time ago,” he said, laughing as he held out his flat black half-shell helmet to her. “Here, wear my helmet because I don’t have two.”
She took the helmet, but he moved and the light reflected off of a shiny black spot on the tank and she stepped closer to run her fingers over the decal, trying to figure out what it was.
“What’s this?” she asked, tracing it again.
“Bonefrog,” he mumbled, as he went behind the bike and pulled a leather jacket from the saddlebag, then slid it on.
“What does it mean?” she asked, realizing it was a frog skeleton holding a triton.
“It means I’m a washed up fucking SEAL. Just put the damned helmet on—I’m tired and hungry,” he growled.
Ouch. Touchy subject, which also pointed to the conclusion she didn’t want to make.
He pushed the bike forward off of the stand, then cranked it. She felt the throaty sound and vibrations in her chest as she snapped the chin strap. A thrill ripped through her as she pushed her duffle to her back and stepped on the peg. He scooted forward and she threw her leg over the seat then settled behind him.
A sense of rightness soothed her as she melded her body with his, slid her arms around his trim waist and laid her face against his broad back. The scent of the smooth, well-worn leather under her cheek soothed her, his heat inflamed her and the vibrations under her titillated her.
This man was as badass as his bike, dark and dangerous. Alpha men did it for her. If they owned a bike, she was done for. This man and this bike were her ultimate fantasy.
He put the bike in gear and a rush of freedom surged through her as he zoomed across the parking lot. She could fantasize all she wanted, but Jules knew as soon as she got off this bike, she was going to have to forget this ever happened.
She was here to do a job, and this bad boy had just been added to her suspect list.