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  Personally, I’d like to get a good look at the company books – or let Janine do it, her having a CPA license and all. Knowing the sperm donor’s penchant for playing loose with the rules – and playing panty piñata – I had no doubt there were any number of unexplained anomalies a knowledgeable set of outside eyes could discern. Photographic evidence aside.

  Long story.

  So I’d left them to their grubby greenbacks years ago and struck out on my own. Mostly. But this year I couldn’t call off from the annual Thanksgiving gathering. It fell on Janine’s birthday this time. Well, and there was the fact that her genteel Louisiana granny was also celebrating a ninetieth birthday with a planned combined bash bigger than the great State of Texas. I hadn’t seen the elder De’Laruse matriarch since the patriarch passed a few years ago just before my flight to freedom.

  Then again, it’d been a long time since I’d had a proper vacation, which made me somewhat excited. Excited to get out of town, I mean. Dredge your minds from the gutters, folks.

  “Surprised to see you up and about this early,” Zeke commented, sending my target out to the twenty yard zone. “Didn’t you work last night?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  I barely had time to cover my ears before Zeke snapped his Glock .45 from the holster and rapid-fire emptied the magazine. The center hole I’d started was now a large, smoking vacancy as he slid it forward then plucked the target from the hanger.

  “Hey,” I said. “I paid good money for that piece of cardboard.”

  “Take one of mine then.”

  Zeke slid a fresh target in place and shoved it down the lane to the ten yard mark.

  “Too far,” I said. “I’m still working on close-range accuracy.”

  “Your accuracy is fine.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I muttered. “You haven’t killed anyone.”

  “Actually, I have,” Zeke said before snapping in another magazine and making short work of the target he’d placed out there for me.

  “But those were real criminals,” I said, uncovering my ears again.

  “So was Han. Blackmail is a crime.” The magazine dropped on the counter with a high-tinged clatter as Zeke ejected and quickly reloaded to finish the job. “You’ve got to get past this guilt before it eats you alive.”

  “But he didn’t do something so heinous as to earn a visit from the grim reaper.”

  “He had a gun too. Shot your apartment superintendent, if I recall.” His voice dropped to a growl as he leaned into my personal space. “And threatened you.”

  “Well, yeah,” I admitted, bumping up against the lane wall.

  “All actions have consequences, Vic.” He holstered his spent weapon before his brown-eyed gaze pierced mine. “If you remember.”

  My whisper bypassed taut vocal chords. “I remember.”

  The confession last summer had been two-fold. In his line of work, Texas Rangers sometimes had to clean up the messes others wouldn’t or couldn’t touch. However, I got the distinct impression Zeke wasn’t speaking right now about shooting criminals. That meant only one other thing.

  The Lorraine Padget incident.

  When I’d caught my arch enemy in my man’s arms several years ago, Lorraine had developed a sudden desire for an evening swim. My little bitch-slap might’ve had something to do with that too. The kinda, sorta, swan-dive off the restaurant dock also meant she was in the perfect position to rescue Zeke’s Stetson from becoming fish fodder. Since the epic breakup, I’d carried the torch for all cheated-on females everywhere.

  Until I’d shut up enough to finally listen to Zeke’s explanation. I mean really hear it this time. Turns out, my initial impression of a two-timing tryst was nothing but horse droppings.

  That’s a nice way of saying I was full of shit. And yeah, I can admit I was wrong. At least now. I think.

  So that left me and Zeke tiptoeing on unfamiliar turf. I no longer had any legitimate reason to stay mad at him. Though the intimacy we’d shared was long gone, the tension of physical chemistry had never died. There was enough evidence during our interactions over the summer to make that abundantly clear.

  Again, don’t ask.

  ‘Course the fact that I was presently dating someone made things a little weird. If not for the frustration of wanting him to jump my bones every time he came around, I actually thought Zeke and I might be on the road toward an actual friendship. But it’d been a lot easier to stay away from the Ranger when I’d been mad.

  I elbowed Zeke out of the way and picked up my own peashooter. If memory served, there’d be only a fraction of drop in velocity at this distance.

  “Relax your grip,” Zeke instructed.

  I took a deep breath and rolled my shoulders.

  “Give allowance for the breeze,” he continued, resting his hands lightly on my hips.

  I sighted the only available and untouched area of the target, aiming just above and to the right. Then stroked the trigger.

  Zeke whistled as he reeled in the target, and we admired my handiwork. A single bullet – right between where the eyes should be.

  And this time, in the immortal words of Pee-wee Herman, I meant to do that.

  Chapter Three

  By Friday night, the lack of sleep all week had the bags under my eyes threatening to trip me like an eighty-year-old bra-burning rebel. Being off my bartending game meant more work for not only Rochelle, Wanker and Baby, but me as well – in the form of a newbie. I didn’t possess the brain power to give a crap about helping the new guy my boss had saddled me with three weeks ago. Personally, I’d rather tend bar with Grady instead of wondering what he was doing when he snuck off to his backroom office.

  Especially now that I knew he had the bar wired enough to make J. Edgar Hoover proud.

  My ATF agent boss kept an array of video and audio recording devices scattered throughout the inside and outside of the bar. All part of his undercover persona. Until recently, I figured he was just one of those guys who loved their security toys – or had voyeuristic tendencies.

  Hmm.

  Since finding out his secret after he’d saved my life last summer, I’d grown more self-conscious about everything I did and every conversation I had with patrons as they sidled up to the bar.

  Particularly when it came to my current squeeze.

  Radioman’s cornflower-blue eyes contained more irritation tonight than interest – and knowing the argument was being recorded, coupled with too many early mornings of late, set me not just on edge but plummeting over the cliff.

  “A whole week? When were you going to tell me?”

  “I just did,” I said, filling two mugs from the tap before Rochelle carted them off to a table with a smirk of sympathy.

  “No, you didn’t. I had to learn from the kid there,” Radioman replied, thumbing the end of the bar where my trainee had escaped to deliver libations.

  “Well, I was gonna tell you.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight?”

  After taking a hard pull and finishing off the second bottle of Sam Adams Winter Lager, he ran a hand through thick amber hair that sported a permanent indention from the radio station’s headphones. “When do you leave?”

  The sudden break in the band’s music made Radioman’s question sound more like a demand from a jealous boy – er, guy friend. It’s pretty safe to say by now we all know how I feel about that other term. But just in case you’re new to my way with words, I don’t do the boyfriend thing.

  “Flying out Sunday,” I said, ignoring his glare and jumping down the line to load up a tray when Baby came sauntering over with orders for the band.

  Why Grady didn’t let me train Baby as an extra bartender instead of hiring muscle-bound Randy didn’t compute until I saw the kid up close and personal. The guy could’ve given the current heavyweight contender a dark alley run for his money.

  It also meant ol’ Wanker was probably considering retiring again, which squeezed my heartstrings
a little more than I was used to. With the growing pile of crap creeping around Dallas’ Historic West End, Grady would be in a heap of trouble with no backup after a raucous Friday or Saturday night.

  Trust me. I got a closer than a bird’s eye view of those creepers once. The thought of encountering those switchblades again made me shudder.

  I threw away Radioman’s spent beer bottle. “Want another one?”

  “Nah,” he said, standing up and tossing some bills on the bar. “I just remembered I’ve got somewhere else to be.”

  “Bruce, wait…”

  That stopped him, his head rotating my way right slow like in those creepy possessed doll movies. “It’s Bruce now? What happened to your famous ‘Radioman’ moniker?”

  “Uh…I signed rights over to your employer, that’s what,” I returned. “But that’s not the point.”

  He clutched my grimy towel hand in his as I tried to wipe up condensation left over from the bottle. “Stay with me tonight.”

  I cringed all the way to my toes. “I’ve got errands to run tomorrow and packing to finish.”

  Not to mention it’d be my only day to sleep in all week – and if Radioman and I got together either night, there’d be little chalked up in the sleep column. Hey, a girl’s gotta get some beauty rest to stem the crow’s feet encroachment. After all, it wouldn’t be long before the big three-oh loomed on my horizon.

  ‘Course I still had to get through twenty-seven, eight, and nine first, but who’s counting?

  Radioman released my hand as if it had scorched him. “Are you clambering after the new guy now?”

  “Randy?” I asked a little too loud.

  “What?” Randy sidled up to me.

  “Not now,” Radioman barked.

  “Hey,” I interceded. “Don’t talk to my co-worker like that.”

  Whoa. When had the muscle-bound-wonder become my co-worker? And why was I standing up for the irritating kid? Hmm. I’d never gone out with a younger man before. Had great arms that might be nice to snuggle in. His butt filled out those jeans pretty well too. Why hadn’t I ever taken notice? Big hands too, which meant…

  Focus, Vic!

  Radioman ran both hands through his hair in apparent disgust at my voracious thoughts. “Tell the courtroom harpy I’ll talk to him later…if he ever shows up.”

  With that, my guy friend sauntered off and out the door.

  Randy stared after him before addressing me in bewilderment. “Was it something I said?”

  ***

  “Don’t worry about it,” Rochelle soothed as she stacked clean glasses against the backbar at night’s end. “Every couple is gonna fight now and then. It’s the making up that’s the fun part,” she finished with a brow wiggle.

  The arduous process of tallying the liquor stash kept my mind occupied for about ten seconds. “Why do guys have to be so controlling? I mean, can’t we just skip the arguing part and go straight to make-up sex?”

  “They’re not all controlling. At least that’s the running theory anyway.”

  “From my experience…”

  “Of which you have plenty.”

  I shot Rochelle my best stink eye. “Seems they’re the ones acting so needy and…well, girly.”

  Rochelle chuckled. “Most have rather fragile egos that need stroking on occasion.”

  Stroking? Yeah, I really didn’t need that visual image floating around my gray matter, especially since I’d be away from my man – er, guy friend for a week. Maybe it wasn’t too late to accept Radioman’s sleepover request. Would he still be up at this hour?

  Hmm. Another poor word choice.

  I finished counting liquor bottles and marked the tally on the chart. “Do you ever miss your ex?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do you do in those instances?”

  Rochelle stopped stacking and held up a single finger before blowing on it. “Reload and adjust my aim.”

  When our raucous laughter died down, Rochelle finished up then grabbed her purse and headed for the rear door.

  “Promise me one thing, Vicki.”

  “What?”

  “Forget about Radioman for now and just have a good time next week. A break might be just what the relationship needs,” she tossed over her shoulder before exiting.

  I slipped to the door and watched until she got safely to her car and peeled away before locking up and taking the till and tally to the backroom. Grady pecked away with two fingers on his computer like an anxious and starving woodpecker instead of studying the monitor array along the far wall like he usually did at night’s end.

  “What’s up, Boss?” I asked as the till clattered on his desk.

  “Hold up there, Vic,” he commanded.

  No heated glance. No mustache tilt. No harmless flirtation that sent my panties riding the tilt-a-whirl. Just an intense stare down with his computer screen to see which one would blink first.

  I did say harmless, didn’t I?

  While he finished whatever he was typing – which by the look on his face was probably something ATF related – I snatched up my keys, spun the dial, and secured the till in the safe. After almost three years, I’d finally earned enough cred to be entrusted with the safe combination, not to mention a bonafide key to the building and alarm codes.

  Now to some – namely the sperm donor and others who followed the ways of the profiteering prophet – having security access to a bar might not seem like much. But for this once high-flying female who’d earned her Mile High Club wings the old fashioned way and not on a private jet, I was proud of the fact I’d gained my boss’s trust through my own efforts and not for merely sporting the last name of Bohanan. I’d worked double-time to distance myself from not only my father’s wealth but his interference in my life as well.

  Which made this upcoming trip to Louisiana a trying, double-edged sword. I’d have to expend plenty of overtime to keep Janine and I busy with activities more suited to the twenty-something crowd instead of hanging around with the folks sipping lemonade or sweet tea on the antebellum veranda. The only other question was how to do that without having my best friend’s younger brother tag along.

  Yeah, I’ll get to George later.

  Grady’s face darkened right before he slammed his palm down on his desk and stood. I half expected him to sweep the computer against the wall of monitors, and instead he came around and leaned against the front of the desk. The mustache tilt finally surfaced, but it appeared forced instead of the natural progression of simmering heat and a touch of humor. Oh, and totally sexy. Yup, the boss was definitely working on something ATF related – and I had an eerie feeling it might involve little ol’ me.

  “What’s up, buttercup?” I quipped.

  Grady ignored my attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m not happy, Vic.”

  “Tell me something a little less obvious.”

  A grunt and a glance over my head toward the office doorway. “Have you considered staying in Louisiana after the family festivities?”

  “Not only no but hell no,” I emphasized. “Besides, they’ve got alligators.”

  “Alligators are found in Texas, too.”

  “Not in Dallas, unless you count the zoo.”

  “A technicality.”

  I waited while his dark eyes traced every inch of my face – then stopped without dipping below my neck. Hmm, the boss really was upset about something. Okay, now I was officially nervous.

  “What’s got you so uptight, Boss?” I asked.

  With a sigh, he nudged by and closed the office door with a soft click before spinning around to face me. If any other person on planet earth had done that – well, besides Janine, or my pastor friend Bobby, probably Zeke, uh, maybe – I’d have piddled in my panties, expecting a gun, knife, or switchblade brandished at any second. After all the time we’d hung out around the bar – and the fact he’d saved my carcass on occasion – I had no doubts or delusions Grady wanted to talk about how much Jack I’d sipped that night or
about the possibility of my life being in jeopardy.

  Yet.

  “For the record, this is not my idea. I’m one hundred percent against this,” Grady grumbled. “But I’ve been outmanned and outranked. Therefore, the decision is no longer mine.”

  “What decision?” I asked, the creeping claws of concern settling into my grey matter. “What are you getting at, Grady?”

  He stared at the floor as if the wood grain was the most fascinating thing he’d ever laid eyes on. “Vic, I’m sorry to do this but…

  “You’re fired.”

  Chapter Four

  Before you go off half-cocked like – well, like I sorta, kinda did – Grady firing me wasn’t what it seemed. Turns out he had a different job lined up for me.

  And he was none too happy about it.

  Remember the courtroom harpy Radioman mentioned? That would be his best friend Seth, a local up-and-coming attorney who’d gotten a little too close to one of the firm’s clients – namely one Tomas Ricardo, AKA Switch.

  For the sake of full disclosure, I’d gotten a little too up close and personal with the former gang leader now drug smuggler – ‘scuse me, goods distributor – when trying to help my friend Reggie with a little blackmail problem a few months ago.

  But apples and oranges.

  So after hooking up Seth with my undercover ATF agent boss to try and infiltrate the goods distributor’s network, the attorney had one simple demand – to work with me and only me as his inside man – er, woman. That meant I had to temporarily leave the bar and go to work at the law firm as some sort of assistant. That meant I had to go from working nights to days. Meant going from being a free-wheeling, Jello shots drinking, bar top dancing girl to a stuffy, uptight, suit wearing corporate type.

  Oh, hell-to-the-no.

  ‘Course Grady didn’t want me mixed up in that can of nuts either, but the powers-that-be commanded he approach me with the offer. It didn’t take more than a half-second of thought for me to turn it down flat, which earned me a mustache turndown of relief from the boss man. Then the second thought hit.