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  Around ten, shortly before the kitchen closed, I sent a platter of appetizers to their table and had to smile when the older guy, the one who nearly cleaned Duane's clock, slapped Maddie on her shapely backside. All was well. Even with the bouncer keeping them in his baleful glare, my girls worked their magic. Almost too well, I experienced a silly twinge of jealousy when my new dancer Sandra—young, tight, and stacked—plopped herself on Ethan's knee, and he draped an arm around her.

  Some nights I make last call very abrupt. Kill the music and bring up the lights. Tonight I did it gradually, starting around midnight, pulling dancers off the stage and telling the servers to close out their tabs as quickly as possible. Under my gentle prodding, tables emptied, including Ethan and his crew, well before closing.

  My last obstacle was clearing the sheriff and his buddies out of their private lair upstairs. The room has its own bar, so the last call activity didn't always get the point across. A half hour earlier than usual, I sent Maddie upstairs with a tray of high-dollar brandy and a note from me thanking them for patronizing my establishment and wishing them a good night.

  It worked. Local political figures and other paragons of the community trickled down the stairs with shirts hastily tucked in and ties askew. Sheriff Sheldon was last out giving the topless bartender a quick grope before donning his hat. I hoped he'd head straight for the door. Instead, he sauntered over to the bar.

  "Heard you had some trouble down here tonight."

  "Nothing I couldn't handle."

  "I heard that too. You're hell on wheels, aren't you?" A lingering look at my chest accompanied the question.

  "I have to be to keep up with this county."

  I got a smile I'm sure he thought was dashing. He was wrong.

  "Harry, will I be seeing you tomorrow night?"

  "No, I've got meetings and then some family shit. I hope that scooter trash doesn't give you any more problems."

  I fought to keep a straight face at the thought of Harry Sheldon storming down the stairs, pants unzipped, to my rescue.

  "I know you're only a phone call away. Y'all take care."

  With a tip of his hat, he was gone, and I could check one more problem off my list. I threw the latch on the front door a few minutes before closing time and turned off the outside lights. My crew wandered around, breaking out brooms and cleaning supplies while Joey totaled the register. The dancers were all in the locker room.

  "You guys, shut down the kitchen, clean the bathrooms, and take off. I'll handle the closedown. Everybody busted tail tonight. Get out of here."

  In response, I got silence and stares, like they didn't believe me. Usually, I was a hard ass that didn't let anybody leave until I could see myself in the shine on the brass.

  "Yeah, we'll let the day crew earn their pay. Now go on before I come to my senses."

  They didn't need to be told again, and I've never seen them move faster. Joey handed me the tape on his way out.

  I did a quick tour for anyone who hadn't gotten the news, shooing a couple of dancers more interested in their cell phones than leaving, before I propped the side door open. I stashed the receipts in the safe, lugged out the trash, and busied myself with washing bar glasses, trying not to watch the clock. This was batshit. The last time I'd seen Ethan I was crying in his arms while he rattled off his justifications for leaving. The time before that, we were both being loaded into ambulances. Still, I couldn't deny how much I wanted to see him.

  I usually kept music or an audiobook playing while I finished up with the club for the night. Without the crowd, the dark cavernous place exuded an unnerving silence. Tonight, I welcomed it. Thirty minutes in, a motorcycle glided to a stop outside. The creak of the door and click of his boot heels on the hardwood floor were both unnaturally loud.

  Ethan peeled off his leather vest and took a Colt Mustang out of his waistband. Pulling up a stool, he accepted the mug I put on the bar. Neither of us spoke as I went back to washing glasses. After downing half the beer, he broke the impasse.

  "How are you?"

  "Same answer I gave you a year ago. I'm maintaining. Running this place helps."

  "I can see that. It's definitely not Dallas."

  "Or Austin."

  Instead of answering, he scooped a few green olives out of the garnish caddy and wandered toward the stages. My weird mood evaporated when he swung on one of the stripper poles and shot me a wry glance.

  "You look good up there. Maybe I need a ladies' night."

  "Nice to know a professional like you thinks I have options if this cop thing doesn't work out."

  He kneeled by the small panel tucked under the center stage floods and said, "How does this work?"

  "It's for the lead dancer to control the music. Hit number seven. That's my personal track."

  "For dancing?"

  I flipped him a quick rude salute. "No. It's for when I'm alone in this barn."

  He tapped the button and looked up as the music poured out of the speakers.

  "George Strait?"

  "You know what they say. You can take the girl out of Texas ..."

  He stepped off the stage and onto the dance floor now glowing with mellow blue lights pulsing with the slow rhythm.

  "Jewel. We've lived together, worked together, and slept together. We've been chased and shot at. Even so, we've never been on a date. We can be serious later. Drop the towel and dance with me."

  CHAPTER 5

  Without the trappings of his undercover, he was a buff handsome dude with long dark hair and ragged jeans asking me to dance. He could have been a mechanic from the chemical plant.

  That thought stopped me. What if Ethan was an ordinary guy who worked ten-hour shifts, 4-on and 3-off, who fished and jacked around with his truck on his free days? Would my suspicions still war with my heart every time I saw him?

  I didn't know the absolute answer. Even with our history, I sure as hell would have wanted to dance with him. I dried my hands and came around the bar. With one hand in his and the other on his shoulder, I stepped into his embrace. His hand on my waist was as light as a soap bubble as I put my head on his shoulder and inhaled his familiar scent mixed with leather and motor oil. Following his lead, I let the music take control and we two-stepped into the shadows..

  Far too soon, he hugged me tight as the final plaintive guitar notes of a waltz faded out. I didn't want to stop, but I called for a break when the music morphed into bluesy rock and roll that was better for listening than dancing. I fetched a couple of beers, and we sat at a ringside table.

  "Yet another talent I didn't know you had, Agent Price."

  "My grandma saw to it that I wasn't raised a total barbarian. Dancing was their equivalent of getting laid. If I'd danced more as a teenager, it could have saved me a lot of problems."

  "How are Anne and Corey?" I asked, referring to his old girlfriend and their high school surprise baby.

  "Hell if I know. Once the child support was paid off, she lost my phone number. Oh well. By the way, you're quite a dancer yourself. I assume lessons at finishing school?"

  "Hardly. Thank my fireman boyfriend. Dancing was his third favorite thing to do on Saturdays. Busting down doors with an ax was his first."

  I have to admit I enjoy poking Ethan right in the caveman. It was good payback for watching him paw Sandra.

  "Please spare me the details of number two on the list." The annoyance in his voice told me I'd rung cherries.

  "Why, what's wrong with football? Specifically, the Longhorns? He and I didn't split up for no reason. I'm not sure I ever broke the top ten." I punctuated this with the forefinger and pinky Hook'em Horns hand sign.

  Ethan's laugh was genuine, and the tension in the room melted. "Well, as an alum, I have to admire his taste, if not his priorities."

  It was worth the joke to see him smile. I used the mood change to get to the subject that concerned me the most. "What have you been doing? How's the assignment going?"

  "I've moved more m
eth than I thought existed and turned the specs on a good dozen labs and distribution ops over to Max Gano to communicate to the powers that be. I was about to come out and let them lower the boom when this thing popped up."

  "This thing?"

  "Whatever it is that brought me here. I don't know the details. I promise this is not like last time. If I have information, then you have information."

  "Well, I'm glad you and your boys decided y'all were thirsty."

  "No, you don't get it. He ordered us here, to this specific bar. The club president told us to scope it out, get comfortable, and wait for him to arrive. As for you, I knew from your Facebook posts that you were tending bar near Biloxi, but I didn't know where. When we stopped for gas, I asked a guy for directions. He told me the club was run by—and I quote—a big-mouthed, tattooed, tight-ass bitch. My immediate thought was that's my girl. Even though I had high hopes, I wasn't sure until I saw you standing on the bar with that shotgun. Then it was like old times."

  "I love it. Glad to know the locals adore me. That's what I get for running a clean joint. Poor guys, now when they want a hooker, they have to hit the strip and compete with the tourists."

  I looked into his eyes, dark and blue in the club lights. I didn't sense any subterfuge. The last time, his expression was always veiled, warring with the lies and betrayal he'd agreed to pursue. My gut told me this "thing" had nothing to do with the secrets I still carried.

  "Fair enough. I can't say that I like it. For right now, I'll roll with how good it is to see you."

  His expression didn't change, but I caught the tightening of his jaw. We sat silent, drinking our beer until Dire Straits singing about the Tunnel of Love brought it home that the track was almost through.

  "Ethan, it's way later than I thought. Are you okay? Do you need to get back?"

  "No, everything's fine. They don't expect me any time soon."

  "Why not?"

  He leaned in until we were only inches apart.

  "I told them I was banging the bartender."

  My heart skipped a beat at the simmering heat in his voice. Catching my breath, I made a decision.

  "Then let's not make a liar out of you."

  He tilted back in his chair and watched me through narrowed eyes. The scrutiny made me squirm. I barely had time to register the sharp crack of his chair legs hitting the floor before he was on his feet, and I was in his arms, one hooked under my thighs and the other an iron bar across my back. A small gasp was all I uttered before he brought his lips down on mine—hot and hungry.

  There was nothing of the cockiness of our first kisses or the awkward tenderness and humor of our first encounter. As I kissed him back, we found the place where lust and passion met to sweep away the guilt and mistrust that had hovered around us like a dark cloud for over a year.

  Three long strides and pain shot through my knees when he flipped me onto the stage. As my sweaty hands fought for purchase on the glossy wood, Ethan stripped away the fabric that separated us. With one hand in my tumbled hair and the other on the small of my back, he kneed my legs apart. Our joining wasn't gentle; it wasn't even polite. We didn't care. We'd apologize later.

  The driving rock music and pulsing lights pounded and swirled until they melded with the jagged streaks of pleasure coursing through me. With my hands finally steady, I met his moves, putting every ounce of my lingering anger and loneliness into answering him until his fingers dug into my skin, and he surrendered himself to the hot flush of climax.

  Neither of us spoke. The music was too loud and the moment was too raw. Although spent, he didn't step away. Circling me with his arms, now soft and gentle, he pulled me closer until I was on my knees with my back against his chest. He peeled off my sweat-soaked shirt and caressed me, his rock-hard hands as delicate as silk on my fevered skin. Probing. Knowing. Relentless, until my own release mixed with the music enveloping us.

  He cradled me as the last notes rang true and the track clicked off. The lights returned to normal, and our breathing was the only sound in the vast room.

  Ethan swept the hot mass of my hair to one side and kissed the tattoos on my shoulders.

  "I have missed you so much," was all he said before releasing me. Those spare words took my breath away. I didn't answer. I didn't have to.

  I pulled away and maneuvered until I was half on my back, laughing at my hobbled feet.

  "Help a girl out, won't you?"

  Before I knew it, my boots and jeans were in a pile and his soon followed. His weight was no burden, even on the hard stage. Our anger dissipated; the tenderness broke through, and I welcomed him.

  CHAPTER 6

  The last time Ethan looked at me from a propped elbow, we'd been swimming in lacy chintz. Tonight we stretched out on a hardwood floor with the air conditioning cooling our bodies.

  "It'll be getting light before too long."

  "I don't want to leave."

  I took that as an opportunity to push him on his back and straddle him.

  "How about I keep you here?"

  "Don't tempt me." He reached over his head and grabbed his shirt, "If you're going to sit there looking gorgeous, put this on, or I won't be able to continue forming words."

  I pulled the shirt, cool and soft, over my head and let the tail puddle across his chest.

  He moved and resettled my weight. "Perfect. Any chance I can come back tonight? We didn't get through a thing I need to talk about, and I wouldn't want the boys to think I hadn't done a good enough job to get an encore invite. Where's the camper or do you live somewhere else?"

  "I wouldn't want your image to suffer, so yeah, tonight is good. Come right back here. This prestigious gig includes an apartment behind my office. The camper is in storage."

  "You live in a strip club?"

  "What can I say, it's a dream come true. It works and the commute is great. Make it around three. I can't chase my staff out early every night, or they'll get suspicious. Repeat after me—1781."

  He complied and raised his eyebrow in question.

  "That's the security code to the side door. It was my dorm room in college."

  "You as a co-ed? There's a thought. Trust me. I'll never forget that number."

  He pulled me down and kissed me. Back in control, his lips were warm on my bruised ones.

  "Think about this today. I want to tell you about the MC and get your take on what may be going down. You're not only a superb lawyer; you now know the local players and scene. Drugs and money are what drive the Colonel."

  "The Colonel?"

  "Jones. That's what the nutcase with the gavel calls himself. He's in Chicago now. The whiff of a big payday is the only thing that would pry him that far out of Georgia. If you're willing, I'd like you to talk to Max Gano and give him my report."

  That took me aback. "You want me to help out on an FBI undercover operation?"

  "You're the only one I can trust and be sure to have the brains to get it right. The game has changed, and Max needs to know. You want to play G-man?"

  "We'll talk later. I need to think about my terms. Do I get a trench coat?"

  "Great, now I'll have that image in my head all day."

  I tucked the long shirt around my legs and ran my hands down his chest.

  "Ethan, what is this?"

  "Are you only now noticing it?" His attempt at humor died with my scowl.

  A fairly new tattoo, bigger than my hand, occupied the skin over his heart. It was a rippling Confederate flag in vivid color.

  "What in the hell possessed you to sit for this?"

  "Don't be dense. I had to patch in to the club. In fact, I was lucky. The vote went my way after less than three months. That got me to the table and privy to the drug running ops. If you weren't pinning me to the floor, I'd show you my vest. I'm an ink-carrying member of the Brothers of the Confederacy, or the BOC if you want to be hip. I'm with the OG Macon charter. You know how it goes, when in Rome, and all that shit."

  I rocked backward an
d leaned against his bent knees. This bothered me more than it should. I couldn't help it. I'd heard it all in Texas. I'd also worked with the Southern Poverty Law Center until the day the Feds shut down the family law firm. More than once when I was sluicing the bar, I thought that my next trip might be to Alabama to offer myself up as a volunteer. I knew Ethan was taking on the protective coloring of his assignment, but the stars and bars?

  He broke the tension by running his hands down my arms. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it would affect you that much. I mean, who would have thought a bunch of southern-fried bikers might be on the radical side and expect me to agree with them? Since you're the expert on tattoos, I was hoping you'd help me get rid of it with some stylish cover when this is all over. How about a leaping tiger or some such shit?"

  I couldn't help it. I had to laugh at that. "Okay, I'll help. I'll even take you to see Megan, and I'll tell her to make sure it hurts."

  We both froze at the soft sounds from the hallway. A swish of cloth on cloth. A footstep. Before I could say anything, Ethan held a finger to his lips and signaled for me to break toward the bar. I complied and took the Mossberg out of its bracket as he slipped into his jeans and grabbed his pistol off the barstool.

  "Whoever is there had better come on out." My anger echoed off the walls. A quick glance told me Ethan crouched by the stage ready to rock and roll.

  "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear." The pump action that could quiet a bar was twice as intimidating in the silence.

  "Don't shoot. Please don't shoot." The quivering female voice completely threw me.

  "Out. Out where I can see you."

  Maddie Hyatt stepped out of the shadows with her hands up.

  "What in the flying fuckballs are you doing here? I sent everyone home hours ago." I stepped onto the stage, naked except for Ethan's shirt. My clothes were scattered everywhere. It wasn't like I could hide what had been going on and, I had no reason to.

  "Juliana," I glared at her, "Miss Martin, I forgot something in the locker room. My cell phone is the only way I have to call my mom and she is awful sick. I don't work again until Tuesday, and I thought I could hop in and out and then I heard the music and the, you know. I hid in there until it got quiet. I thought you guys were gone, and I could sneak out the west door."