“No,” Dave answered, looking down and refusing to meet her eyes.
Her full lips curved into a frown that looked a lot like guilt. She closed her eyes, inhaled a deep breath, then gently pinched his chin and tilted his head up. “I’m sorry, Davy. I’m not trying to be mean, but you don’t need any money in here. Buck runs a tab for you and settles up with your momma once a month, okay? I want you to put the wallet in your pocket and leave it there.”
Dave put his arms around her waist. “Okay.”
Actually, it sounded more like, “O-ay,” but Ty understood the sentiment. She ruffled Dave’s hair and stalked away.
Ty continued to watch her. So did half the guys in the place. That annoying little fact stirred an overwhelming urge to cover her up. A T-shirt, a jacket, a chastity belt—hell, anything would’ve been an improvement. It was just a matter of time before one of the drunks tried something. Only an asshole like Buck would expect a woman to wear next to nothing in a place like this. Ty slid onto the stool he’d been using when she took his order.
She headed to the bar, filled her tray, and returned to deliver drinks, seemingly unfazed by the altercation.
“Six dollars, cowboy.” She set the beer in front of Ty. “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s right; you’re not a cowboy. Six dollars, Mr. President.”
A real smile curved her lips, and his chest tightened again. He attributed the rogue sensation to anger. Buck’s lucky streak was still going strong; looked like he’d found another pretty victim to lure into a life of sex and drugs.
The Lewis character eased up behind her and slid a hand under her arm and around her waist. Then he slipped it up to her breast and squeezed.
Ty’s final string of self-control snapped. He jumped up from his bar stool, but the waitress spun around and clocked Lewis with a right jab that would have made any boxer proud. By the look of the blood trickling out of Lewis’s nose, she could hold her own. The she stepped closer and pushed him hard in the chest.
“Holy crap, Lewis. If you put your goddamned hands on me one more time tonight, I swear to God I’m gonna have Buck kick your sorry self out of here.” She spun back around to Ty. “You need anything else?” No smiles this time, just irritation.
“I’m not judging,” Ty said, “but I’d think a beautiful woman like you could make a lot more money doing something a little less...stressful.” Okay, so maybe his tone did sound a little harsh and judgmental, but she clearly didn’t belong at Buck’s.
She glared, as if arrogant ass was etched across his forehead. “Really? Well, I’d think a cute guy like you could get a real date instead of getting his rocks off watching women strip. The world is full of mysteries.”
The woman had a knack for stunning people into silence. Her sharp, lethal tongue was as dangerous as her fist. Run away now, his brain said. Unfortunately, his brain was outnumbered by his other body parts, so he stood there watching her take a deep breath to compose herself.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Really. I didn’t mean that. It’s just...Lewis is grating on my last nerve.”
Ty dug for a ten and then sat on his bar stool. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Lewis grabbed the back of her bikini top and yanked hard. The straps snapped. Then he reared back in his stool and kicked the thick sole of his work boot fast and hard into her back.
She lurched forward, busting her head on a table and falling face first and topless onto the floor.
“Damn tease,” Lewis hollered.
Ty lurched forward and plowed a fist into Lewis’s jaw, knocking him backwards onto a table. Then he hauled Lewis up by his shirt, but restrained himself from beating the drunken asshole unconscious. Instead, he shoved Lewis to the ground and twisted his arm behind his back.
Buck flew over like a lightning bolt.
Ty had never seen anyone with that much body mass move so quickly.
“Break it up; no fighting in here,” Buck shouted.
“I’m not fighting, just taking down this idiot who attacked”—it dawned on him he didn’t know her name—“your girl.”
They both looked over at her. With blood pouring down her face, she struggled to sit up and cross her arms to cover herself. One of the other waitresses handed her a towel to catch the blood gushing from her forehead. She looked like she didn’t know whether to put it on her head or cover her chest.
A crowd of customers formed around the commotion. The music continued to play, but the noise level dropped considerably. Everyone was too busy gawking at the naked, injured waitress to be loud. Ty looked up and realized all eyes were on her, which made him want to throttle every idiot looking in her direction.
He dropped his hold on Lewis and stripped off his button-down shirt. He kneeled beside her, guided her arms in, and tugged the shirt around her. Sucking in a sharp, involuntary gulp of air, he fastened the button directly over her chest.
Holy shit! No wonder every guy in the place was staring. Maybe somewhere there were breasts more beautiful than hers, but he’d certainly never seen any. Why he was so relieved to cover them, he had no idea.
“Lewis, get out and stay out.” Buck hauled Lewis off the floor with one hand. “If I ever hear about you touching one of my girls again, in or out of my club, you won’t live long enough to regret it. Boys...” Buck waved to Tiny and Tim, who caught Lewis when he stumbled halfway across the dance floor. Buck turned and stared at Ty.
Ty helped the bloodied waitress off the floor, but he could feel Buck’s eyes burning a hole through him.
“You the McGee boy? The cop over in Longdale?”
“Yes, sir, only I’m not a cop anymore. I ran into a little trouble and decided it wasn’t quite the right fit for me. Now I’m doing PI work and personal security. Looks like you could add some brains to your muscle around here.”
“Maybe, but I don’t hire cops.” Buck looked at one of the other waitresses. “Get Jordan cleaned up. Let me know if she needs stitches.”
Two other girls brought more towels and shuffled her toward the back door.
Ty had to admit he was torn. It was the perfect opportunity to get his foot in the door with Buck. But something about the sexy waitress with the gash in her head wouldn’t let go of him. He wasn’t sure if anyone at Buck’s had enough brains not to let her bleed to death on the back step. She might have even blacked out for a second or two, and blood still gushed from her head.
“Damn it,” he muttered as the girls guided her out the door. Then he looked back at Buck. Whether to help a beautiful, injured woman or beg a mean, sweaty asshole for a job he didn’t want, the choice should have been obvious. He was truly worried about his own sanity when he took a few steps in Buck’s direction.
He walked up behind the human mammoth. “Buck.”
Buck turned and squinted his cold, mean eyes.
“Sir, actually I was serious about a job. I’ve been out of the cop business for a while now and could use some income. I know how to handle a weapon and take down a drunk like Lewis with one hand tied behind my back. I’ve heard there’s been some trouble here, and I can help with that. If you’re busy right now, we could set up a time to talk tomorrow.”
Buck turned away as though he wasn’t going to answer, but then threw his head around and grumbled over his shoulder, “Three o’clock. You better not waste my time, boy.”
“No, sir, three o’clock tomorrow. I’ll see you here.”
Ty was pleased. He played that just right, and it took no more than thirty seconds. Now he was off to find a beautiful, bleeding waitress.
***
So much for having dreams. Useful dreams.
Hardly a night went by that didn’t include some haunting vision while she slept. Since she’d been cursed her entire life with images of horrible, violent crimes, Jordan figured she should get a little peek at her own upcoming reality, a helpful warning when she needed one. But, no. Nada. Zilch. Not even a little whiff of impending doom.
“Jordan?”
> She looked up. Great. The cowboy who’d scolded her for working at a strip club leaned against the frame of Buck’s back door with a big, fat I told you so in his expression.
“You okay?” He moved closer, dipped his hands into his front pockets. “We never got around to full introductions. I’m Tyler McGee. I heard Buck call you Jordan.”
She sat on top of the picnic table used for outdoor smoke breaks. Dripping blood from the gash in her head had mostly stopped, but she’d yet to get the trembling under control. Gingerly, she nodded. As a rule, Jordan wasn’t typically at a loss for words, but his intense stare frayed her nerves.
Apparently he gave up on any meaningful response. Shaking his head, he turned and walked toward the parking lot.
Even injured, she found it difficult to take her eyes off his backside. Man, was he built. Like a heavily muscled upside-down triangle. His jeans hung enticingly from his hips. Well-worn denim cradled an ass that was pure temptation. Her breathing hitched, and a rush of heat flared through her.
She exhaled slowly. What the hell caused that burst of insanity? The knock on her head must have triggered a sudden fascination with cowboy boots. Or maybe it was just the solid wall of muscle wearing them. Didn’t matter—those kind of thoughts shouldn’t even be a blip on the radar.
Closing her eyes eased the throbbing, so she rested her head in her hands and rubbed her temples. Just a few seconds of peace, and she could pull it together. Local backup was only a button push away, but she sure didn’t want that kind of shitstorm raining down. Explaining how she’d managed to get hurt less than a week into an investigation was not going to boost anyone’s confidence that she had the mental clarity to close this case.
Plus there was a small technicality—she wasn’t supposed to be working inside the club yet. A minor detail.
Even though Jordan worked for the St. Louis PD, she currently answered to FBI special agent Ted Bahan. He was in charge of the multi-jurisdictional task force known as “Operation China White.” He’d assigned her to apply for the job at Buck’s and settle into her apartment, but nothing more. The team that would wire her and do the surveillance wouldn’t arrive for more than a week.
So she’d applied at Buck’s four days ago. Who knew she’d be hired on the spot and start the same day? Failing to mention the small turn of events prickled her conscience. But Bahan doubting her ability to stay objective and finish a case she’d given countless hours to prickled even more.
Bahan claimed to be a friend, but he sure as hell hadn’t hesitated to pull rank. A friend wouldn’t insist on watching her like an errant second-grader. A friend would treat her like the experienced cop she was. She’d likely closed more undercover narcotics cases than any other detective in St. Louis, and frankly the whole damn thing chapped her ass.
“I don’t know if it’s the bump on your head or the fact that you’re barely dressed in forty-degree weather, but you’re shaking.”
She looked up. Cowboy had returned.
“Do you have some real clothes I can get for you?” Sounding annoyed, he slung a jacket around her shoulders and pulled it tight around her neck.
She shook her head.
His hands gripped the collar of the jacket, and he stepped close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from his body. Working narcotics had honed her sense of smell. From the pungent aroma of a meth lab to the more subtle odor of marijuana use on breath or clothing, she could identify a scent almost as keenly as a canine.
Cowboy smelled like pine needles and rain.
Even earlier in Buck’s, his clean, male scent had penetrated the chaos when he’d offered his shirt. But this second, stronger wave as he slung the jacket around her shoulders was almost like a drug. Obviously her mental focus had taken a blow, but the buzz in her head ramped up a notch as he wrapped her in the warmth. Either the injury was worse than she thought, or he smelled intoxicating.
“Let me see what this looks like.” He gently brushed her hair from her forehead and blotted the cut with a towel. Looking deep in thought, he shifted around, studying her head from different angles.
For the first time, she had a close-up view of him. Buck’s was dark and smoky, but under the bright parking lot glare and the full moon, this man’s face mesmerized her.
She was all about the eyes. Her whole life, she’d believed a person’s eyes told the truth even when their words failed. His were a breathtaking metallic gray with the thickest lashes she’d ever seen. Hard to accept such stunning lashes ended up on a man.
Strong jaw, full lips, dark wavy hair just a tad too long. Definitely a total package. One a woman could easily lose herself in. Only by the time she realized she had, he appeared to realize it, too.
He smiled slowly and knowingly, as if he’d caught her with her hand in the cookie jar.
She was mortified. Her lungs tightened.
He broke the awkward silence to ask, “Headache?”
“Duh,” she said.
“Nausea?”
“Every night I work here.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and ran a hand through his hair. “Damn, woman. Are you always this difficult? Any vision problems?”
“Completely blind.” She closed her eyes and stretched her arms out in front of her to feel the air. Her hands bumped his chest.
“What color are my eyes?”
“Gray, okay? They’re gray.” Of course she realized she hadn’t opened her eyes yet. When she did, he smirked with blatant male satisfaction.
“You’ll probably live,” he said.
So she knew his eye color. Big deal. Any good cop would’ve picked up on that. Not that she wanted him to suspect she was a cop. Damn, she needed to get rid of this guy.
“Look, you’ve been really nice coming to my rescue and giving me your clothes. I’ll make sure you get your shirt back, and you should take this.” She handed him the jacket. “I’m good now.”
He didn’t acknowledge her words, just moved behind her, and gripped the hem of the denim shirt he’d buttoned around her. “I’m going to take a look at your back, okay?” Apparently interpreting her stunned lack of response for a yes, he raised the material and gently skimmed a finger across her skin where Lewis had kicked her. “You’ve got a bruise starting here.”
Heat radiated from the tender spot he touched, like a sip of brandy on a cold night. Great, that’s all she needed right now. She edged away from his touch. “Really, you can go enjoy the show. I’m okay.”
“I’m not here to watch the show, never was. You need stitches. And I’d feel better if someone looked at your back. Let’s get you to the ER.” He slipped his fingers under her arm.
“Hold on a minute, cowboy.” She pushed his hand away. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but surely you don’t think I’m gonna hop in a car with a guy I don’t know, much less let him take me to God knows where, do you?”
“Well, you could sit here and bleed to death if you’d rather. And I hate to point out the obvious, but it doesn’t look like judgment is your strongest asset.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? I didn’t do anything wrong. The guy kicked me when my back was turned.”
He backed up a step and threw his hands up in surrender. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t look sorry. He looked...pig-headed and irritated.
“I only meant...you, working here. You’re just, really...attractive. And all these guys are drunk.” He slung his jacket around her again. “And that outfit doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination.”
He stuffed her arms in the coat and this time zipped it all the way up to her chin. “Plus you’re working for Arlo Buck. I think maybe you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“So, you think I need big, strong, handsome you to straighten me out?” Who the hell was he, and why on earth did he think she needed him to play protector? Another verbal lashing began to build, but the nausea and light-headedness returned with a vengeance.
; “I’m fine. I am not going to a hospital. I don’t need stitches, and I certainly don’t need you to...” Even as she spoke, tunnel vision closed in, black and thick. She felt herself sway sideways off the picnic table. Just a moment before she hit gravel, strong arms closed around her.
Chapter 2
Jordan’s mom slid the pan from the oven. The scents of sage and onion overwhelmed the tiny kitchen. Hot and steamy air dripped with the aroma of turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin pie.
Mom’s special cheesecake sat on the countertop.
Jordan loved the holidays. Usually. But not today. She swiped the tears away with the back of her hands. “Something terrible is gonna happen, Mom. I don’t know when, but I saw it in my dream.”
Her mother turned and inhaled a deep, steadying breath, crossed the kitchen, and took Jordan’s face in her hands. “And that’s all it was, honey. Just a silly nightmare. You’ve got to stop this.”
“I’m not crazy.” Jordan stomped her foot. She needed to warn them. Needed to tell them he was coming. Why didn’t anyone ever listen? Because she was only ten years old? “You act like you don’t even hear me.”
Her mom snapped. “Enough. I’m trying to get ready for Thanksgiving. You and your sister promised to help, but now Katy’s in her room crying because of what you told her. You’ve scared her half to death. I’m sorry you had a nightmare, but I swear to God, Jordan, one more word and you’re grounded.”
“One more stitch and she’s all done. She should be coming around soon.”
Jordan didn’t recognize the voice.
Something squeezed her arm. A machine beeped. A warm hand touched hers.
Dad always held her hand.
Thanksgiving meant family movie night. “What movie are we watching tonight, princess?” Dad asked. “We’ve got A Christmas Story, It’s a Wonderful Life, and Rudolph.”
He crossed the bedroom and snuggled next to her when she silently shrugged. He brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. “Your mom told me you had another dream. I guess it was a bad one?”
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