by Jo Davis
“If you count eight hours of actual work, that’s barely more than nine dollars an hour,” the young man stated.
“That’s more than you’re making now.”
He met her gaze without backing down. “You pointed out that this job is one not many people are qualified to do. I think I’m worth more.”
She wanted to cheer but forced herself to nod seriously. “You’re right. How much, then? Ninety?”
“One h-hundred cash.” His voice was quiet, but he didn’t flinch. “Per night.”
“That’s a good chunk.” She pretended to consider for a long moment, then stuck out her hand. “Deal. Do I have a new sound man?”
A wide smile spread across Blake’s beautiful face as he took her hand. “Yes, you do. And thank you for giving me a chance.”
“I’m happy to have you aboard. Now, why don’t you come meet the band officially? They’re going to love you.”
As she led Blake over to her guys, she was glad to see they greeted him warmly, even if some of their colorful comments caused the boy to blush. She still had to work out where he would stay, but she’d think of something.
By the time they launched into a cover of Heart’s “Barracuda,” Cara was in her zone. Letting the music wash over her and carry her far from her problems was her crack, and it worked.
At least for the moment.
• • •
Taylor climbed out of the passenger’s side of Shane’s new crossover SUV and slammed the door. “Nice ride, man. Comfortable.”
Shane joined him as they walked toward the entrance to the Waterin’ Hole. “I can hear a but in there.”
He shrugged and suppressed a grin. “No but. It’s a nice vehicle if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?”
“You know, the family thing.”
“You say that like it’s a deadly disease.”
“If the colonoscopy fits.”
“A colonoscopy is a procedure, not a disease.” Shane snorted. “You’re an asshole—you know that?”
“Whatever.”
“Now you sound like Drew,” his friend grouched. “Damn, I need a beer.”
“I think they can handle that request.”
As Taylor pulled open the door, the din of partying and rock music hit him, a solid wall of sound that he always found exciting. Something about music, being around other people out to have a good time, pumped his blood. Always had, ever since he’d reached legal age long ago. Lately, though, despite his ribbing Shane about his new status as a family man with a dorky-looking SUV . . .
Yeah, he was jealous. And lonely. After enjoying a few beers and laughs with the guys, Shane had a gorgeous woman waiting at home. And I have a cold, empty bed.
It didn’t have to be that way. He could troll the room, pick up a sweet honey for the night. Take her to a motel room and act out their own version of that “ride a cowboy” song. But the problem was always how awkward he felt leaving in the wee hours. Empty, too.
No, tonight he’d sit out that scene. He’d enjoy a few rounds with his buddies and call it a night. He was just about to take a seat next to Shane at their group’s table when he spotted a familiar figure to the right of the stage. Nudging his partner, he indicated the young man fiddling with a panel of switches.
“Hey, isn’t that Blake?”
Shane squinted. “Yeah, looks like. What’s he doing?”
“I’m gonna go find out. Order me a Guinness, will you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he pushed through the crowd toward the Sugarland PD’s former police informant. The young man was intent on his task and didn’t see Taylor approach.
“Hey, kid!” he called over the canned music blaring over the club’s sound system.
Blake’s chin jerked up and a broad smile spread across his face. “Detective Kayne. How’s it hangin’?” He stood and offered his hand.
Taylor shook it briefly. “Just Taylor, man,” he said, then gestured to the board loaded with various knobs. “Did you score a job with the band?”
“I sure did,” the kid declared proudly. “Can you believe it? Not playing in the band—though that would be awesome—but setting up, doing the sound check. Making sure the sets go all right, and breaking down afterward. Cool, huh?”
The boy’s enthusiasm was catching. Taylor clapped him on the shoulder. “It sure is! Congratulations. I knew something was bound to shake loose for you sooner or later.” He was beyond relieved that the boy now had a way to get off the streets. Before he left tonight, he’d make sure Blake had a place to go, whether he wanted to accept help or not.
“Thanks.” He glanced behind Taylor. “You here with your cop friends?”
“For a while. Thought we’d have a couple of beers, take in some music.”
“Dude, you’re gonna love this band,” Blake said, jerking a thumb behind him in the general direction of the backstage area. “The lead singer is so hot and way talented.”
Taylor smiled. The young man was out and gay—the reason he’d been kicked out of his house several years ago. “What does he look like?”
“She,” Blake corrected. “Her name is Cara.”
“Oh? Switching teams already?”
“No! But I’m not blind, man. Cara’s the bomb.”
Chuckling, he shook his head. The woman must be something to have earned Blake’s trust and loyalty—not an easy thing to accomplish. “Well, if she’s so incredible, maybe you’ll introduce me.”
Blake eyed him, considering. “Maybe, if you’re lucky.”
It took him a moment to realize the kid wasn’t teasing. “She really must be something.”
“She is.” The house lights dimmed briefly, and Blake straightened. “Showtime in ten. Gotta get back to work.”
“All right. I want to talk to you before I go, though.”
The wariness crept back into Blake’s brown gaze, but he nodded. “Sure thing.”
He probably knew that Taylor wanted to make sure he had a place to stay. Taylor had pushed him about the matter every single time they spoke, to the point he worried the young man would up and disappear for good. But he wouldn’t stop until he knew for sure Blake was on the path to putting his life together. And the kid couldn’t do that while sleeping behind a Dumpster or in an abandoned building.
Taylor rejoined his group, grabbed his Guinness, and took a long draw. “Thanks for the beer. I’ve got the next round.”
Shane waved him off. “No problem. So, what’s up with the kid?”
“Our young friend got himself a job with the band, doing the sound stuff and whatnot.”
“Hey, that’s great. Maybe you’ll stop worrying so much about him now.”
Shane didn’t fool him—his partner was just as concerned about Blake, especially since he now had a teenage son of his own to raise. Kinda brought home how important family was, and how much Blake must be hurting inside.
“Maybe. I’m still going to make sure he has a roof over his head before I leave tonight. Even if he has to come home with me.”
Shane frowned. “Listen, your heart’s in the right place, but do you think that’s smart? We like Blake, but, truthfully, we don’t really know him that well.”
“He’s a good kid,” Taylor said in his defense. “He’s assisted the police plenty, stuck his neck out when the risk was greater than the reward, and he deserves better than what he’s been dealt.”
“And you’re going to fix that.”
“That’s right.”
Shane sighed, then lifted his beer and saluted. “Good. I’ll help any way I can. Don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thanks, partner.”
Just then, the lights dimmed and remained that way, signaling showtime. The crowd cheered as Blake stepped up to the microphone to get the party truly
started.
“How’s everyone doing tonight?” A raucous yell went up at his greeting. Playing them, he called out again.
“Are you ready to rock?”
A louder roar met his challenge, beers and shot glasses raised high.
“That’s awesome, because we’ve got a hell of a show for ya’ll tonight!” Taking a deep breath, he shouted, “Please help me give a big welcome to a smokin’-hot band we’re damned lucky to have stolen from Los Angeles—Cara Evans and the Ten Inch Boys!”
Around Blake, several cops snickered at her backup band’s name, and the crowd roared in approval. The words Los Angeles bounced around in Taylor’s head as the drummer, a bassist, lead guitarist, and keyboardist—all twentysomething guys—jogged onto the stage and took their places. Seemed he couldn’t get away from references to that city no matter how far he fled.
The other side of the world wouldn’t be far enough.
Then the drummer clicked off the song and they launched into the rousing, fast-paced intro of a current song Taylor heard on the radio all the time but couldn’t place. Something with an attitude. He was still trying to name it in his head when the lead singer sprinted out, took the microphone, and belted out the first notes with a husky, whiskey-laced Ann Wilson voice.
Taylor felt like he’d been smacked upside the head with a brick.
As Cara Evans injected a healthy dose of raw sarcasm, singing of a woman missing the man who’d shit on her time and again, Taylor was transfixed.
Oh yes, Blake owed him an introduction.
And he wasn’t leaving here without it.
3
Cara’s tight little body should be registered as a lethal weapon.
Taylor’s eyes were glued to the slim hips swiveling to the beat, low-rise skinny jeans clinging valiantly to slight curves. A cropped tank top rode well above her exposed navel, showing off creamy skin and a flat, toned tummy. Definitely no muffin top there.
She was a short, petite thing, probably no more than five-foot-nothing and one hundred ten pounds soaking wet. And, boy, would he love to get her wet, all right.
Her face was delicate, her nose slim. She had large kohl-lined eyes, though he couldn’t tell their color from where he sat. Jet-black hair framed her face and fell just to her shoulders and was streaked with purple. If she had been wearing all black instead of jeans and a tank top, she’d appear to be on the Goth side. Despite her porcelain features, she looked wild, a bit dangerous. Nothing like the women he usually pursued, women like Laura Eden—sleek, professional, and coolly untouchable.
Suddenly, wild and dangerous was exactly his type.
Around him, his buddies alternated between watching the show, talking about work, laughing, and drinking. For his part, everyone faded into the background. Everyone except the sexy little rocker strutting around, owning the stage. Song after song, he devoured her every move. Not only how damned hot she was, but her talent. She was a natural performer, her voice like liquid gold.
A hard thump on his back nearly sent a swig of his beer down his windpipe.
“Hey, earth to Kayne!” Cunningham, one of the night-shift officers, bellowed in his ear. “Whatcha starin’ at, huh? Think you’re getting some of that? Think again, hound dog!”
“No way would that sweet thing let your ugly ass get too close!” another one called.
A few of the others laughed, and he received a couple of good-natured nudges at being caught completely enamored of the singer. He laughed along with them, but inside he cringed. He knew they were just kidding, but their words stung, given his pitiful lack of success lately.
He went back to ignoring them, nursing his beer and then another. Working up some liquid courage, old boy? Maybe. The girl was young. Not jailbait, if he was any judge, but early twenties as opposed to his thirty-two. Just a big enough gap to make him really start feeling his age. He didn’t even want to think about how old she was when he graduated from high school.
Jesus.
Somehow he made it through the set without taking too much more crap from his friends. It seemed they sensed a change in his mood and left him alone. Which left him free to plan what he might say when he met the cutie. Too bad he couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound stupid.
The second the band’s first set was done, Taylor jumped to his feet and began to make his way toward the stage. The band members were milling around, mopping their faces and necks with hand towels and drinking a variety of stuff, from bottled water to whiskey shots. As he neared, he was relieved to see that the singer was drinking water, though why he should care was a mystery. Other than the obvious—his being a cop, that is. He hated to imagine her driving home after this, tipsy, and having a wreck.
Being arrested.
God, give it a rest! Be a normal guy, for Christ’s sake!
As he stepped up, Blake gave him a knowing smirk. “I’m guessing you’re here for that introduction.”
“You guessed right.”
“You’ve got a lot of competition, man. Just sayin’.”
Indeed he did. Another glance in Cara’s direction proved just how much. The woman was holding court over a crowd of fans, the vast majority of whom were men. Particularly irritating was the way her lead guitarist hovered real close, practically draped over her like a damned blanket. He was contemplating how to get through the throng to speak to her when Blake shouted in her direction.
“Cara!” Turning, she smiled, a question in her eyes. “Come over here! There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Waving at Blake, she returned her attention to the folks pressing in and, after a few moments, managed to break away tactfully. Like liquid sex, she moved, slim legs eating the distance, toward where he stood with Blake. Riveted, he admired her loose-limbed walk, the confidence edged with a bit of attitude. He wondered what it might be like to have all of that intense focus on him. Then her gaze slowly slid from the younger man to Taylor.
And the welcoming smile slid from her face and fell to the floor like a stone. For a second, he could have sworn he saw a flash of something dark and poisonous in her eyes, but then it vanished just as fast. Surely he was mistaken. Either way, it was not exactly the type of intensity he was going for.
His stomach immediately plummeted to his toes and he stared at her in confusion. What on earth could he have done already to warrant a negative reaction? They hadn’t even met yet! Suddenly he wished he’d stayed at his table with the guys.
“Cara,” Blake said, waving at him. “This is my friend, Taylor Kayne. Taylor, this is my new boss, Cara Evans.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Taylor stuck out his hand, feeling foolish even as he did so. But she took it, giving it a firm shake, lips turning up.
“Same here.”
Not precisely a warm welcome, but he’d take it. “You and your band sounded fantastic. There aren’t too many females doing rock justice these days, but I have to say I’m a fan. I don’t understand why you aren’t signed with a big label.”
Another troublesome flash in those eyes—he could see now that they were blue—and she gave him a wry smile. “Thanks. There was a time when that dream wasn’t so far out of reach. But life has a way of taking a sharp left when you’d planned to go right.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Been there, have you?” She gave him the oddest look. Almost calculating.
“Once or twice.”
“What do you do for a living, Taylor?”
He hesitated. Some people weren’t comfortable around cops, especially those who worked in or hung around clubs. He’d never lied about his job when he wasn’t undercover, though, and he wouldn’t start now. “I’m a police officer with the Sugarland PD. Detective, actually.”
“Hmm.” Reaching out, she trailed a black polished fingernail down his neck, into the V of his shirt. Playfully, she ran the tip of he
r tongue over her lips. “And are you very, very good at . . . detecting?”
With that, Blake made a rude snorting noise and made himself scarce, heading in the direction of the restrooms.
“I like to think so.” He leveled her with his best, most charming lopsided grin. Inside, though, he was a quivering mess. His brain screamed at him that he’d finally gotten hold of more woman than he was prepared to handle.
His little head, however, was totally on board with the idea.
Warmth pooled in his groin, gradually spreading to envelop his stiffening cock. He liked her fingernail scratching lightly over his skin, making every nerve ending sing with pleasure. Her warmth and spicy scent teased his nose even through the less pleasant club odors of smoke and beer, and he wanted to get closer. Pull her into his body and find out whether that lush mouth was as good at kissing as it appeared.
“I don’t think you are.”
He blinked, trying to recall what they’d been talking about. Oh yeah—his detecting skills. “What makes you say that?”
“If you were that good, you’d have figured out that I’m not interested.” With that, she placed both palms on his chest and pushed. As he took a couple of steps backward, she turned to walk away.
“Wait!”
Pausing, she turned and looked over her shoulder. “Why should I?”
“Don’t I get a chance to change your mind? Let me buy you a cup of coffee after you’re done.”
“I hate coffee.”
Damn. “Hot chocolate? A Coke?”
Eyes glittering, expression unreadable, she studied him for a long moment. He resisted the urge to squirm like a bug under a magnifying glass. Finally, she gave a barely perceptible nod.
“A drink here at the bar,” she said. “We play until closing at two, and it’ll take Blake and the band about half an hour to break down. You have until they’re finished to impress me and not one second more.”
A challenge. Why in the hell that haughty declaration, along with the cool fire in her gaze, should make him harder than a frigging rock, he didn’t have a clue. Except that he’d always found self-confidence damned attractive and this lady had that in spades.
