by Jo Davis
“You got it.” He met her eyes, not allowing his own doubts to show even a bit. That would be the kiss of death with this woman, he sensed. “But maybe you have half an hour to impress me, not the other way around.” He punctuated the statement with a wink.
She huffed a laugh and shook her head. Then she sauntered away, tight little ass swaying in those sinful jeans. He was just about to head back to his table when he noticed that Cara had stopped to speak with the lead guitarist, who had those pesky boundary issues. Of more importance at the moment, however, was the question Taylor overheard her ask the man.
“Have you seen Blake?”
“Saw him head toward the restroom,” the man replied, nodding in the general direction. “He’s got two minutes.”
Come to think of it, hitting the men’s room wasn’t such a bad idea. He could take care of business and let the kid know his break was almost up. Making his way down the dim corridor away from the main room, he was knocked aside by a big, burly asshole with enough grizzle on his face to use as sandpaper. On his heels was a slightly shorter man, dressed similarly in biker boots and motorcycle leathers.
The Waterin’ Hole was somewhat rough around the edges, but it wasn’t a biker bar. This place typically catered to a blue-collar crowd, but they didn’t get many bikers here. They were making tracks, too. A ball of dread settled in his gut.
Hurrying, Taylor pushed through the restroom doors. “Blake?”
A groan was his answer and he followed the sound to the last stall, where he found Blake crumpled in a heap on the dirty tile. “Shit,” he hissed. “Are you all right?”
Another pain-filled moan was his answer as the young man struggled to sit up. Crouching at his side, Taylor saw the boy’s bloodied face and a slow burn of anger flared in his chest.
“Who did this?” He already guessed, but wanted to see if the boy would tell the truth.
“Two big motherfuckers,” Blake wheezed. “Looked like Hells Angels.”
“Ever see them here before?”
A pause. “No.”
“Don’t lie to me, kid,” he said in a low voice, tearing off a wad of toilet tissue. He helped Blake press it to his nose. “What did they want?”
“To remind me what happens to police informants. Guess they didn’t quite believe I’m retired.”
“So it wasn’t a bashing?”
“Not really,” he said quietly. “They weren’t here to beat me up for being gay. That was just a bonus.”
Taylor wanted to crack both of their skulls. Over the past few months he’d become protective of Blake and worried about him plenty. Maybe it was because he’d never had kids of his own, but this one got to him. Blake reminded Taylor of himself at that age. Alone and vulnerable. Smaller than the average kid and a perfect target. He had nobody around who cared.
Until one day someone did. And made all the difference.
“Come on. Let’s get you washed off,” he said gruffly, hauling the boy to his feet. Blake was holding his side. “They hurt your ribs?”
“I took a shot or two. But I’m tougher than I look.”
Taylor almost smiled at the younger man’s fierce scowl, but refrained. As he helped Blake to the sink, the boy shook him off and insisted he could handle washing his own face. Taylor stood by, lost in thought, and jumped when someone pounded on the bathroom door.
“Blake? Honey, are you in there?”
“Cara,” Blake said, groaning. “I’ve already fucked up on my first night. She’ll probably fire me.”
“No, she won’t.” Crossing to the door, Taylor opened it and took in her surprised face. “Blake had a mishap. He’ll be right out.”
If he thought that was going to put her off, he was mistaken.
“Get out of my way,” she growled and marched right past him. “What happ— Oh, my God! Who did this?”
The boy turned and gave her a wan smile as he used wet paper towels to wipe the last of the blood from his swelling nose. “My face ran into some dude’s fist. I’m good.”
“You are not good. Not even a little bit.” She rounded on Taylor. “Did you do this? Because if you did—”
“Whoa there, boss lady,” Blake said, intervening. “Taylor’s cool. He came in after those big assholes left. The cop here always helps me, even when I don’t want him to.”
As she glared at Taylor, he could see her working that out in her head. He also detected a faint look of disbelief, quickly masked, before she spoke.
“You’re Tate!”
“Say what?”
“Jess told me some detective had taken an interest in Blake’s well-being, but he thought his name was Tate or something. But he meant Taylor,” she said almost to herself. She was staring at him in shock. “That’s you.”
“Um, yeah . . .” He exchanged a puzzled look with Blake, who shrugged as if to say he had no idea, either, why she was so hung up on that fact. Almost amazed. “Am I missing something here?”
She recovered quickly. “No. I’m just surprised to meet the guy Blake speaks so highly of—that’s all.”
The young man blushed. Not meeting Taylor’s gaze, he tossed his paper towels in the trash. “We need to get going or you’re gonna be late for your set.”
“The band can wait. I think you should get to the hospital, get checked out,” she said, frowning in concern. “And you need to file a police report.”
“No way. I’m totally fine.” Blake’s lips pressed into a grim line, his expression determined. “And no police. Taylor knows what happened and that’s enough.”
Understanding the boy couldn’t afford a hospital visit, Taylor felt bad for him. Since he didn’t seem to be that badly hurt, he wasn’t about to push the issue. He didn’t blame the boy for not wanting an official police report, either. He knew male pride, not to mention suspicion of authority figures, all too well. Especially being young, with nothing and no one to turn to.
Taylor interjected. “That’s fine—no hospital or police. But if you see those guys anywhere around again, you will tell me so Shane and I can deal with them.”
The boy nodded, looking shaken. “Promise.”
Cara sighed, giving in. “Okay. But if you get a bad headache or blurred vision or can’t breathe—”
“Yes, Mom,” Blake interrupted. “I’ll go if I think I’m gonna keel over. Okay?”
“You’re damned right you will.”
Cara headed out of the restroom behind the boy, hovering over him like a mother hen. Taylor thought that was funny. Sweet, too, and directly opposite the prickly attitude she’d shown Taylor. Fascinating.
Is it all men who’re interested that she doesn’t like, or is it just me?
“Taylor?” Blake paused, letting him catch up. “Thanks for being there.”
“Always, kid.”
Cara gave him an inscrutable look and said, “See you at closing time.”
Then she was gone, ushering her charge though the crowd. Humming to himself, Taylor went back to his table, where Shane immediately pounced on him.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Making a hot date for later,” he said, trying not to sound smug.
“Really? Damn, you work fast.” His partner took a swig of his beer. “Who is she?”
Just then, the band kicked off their new set, and the floors vibrated as Cara’s smoky voice crooned the first lines of “Barracuda.” Grinning, Taylor pointed toward her.
Shane followed his finger, then looked back at Taylor, mouth open. “Her? No fucking way.”
“Way.”
“You dog! How’d you score that?” Cunningham bellowed above the music.
“It’s a talent,” Taylor shouted back. Ignoring his friends’ whistles and jokes, he sat back and enjoyed himself.
And if his love interest wasn’t quite as enamored as he b
elieved? Well, they didn’t have to know that.
But he was going to change her mind if it was the last thing he did.
Watch me.
• • •
Cara watched the handsome blond all through her sets. Couldn’t take her eyes off him no matter how hard she tried.
Taylor fucking Kayne. He wasn’t supposed to be so together. So damned nice. On top of that, he obviously cared a great deal about Blake, and the feeling was mutual. Nothing weird about their relationship that she could tell—just a man who’d befriended a homeless teen and wanted to see him succeed. To be almost an older brother figure.
On their set breaks, the detective didn’t seek her out the rest of the night. Why had that become increasingly more irritating as the night wore on? Her attraction to him was nuts. She didn’t just dislike the man.
She hated his fucking guts.
Or thought she did. Until she met the man and he wasn’t anything like the monster she’d imagined. Now she was baffled. Curious completely against her will. She wanted—no, needed—to find out who the real man was behind the cute, lopsided smile and gorgeous green eyes. Looked like she’d get her chance, too.
Maybe a golden opportunity had been dropped into her lap. Instead of watching and waiting for an opportunity to destroy him from afar, she’d do it from within his inner circle. Sort of like the Trojan horse—come as a friend, then vanquish the enemy in his own yard.
When the last song was finished and she took her bow with the band, she searched the area where Taylor and his friends had been sitting. He was still there, but the others were apparently getting ready to leave, which suited her fine. She needed to get into his confidence, but that didn’t mean she wanted to get too close to his friends. Too many cops in her face was so not a good thing in her book.
After putting her own guitar in its case, she made her way to the bar and took a seat. “Scotch on the rocks,” she told Chandler, one of the bartenders she sometimes worked with.
“You got it, Cara. Great show, by the way.”
“Thanks.” She eyed her coworker as he fixed her drink, and wondered why he didn’t rev her motor.
The guy was good-looking, for sure. He was former military. Beefy arms and torso, gorgeous face. But his brown hair was buzz cut—not her preference. He was a little too muscular for her taste, too much like a serious weightlifter. She preferred sexy blonds. Ones with plenty of gorgeous locks for a girl to dig her fingers into.
Like Taylor.
“Shit.”
“Hey, you’re getting a head start on me,” a deep voice said.
She turned slightly to see Taylor take the stool beside her. His smile made her breath hitch, and those green eyes held her captive. He was just the right height, somewhere around six feet, and perfectly muscled. God, the man could model for a calendar or something.
What’s more, his eyes and his demeanor were kind. She’d seen that before when he was talking to Blake and hadn’t wanted to admit it. But it was hard to deny what she could see plain as day. Maybe his kindness was only because he’d learned some hard lessons from his mistakes. Maybe these days he was trying to make up for the lives he’d taken years ago.
As if he ever could. That steeled her resolve once more. She’d set her hook and then reel in her big fish.
“Not too big a head start,” she said with a slight smile. “You can catch up.”
Chandler set her drink down. “What’ll it be?”
“Just water for me,” he told the bartender. “I’ve had enough.”
Her coworker filled a glass with ice and water, then set it in front of Taylor. He took a healthy drink.
“A man who knows when to stop,” she observed. “Sort of the exception around here.”
“Well, it is a bar. But you’re right—I make a point not to overdo the alcohol.”
“A regular Boy Scout, huh?” She couldn’t keep the slight edge from her tone. With his next words, she wished she had.
“Hardly.” He gave a low chuckle. “I had a dad, loosely termed, with a drinking problem, a nasty temper, and a hard fist. He left a lasting impression.”
Her glass froze halfway to her lips, and she set it down. “He beat you?”
Taylor made a face. “What a downer. I didn’t mean to get into that.”
“I’m so sorry.” She meant it. Because now the kindness in those eyes was tinged with sadness, and it was her mocking that had brought back a horrible memory and put it there. Shouldn’t I be glad?
“Don’t be. It’s ancient history.”
Not so ancient that it no longer hurt, but she didn’t say it aloud. “Is that why you became a cop? To help people who went through what you did?”
“Partly. I meet people like Blake all the time and it never ceases to sicken me how one human being can treat another.”
“You really love your job.”
“Most of the time, yes. I like being a detective, putting puzzle pieces together to solve a crime. Or stopping criminals before they hurt someone again.”
Right there. Right that moment, she almost blurted out the whole reason she was in Sugarland—because of the one time he’d failed. Not only failed, but fucked up spectacularly and gotten her sister killed. Something made her hold her tongue, though, and simply let the conversation take its natural course.
“And how often does that actually happen? That you get to put away the evil ones and all is well for the good citizens of Metropolis?”
“Not as often as I’d like,” he admitted. “But the ones we win are rewarding.”
“What about the ones you lose?” The edge was back. Dammit.
He paused. “We have to do our best and move on,” he said quietly. “We lose some and it hurts, but that’s all we can do.”
With that, a vivid image of Jenny lying dead on her living room floor, brains splattered all over her priceless Persian rug, slammed into Cara hard. She drained the rest of her Scotch and signaled Chandler for another.
The silence that followed while the bartender refreshed her drink was surprisingly comfortable. In spite of the tension Taylor wasn’t even aware of, he was easy to talk to. He waited until Chandler moved away again before speaking.
“Are you just curious about my job, or is there some reason you’re asking these questions?”
Okay, perhaps not so unaware.
“I’m curious. Is that a crime?” she quipped.
“It’s not the questions, it’s the way you’re asking them.” Taking another sip of his water, he shook his head. “Never mind. It’s been a long week and I’m beat.”
“I should let you go, then.”
He grinned. “Not that beat. Besides, my ride is gone.”
“How convenient.” She slanted him a look. Oh, she knew what he wanted. The question was, would she play his game? “Your time is up.”
“What?” Blinking, he looked around. “It hasn’t been thirty minutes.”
“My band is ready to go, and Blake needs a place to stay, whether he wants to accept help or not.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Thought I’d offer to let him crash with me for a while.”
“Or me. Why don’t we let him decide?”
“Works for me,” he said. “Am I to assume I failed to impress you?”
She mostly finished her second drink, then slid off the stool. Taylor stood next to her and she felt his nearness, his heat. Like before, when she’d teased him on her break, he smelled so good, of sandalwood and spice. She conjured what he’d feel like, pushing her into the mattress, sliding his cock deep, fucking her hard and fast. All those muscles, his sexy maleness, his skin.
“You know what they say about assuming.” She let her mouth hitch into a small smile, which he returned.
“Indeed I do. Let’s go find Blake.”
He was waiting out b
ack and gestured to her truck as they approached. “I loaded your guitar and amp in the back for you.”
“Thanks, hon. You earned your money tonight. I’ll pay you when we get home.”
It took the boy a couple of seconds to process. “What do you mean, home?”
“My home. Where you’re going to be staying until you’re on your feet,” she clarified.
“Cara, I can’t accept—”
“Yes, you can,” she said firmly. “I told you we were going to discuss this, and I meant it.”
“There isn’t much discussion if you’re telling me what to do,” he shot back.
Taylor added his two cents. “She’s right, kid. I’ve told you before that there’s no shame in accepting a hand up. I had to do that myself when I was around your age.”
The boy’s eyes widened, his face barely visible in the dim lighting. “You? I . . . You seem like a guy who’s had it easy. I mean, you’re successful.”
“Only because I swallowed my pride and let the people who cared about me lend a hand. You do the same, and I promise you I’ll tell you the whole story one day soon.”
“Blake, you’ll never reach safety if you don’t grab the life preserver,” she said. “What’s it going to be?”
“You can stay with me as another option,” Taylor put in. “I’d be glad to have you.”
Blake thought about that for several long moments. This was so difficult for him, but in the end there really wasn’t a choice. “I’ll stay with you.” He jerked his chin at Cara. “I’m working for you now, so it’s just easier until I can get my own wheels.”
She beamed at him. “Great deal. You won’t be sorry, kid.”
“Almost twenty here, not a kid.” He rolled his eyes.
“Come on,” she said, laughing. “Let’s go.”
As they approached her truck, Taylor’s steps slowed. She noted how he stopped and stared, seeming to pay particular attention to her front bumper. Weird.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. Are you fine to drive?”
Okay. “I’m good.”
“Let me drive anyway? You just had two drinks, and I quit a while ago.” He held out a hand. “Occupational hazard. Sorry.”
