by Becky McGraw
He knew before this job was done, he would end up being mostly her bodyguard. At least on the stage, the strippers could get away from the hands that reached for them. She was right in the middle of things, and took the brunt of the sexual advances the strippers incited.
What kind of woman would choose to work in a place like this? Yeah, she probably made amazing tips with that body, but she must be desperate for money to choose this.
The shrill whine of a fire alarm introduced a new act and his eyes moved to the two poles at center stage just as two strippers dressed in turnout coats and fire hats appeared. Twins, if he wasn’t mistaken, or women who looked enough alike to be mistaken for twins. Every man’s fantasy, except for him, it seemed. Keegan only wanted one woman at a time, but that was even too much at the moment.
He must be getting old, because as he sat there watching them feel up their own bodies and bump and grind to the music, it did nothing for him. He wondered how he’d ever found this titillating. He couldn’t judge, though, because back in his tadpole days, he’d been right there with the guys at that stage, drinking and drooling. With enough liquor in him back then, he’d have probably thought his third grade teacher was hot, if she showed up on stage.
Tonight, he had no liquor on board, and at thirty-two years old, those women looked like hard-plastic caricatures of real women. His hard-living days lusting after hard-plastic woman were as over as his career.
“Hi, I’m Jules,” a feminine voice shouted and Keegan looked down into the blue eyes of the waitress he’d ‘saved’ to get this job. She tucked her tray under her arm to stick out her hand to him. “I just wanted to say thank you for stepping in with Ron, earlier. He’s a pain in the ass.”
Jules definitely wasn’t plastic, he thought, his eyes fixing on her lush, very real breasts as he took her hand and a tingle zipped up his arm.
“Keegan MacDonald and you’re welcome,” he replied, pulling her closer so she could hear him. He sniffed and curled his nose when the smell of stale booze and cigarette smoke assaulted his senses.
The smell of this bar had evidently soaked into her shiny, golden hair and he wondered what she’d smell like when she wasn’t here. If she worked here long enough, that scent might become permanent and that was too bad.
He hoped she could find something else to do to earn a living so it didn’t happen, but why he cared was beyond him. With a laugh, she pulled her hand from his and wiped it on the bottom of her uniform.
“It’s nice to meet you, Keegan. I wondered if I could buy you breakfast to thank you when we get off? There’s a place within walking distance,” she said, and her bright, white smile framed by full, red lips punched him in the gut.
“No need, but thanks for the offer,” he replied, wondering if she was coming on to him.
She had some powerful tools if so, because although he had zero interest in women right now, his body was definitely interested. He bit back a growl when he realized he was doing the same thing his predecessor had done to get fired, and he was letting this woman distract him while he was on a mission. His shoulder ached, and he reached up to rub it.
“Please? I’d really like to get to know you and there’s no way that can happen here,” she insisted, swiping her blonde hair from her forehead with her wrist.
“Jules! Order up!” Frank shouted from the bar with enough volume to cut through the loud music and chatter. She looked back over her shoulder and rolled her eyes.
“I’ll talk to you later when the crowd thins out a little.” She turned and Keegan’s eyes locked on her beautiful ass, which was only covered by fishnet hose and a triangle of material that thinned to the red string that disappeared between her cheeks. She looked as good coming as she did going, he thought, and his dick went rock-hard.
With a growl, Keegan dragged his eyes back to the elbow-to-elbow crowd. This mission might not be as easy as he thought, if this was a typical crowd size. But it was Thursday night, ladies’ night, and there were plenty of frog hogs in the mob.
That meant there were also plenty of guys from the base here for him to catalog, but too many red herring civilians too. Telling them apart when all of them were in street clothes would be impossible. He had a feeling the turd he was looking for would float to the top when things weren’t so busy, so he’d be patient. Passing information in this mosh pit would be almost impossible. In all likelihood, it was being done when the bar wasn’t so busy.
Keegan stood to give some blood flow to his ass, which had gone numb sitting on the stool by the door for hours. He stretched his arms over his head to work the stiffness from his shoulders, then looked toward the stage. Air rushed from his lungs as he lowered his arms and pushed his way into the crowd to go check out things near the stage.
Once inside the mass of bodies, he was glad to be over six foot tall so he could see where he was going. He couldn’t imagine how the much shorter waitresses, including his new friend Jules, could do this with drinks on a tray.
Keegan was thankful to have on steel-toed boots, because he counted at least ten times his toes were stepped on during his journey to the front. Two rows back, a drunk staggered into him and he gave the man a hard push. The crowd parted and he could finally get to the stage.
Surveying the seven tables lining the stage, he found nothing interesting until the last one on the end, where he saw Jules serving drinks to four military guys. One seemed to be taking a pretty keen interest in her so Keegan stayed there to watch.
Sure enough, that man grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to whisper in her ear, but she jerked away and shook her head. He didn’t take no for an answer, though, he slid a chair up behind her then pushed her into the seat.
Keegan lunged in that direction, but the guy suddenly doubled over when Jules landed an elbow in his gut, then doubled down with a quick backhanded punch to his nose. Good for her, he thought, shoving through the last two guys blocking him.
She was on her feet when Keegan stopped at the table, but the look on her assailant’s face said the fight wasn’t over as he swiped blood from under his nose. His buddies roared and he scraped back his chair to stand. Jules dropped her tray and assumed a martial arts defensive stance that Keegan knew well.
What he wanted to know was how she knew it. Was she former military too?
That pose wouldn’t be helping her in this fight, though—that guy was six foot five at least and could pound her right into the ground. The man rushed her and her knee found his crotch as her fist slammed into his ear. The blow took him to his knees, but he was still almost her height on his knees and he wasn’t out.
He grabbed her legs, pulled her feet from under her and she landed hard on her back. Before she could roll, he pounced on her just as Keegan got there. Fisting the man’s t-shirt, he yanked him back hard, and glared down at him. Chairs scraped back behind him, but he didn’t look away.
“Stay out of it, or you’ll get your ass kicked too,” he growled, before pulling the guy on the floor up closer. “Wanna pick on someone your own size, asshole? Or is your dick not big enough for that?” The kid, who sported a high and tight, was probably fresh out of boot camp. He squirmed to break the hold, but Keegan reeled him in tighter. “If you ever want to be allowed back in here, I suggest you apologize to the lady, before I throw you out.”
“I’m not apologizing to that bit—” he started, but Keegan twisted the shirt tighter around his throat so he couldn’t finish the sentence.
“If you don’t want to go to jail tonight, you will, kid,” he growled. “The owner has called the police and I’m sure the lady will want to press charges. I’ll bet your CO might serve you a big ole chicken dinner if that happens, huh?” A bad conduct discharge would be this asshole’s ticket home and to a lifetime of embarrassment explaining in civilian life why he received it.
“Let me go and I’m out of here,” the kid squeaked, scuffing his boots to try to stand again.
“Not until you apologize,” Keegan repeated shoving
him back down.
“I’m sorry!” he grated, trying to pry Keegan’s fingers from his shirt.
When Keegan released him and stepped back, the kid scrambled to his feet and glared at him as he rubbed his throat. His eyes said he wanted to fight and his fists did too, but evidently the kid had a brain after all, because he just shoulder nudged him as he pushed past him to walk toward the front door.
He turned back to the table where the kid’s three buddies, probably also full of testosterone now that they were out of boot camp, sat looking a little shell-shocked.
“If you’re going to come here, you will show respect to the staff. No touching the servers or the dancers—got that?” Keegan felt like he was a kindergarten teacher at the moment, and he didn’t like it because it made him feel old.
“Yes, sir,” they all three said in unison.
He turned and saw Jules was still on the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked moving behind her to put his hands under her arms to help her up. He tensed when his hand closed over a small holster under her arm.
“Yes, I twisted my ankle when I fell, but otherwise I’m fine,” she replied, as he helped her up to her feet.
“That’s two times I saved you today, so breakfast is on you,” he whispered into her ear as he dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back. Because I want to get to know you better too—and find out why you are carrying a weapon in this bar.
That wasn’t allowed with just a regular concealed-carry permit and could get her serious time if she was caught. He needed to remind her of that. Yeah, he had his pistol in a boot holster, but he had a military carry permit, for as long as he remained on the SEAL contractor team.
A flash of red caught his eye as one of the strippers on stage whisked away the top of her red-sequined bikini. He watched her nod at a guy in the shadows at the end of the stage and walk that way. The man took her hand to help her down the stairs, then led her to a room almost out of view behind the stage.
“What’s back there?” Keegan asked, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Private dance rooms,” Jules responded.
Keegan brushed past her to go see for himself, because that would be a prime place for a meeting between traitors to pass information. He might need to requisition audio surveillance equipment from the commander for those rooms, if he could find a way to install it without being caught.
He stopped outside the first room and did a quick peep inside the window on the door to assess the situation. When he saw the occupants weren’t watching the door, he took a second, longer look. A man who appeared to be middle-eastern sat in a lounge chair, while a brunette stripper gave him an enthusiastic lap dance. Keegan couldn’t see either of their faces well—just flashes of the man’s face when she moved—which frustrated him.
“That’s Ari, he’s a regular. He comes in once or twice a week to see Ruby for a private lap dance.” Keegan turned to look down at Jules, who he hadn’t realized was by his side.
“Last name?” he asked.
“No idea—we don’t ask for last names here,” she replied.
“We? Are you a we here, Jules?” he asked staring down into her eyes, because he knew the answer but wanted confirmation.
She was here doing the same thing he was doing here—recon—Keegan just needed to find out for whom. Friend or foe.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jules counted down the minutes until her shift was over. She quickly cleaned up her area, then ran to the locker room to change. The strippers sat at makeup tables gabbing while they undressed and removed their makeup, but she didn’t stop to chat.
Her goal was to get out of the bar as soon as possible, before the new bouncer held her to having breakfast with him. Getting cozy with him could get her information, but she could slip up too and out herself.
We? Are you a we here, Jules?
She’d let down her guard and that could get her killed if she wasn’t careful. Something was up with that brooding man and she needed to keep her distance until she figured out what that was. Keegan MacDonald. Possibly former SEAL, but also probable agent for someone.
He said he’d left the teams because of a woman. Was he dishonorably discharged? Did he have a vendetta against the military? Or had her SAIC sent someone inside to help her without telling her? So far, Brand Carter seemed like a conscientious boss, so she doubted that was the case. That meant Keegan MacDonald was working for someone else, possibly the radical Islamists or sympathizers she was trying to weed out here.
As soon as she got to her apartment, she would text her boss and ask for everything she could get on him. When she at least knew something about MacDonald, she would covertly interrogate him to pinpoint his reason for being at the club. He had a reason for being there without a doubt. His appearance today and method of getting hired at the Lily Pad were too coincidental.
Jules sat down on the bench in front of her locker and sighed as she took off her heels. She raised her foot to prop it on the bench and rub her sore ankle. It was swollen, but not dramatically. Thank goodness she hadn’t broken it when that drunk bastard fell on her.
“Stupid, drunken asshole,” she mumbled, as she dropped her foot to the floor to stand and remove her bottoms and hose.
After this operation was over, she doubted she would ever frequent a bar again. This was a disgusting assignment, but Jules took it, because it was probably her only shot at a permanent position on the counter-intelligence team, which she’d been denied for ten years. Nobody else wanted the assignment, but she did, since it was likely the only opportunity she’d have to prove herself.
So far, she’d proven nothing except she was better suited to the white-collar crime unit she’d been assigned to for seven years. It was time for her to figure this case out, before they pulled her from it. In three months, she should’ve at least had something to give to Brand, but all she had were unfounded suspicions. She wasn’t throwing those his way because that would just make her look stupid if she was way off base.
Jules pulled out the wad of bills in her bra and stashed them with her holster deep inside her duffle bag. She quickly shed the rest of her clothes then grabbed a bottle of body wash, shampoo, a towel, and her shower shoes, before heading to the shower.
Would she ever stop smelling like stale cigarettes and alcohol? She was almost afraid in the three months she’d been in the club that the smell had seeped into her skin so deep she’d never get rid of it. Fifteen minutes later, she dressed in her jeans and t-shirt, put on her belly band holster and slid her gun inside.
Tired as hell, she towel-dried her hair and felt marginally human again as she stashed her stuff back in her bag. And she still had six blocks to walk to the apartment the agency set up for her. Thank goodness that would be in tennis shoes instead of heels, she thought, hefting her bag onto her shoulder and cringing when she took a step on her swollen ankle.
She needed to ice it down and take ibuprofen as soon as she got home, or she wouldn’t be wearing heels tomorrow night. Limping to the back door, she opened it and stepped outside then leaned against the wall to inhale deeply. She coughed and covered her nose when the odor of hot garbage from the dumpster replaced the bar smell.
Her stomach rolled as she pushed off of the wall and took a step, but the bright security lights overhead were suddenly eclipsed by a large body. The hair on her neck raised as her heart skidded to a stop and she reached under the hem of her shirt. A large hand clamped down on her wrist, holding her hand tightly to her side before she could draw her weapon.
“Are you trying to weasel out of breakfast, Jules?” Keegan MacDonald asked, and his voice rumbling in her ears sent tingles down her neck.
“No, I’m not reneging, I’m just too tired tonight. How about a rain-check?” she asked, as his intense stare set her nerves on fire.
“It’s not night, it’s nearly three in the morning and it’s not raining,” he replied, as his hot breaths fanned her face and his intense energy buzzed around her. “I’m
hungry, and you owe me breakfast.” His eyes made it look like he was hungry for more than breakfast, and Jules body wanted to offer him a buffet at that moment.
But she didn’t know anything about him, and he could be the enemy.
“Move your hands,” she said, trying to slide her hand from under her shirt.
“Not until you promise not to shoot me,” he replied evenly, and a burst of fear caused her legs to buckle because he obviously realized she was carrying.
“I won’t shoot you if you get your hands off of me,” she grated, and he smiled as his hands fell away and he took a step back.
“My question is, why are you armed inside a bar? That could buy you time in jail if you ever had reason to be frisked, since you’re a civilian.” he said, and his eyes raked her from head to toe. “I’m sure there would be a line for that privilege.”
Jules felt like she had just had been frisked—with his eyes. Had this man made her out as an agent, or was he fishing?
“I think it would be obvious why I’m armed. I’m a woman and I work in a titty bar,” she replied, adding an eye roll for emphasis.
“Your military martial arts training should be enough of a deterrent and a lot safer, don’t you think? That costume doesn’t offer many concealment opportunities, so if I noticed your hold gun, someone else will, too,” he said, and that statement solidified she’d probably been made.
Fuck, fuckity, fuck. She needed to get in touch with Brand, because this was not good. If this man had ID’d her, she would be useless here now, and if he was the enemy and outed her, she could be dead.
Her eyes slid up his broad chest to meet his stare again and she found him watching her closely. An operator’s standard procedure to gauge her reaction. Was it just because he was a former SEAL and trained in those techniques? Or was he an operative now for someone other than the military? His kind of skills were in high demand with terrorist organizations.
