by Becky McGraw
They loved to recruit disgruntled former military guys—a former SEAL would be a gold mine for them. The only way to find out for sure which side of the field he played on was to have breakfast with him. What did she have to lose at this point?
“The café is about five blocks from here,” she said, stepping around him.
“I really just came back here to offer you a ride home because of your ankle. I figured you’d try to sneak out the back,” he replied, grabbing her arm. “My bike is around the side of the building. Let’s go.”
How did he know she was on foot? That she didn’t have a vehicle here? Better yet that she didn’t have a boyfriend picking her up?
When she walked around the side of the building with him and he waved at Candi, who was getting into the car with her boyfriend, Blane, Jules had her answer. This man had been asking around about her with the other employees.
Definitely not good.
When he stopped beside an expensive custom bike parked at the front end of the building, Jules insides took a slow, sexy roll and her mind soared down the road on that bike. Her feet carried her toward him, and by the time she arrived, her mind was halfway to Virginia Beach.
“Wow…that is a beautiful machine, Mr. MacDonald,” Jules said, awestruck as she stopped to take in the full glory of the badass Harley V-Rod Muscle with a lowered front end, black powder-coated airbox cover, billets, and pipes.
When her mind snapped back to the present, she wondered how an unemployed SEAL could afford to own such a bike. More questions that needed answers, because she immediately rejected the answer that presented. He was selling his skills to the enemy at an exorbitant price.
“This is a first. I’ve never had a woman lust over my bike before. I should’ve painted it black a long time ago,” he said, laughing as he held out his flat black half-shell helmet to her. “Here, wear my helmet because I don’t have two.”
She took the helmet, but he moved and the light reflected off of a shiny black spot on the tank and she stepped closer to run her fingers over the decal, trying to figure out what it was.
“What’s this?” she asked, tracing it again.
“Bonefrog,” he mumbled, as he went behind the bike and pulled a leather jacket from the saddlebag, then slid it on.
“What does it mean?” she asked, realizing it was a frog skeleton holding a triton.
“It means I’m a washed up fucking SEAL. Just put the damned helmet on—I’m tired and hungry,” he growled.
Ouch. Touchy subject, which also pointed to the conclusion she didn’t want to make.
He pushed the bike forward off of the stand, then cranked it. She felt the throaty sound and vibrations in her chest as she snapped the chin strap. A thrill ripped through her as she pushed her duffle to her back and stepped on the peg. He scooted forward and she threw her leg over the seat then settled behind him.
A sense of rightness soothed her as she melded her body with his, slid her arms around his trim waist and laid her face against his broad back. The scent of the smooth, well-worn leather under her cheek soothed her, his heat inflamed her and the vibrations under her titillated her.
This man was as badass as his bike, dark and dangerous. Alpha men did it for her. If they owned a bike, she was done for. This man and this bike were her ultimate fantasy.
He put the bike in gear and a rush of freedom surged through her as he zoomed across the parking lot. She could fantasize all she wanted, but Jules knew as soon as she got off this bike, she was going to have to forget this ever happened.
She was here to do a job, and this bad boy had just been added to her suspect list.
CHAPTER FIVE
“You seem like a reasonably intelligent woman. Why would you be working in a strip club as a waitress?” Keegan MacDonald asked, pinning her with a potent stare as soon as they placed their order and the waitress walked away.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jules replied, taking a sip of water straight from the less-than-clean glass the waitress left for her.
Her mouth was just that dry because all of the moisture in her body had migrated south during their short ride. The rest of it evaporated when they walked inside the bright diner and she got her first real look at Keegan MacDonald.
Good Lord, the former SEAL had to be the best looking man she’d ever met in a rugged, rough and ready sort of way. Just the way she liked her men. When he held the diner door and she walked past him, his body practically vibrated with sexual energy and hers hummed with awareness of that fact.
Looking into that gray-green stare was like staring into the sun, which would make focusing on getting the answers she needed difficult. Especially when she felt like he could read her mind, like those gorgeous eyes could extract every secret she held dear.
You’re on an operation—this guy is a suspect until you prove otherwise.
“So, how does an unemployed SEAL afford a custom V-rod?” she asked, trying to force casualness into her tone.
“Who says I’m unemployed?” he replied, cradling his mug of black coffee. “I have a job at the bar now, so I’m not unemployed.”
“That job wouldn’t pay for that bike—” She stopped when he frowned and anger sparked in his eyes. She’d gone too far. “That was rude. I’m sorry, it’s an amazing bike. Thank you for giving me a ride.” Settle down, Jules, and play the interrogation game.
“So you like bikes?” he asked, moving the conversation back to neutral territory but his expression still wary.
“Love them,” she replied, swallowing hard. “My younger brother bought a sport bike at sixteen instead of a car and let me ride it.” Six months before he killed himself and left me the bike. Clouds gathered in her head, the pressure built behind her eyes, but Jules forced a smile. “I’ve had a few boyfriends with bikes too, and got hooked.”
“Well, you won’t be having a boyfriend with my bike, so don’t even think of going there,” he said, and shock rocked her as her chin snapped up and her face flamed.
“Wow—you must really think a lot of yourself, huh?” Jules asked stupefied, as her insides boiled. “You haven’t got a thing to worry about there, SEAL Boy. With your attitude, you’d need a much better bike to spark my interest.”
Jules didn’t need or want a boyfriend in her life. She usually picked losers like this man, and she didn’t have time for one, anyway. Arrogant bastard.
“Don’t be insulted, it’s not you—it’s all women,” he clarified, soothing her feathers a little, but not much.
“Are you gay?” she asked rather loudly, her eyes widening.
“No, I’m not gay,” he growled, his face flushing as he looked around the restaurant.
“So why are you off of women, then?” she asked, folding her arms on the table.
“I’m just tired of the game playing that comes along with your kind and have bigger things to worry about at the moment,” he replied, glaring at her.
After the boyfriends she’d had, Jules could definitely understand his mindset. She’d decided to take a break from men too. Keegan MacDonald was the first man who’d piqued her interest in a long time, and it figured he’d be on her suspect list.
That’s the way things worked in her life.
“What did the woman who put you off of women do to get you kicked off the teams?” You can either tell me, or I can find out the hard way through Brand.
“None of your business,” he grated, then fired another question at her. “How do you know those self-defense moves and why are you carrying a pistol inside a bar?”
It looked like they had reached a stalemate in their cross-examination. This man who was used to holding information close to his broad, muscular chest would be a tough nut to crack and she was too tired to break out her hammer. But damned if she didn’t want to.
“None of your business,” she replied, giving him a tight smile as she adopted a sing-song airhead voice. “Okay then—what shall we talk about now? Read any good books lately? What’s you
r favorite TV show?”
“I don’t watch television and I haven’t had time to read a book in years, other than training manuals.” He shoved a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Let’s just cut to the chase, Jules—” He stopped and studied her face for a long minute, then sighed as the waitress appeared at the table with their food.
He leaned back so she could place his heaping platter of steaming scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, and half-dollar-size pancakes in front of him. She put Jules’ platter of over-medium eggs and toast down in front of her then left.
Instead of picking up his fork, though, Keegan glared at her. “We can do this one of two ways. You can tell me what you’re doing in that bar with a pistol, or I can tell Frank that you have it and you can explain it to him and the police.”
Jules chewed the inside of her cheek for a second to calm down, then slid to the edge of the booth. This arrogant bastard was going to do what he’d do and nothing she said would stop him. This conversation was over, but the battle had just begun. She would find out what she needed to know about him the hard way.
“Those threats of yours might have worked on those kids in the bar tonight, but I can assure you they won’t work on me,” she said as she stood. “I’ll carry my protection anywhere I see fit—so tell who you need to tell, MacDonald. Just do your job so I don’t have to use it.”
He was a lot less handsome with his face pinched as she grabbed her duffle from the seat and slung the strap over her shoulder. She turned toward the door, but his voice stopped her.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, Ms. Lawson?” he asked.
“What now, Mr. MacDonald?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder.
“You need to pick up the tab before you leave,” he reminded, and Jules scalp felt like it was on fire.
She plopped her bag on the table, almost in his plate, and unzipped it. She pulled out her costume so she could dig deeper for the wad of bills at the bottom. A black leather case fell out and plopped down right in the middle of his eggs. Her heart stopped as she reached for it, but he was quicker.
He leaned back to flip it open and frowned as he studied her badge. One eyebrow lifted before he snapped the case shut, wiped it off with his napkin and handed it back to her.
“Agent Lawson—that explains a lot.”
“Interfering with a federal agent conducting an investigation is a federal offense, SEAL Boy. I’d suggest you keep that information as close to your chest as you do your own backstory, because I’d hate to have to arrest you.”
“I’d like to see you try, Agent Lawson,” he said, his eyes glittering. “I’m sure I’d enjoy the frisking part, but you might be the one to end up in cuffs.”
“Anytime you’re feeling froggy, we can find out,” Jules shot back, as she found the wad of bills, then tucked her badge back into the bag. She slapped a twenty down beside his plate. “Just do your job, whatever that is, and stay out of my way, or I promise it won’t end well.”
“So what have you found out so far? Find the intel leak? How long have you been inside?” he asked in a hushed tone, and she froze.
What she found was the grip of her pistol and stealthily removed it from the holster. This man was dangerous, and he was either an operator on the same investigation as she was, or he was now her lead suspect.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m watching Frank, because he’s a tax evader,” she lied, fighting to keep her face neutral but the damned tick at the corner of her mouth couldn’t be stopped.
He studied her hard and those eyes of his bored into her soul, making her toes curl in her tennis shoes. “You’re not a good liar, Agent Lawson, but I’m glad we’re on the same team. Taking you off of my suspect list will make things easier.”
Blinding anger and knee-melting relief fought for pole position inside her as she released her pistol and zipped up her bag. She leaned over his plate to put her nose near his.
“Your suspect list? This is my investigation, asshole. Just stand down and stay out of my way. Tell whoever you work for that I have this under control.” Her blinding anger now included her new boss for not letting her know another agent was being sent in.
“If you haven’t closed your investigation in three months, Natasha, the odds are you won’t. That’s probably why God sent me here,” he said, giving her a cocky grin that turned her on and pissed her off at the same time.
Now, he was making fun of her? Comparing her to a cartoon secret agent? And God? He really did think a lot of himself.
“You aren’t as badass as you seem to think you are, Boris. I had you pegged as some kind of operator when you walked through the door at the bar.” She stood to cross her arms over her chest. “Your little show to get hired didn’t impress or fool me one bit,” she said, although now, it really did, even though she didn’t want it to.
“I saved you from being mauled by a drunk—so you should be thanking me,” he said, picking up his fork.
“If you didn’t notice, I don’t need your help. I had things in hand,” she shot back, jerking her bag up to put the strap on her shoulder.
“No, it looked to me like the drunk had things firmly in hand, Natasha.” He winked at her before he shoveled a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth and she ground her teeth.
“Enjoy your breakfast, MacDonald. I hope you choke,” she hissed.
“Good luck with your research, Lawson. Maybe we can compare notes tomorrow night to see who gets more info.” The corner of his mouth curled and the bastard winked at her again, before he took a big bite out of his toast.
Jules left her breakfast behind to go home and text Brand to find out exactly who this asshole was and what he was doing in the middle of her investigation.
CHAPTER SIX
Frustration hitting the red zone, Jules’ thumbs flew over the keypad on her phone. What do you mean you have no idea who he is?!? He’s obviously there to investigate the leak for somebody!
The cursor blinked for almost a full minute and her eyes got dryer by the second as she stared at it. This guy couldn’t be a ghost—someone had to know who he was and what his purpose for being at that bar was. As Special Agent in Charge, Brand Carter should know, but said he didn’t.
Brand: Just stay away from him and do your job.
Jules: I’m trying to do that, but I need to know who this guy is so I know how to handle him. He could blow my cover! Someone has to know something about his mission.
Brand: I’ll ask around, but doubt I’ll find anything. It sounds like he’s special access or maybe a contractor. All I found was a lot of commendations and an honorable discharge about a year ago…but he could be a sympathizer so watch him.
With a disgusted groan, Jules threw her phone down on the coffee table and folded her arms as her leg worked furiously, shaking the table.
Good luck with your research.
That bastard knew she wouldn’t find anything on him. And now that he knew who she worked for, she wouldn’t be finding out. She had zero leverage to make him talk.
Her phone dinged with another message and she picked it up but wanted to throw it again, when she saw a new message that had to be from Boris.
How’s that research going, Natasha? The laughing, tear-drenched smiley that served as a period made her mouth pucker.
“How did you get my freaking agency cell phone number?” she asked aloud, as she typed in the words, adding an angry emoji.
Boris: I have friends in high places—right next to God, as a matter of fact. She could actually hear him voicing those words in that smug, sexy tone and that made her madder.
Jules: Funny, I’d have guessed they were at the other end of that spectrum. Why in the hell didn’t they add a middle finger emoji to the lineup on her phone? She would pay extra for that.
Boris: I say we call a truce and work on a unilateral partnership basis.
Jules: What kind of partnership? The cursor blinked for a few seconds, her agitation grew and her leg
started pumping again as she gripped the phone tighter.
Boris: A unilateral partnership. You tell me everything you know and I’ll see how it fits in with what I have. In turn, I’ll watch your six…and I won’t tell Frank what I know about you.
Jules: Dream on, asshole. I don’t need you to watch my six, I can take care of myself. And again, if you impede my investigation, I will arrest you!
Boris: Considering my brother’s lives are what’s at stake, if you impede my investigation, you will be begging me to take you to jail by the time I finish with you.
More threats. Her leg worked overtime now as she gritted her teeth and her fingers burned a path over the keyboard.
Jules: You don’t scare me one bit, secret squirrel. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll protect your nuts and leave me the hell alone.
Her phone rang, but Jules saw it was him calling. She tossed it down on the table again and every ring gave her more satisfaction. Take that—and smoke it, jackass.
It was almost five o’clock, so time for her to get ready to go to the club. She stood just as sharp knuckles rapped on her door, shaking it in the frame. She stared at it and knew it had to be him. He’d probably found her address as easily as he’d gotten her phone number.
“Ride that bike back to wherever you came from, asshole!” she shouted then turned to stride toward the bathroom.
Just stay away from him and do your job. That is exactly what Jules was going to do.
Walking inside the bathroom, she slammed the door and shed her clothes. She was going to wash that man right out of her hair and her mind. Tonight, she would turn up the heat on this investigation. Because there was no way in hell she’d let him solve it first.
Jules leaned in and turned on the taps and kept her hand under the spray until it blended into the perfect temperature. With a sigh, she pushed back the plastic curtain and stepped inside the tub, moaning as the spray beat down on her head and heat surrounded her.
She grabbed her loofah and squirted body wash on it, then turned her back to the spray and let it massage the tension from her shoulders. The wiry texture of the fluffy sponge excited her nerves as she smoothed the foam all over her body.
