Author: Jaci Burton

If he lived.

She blew out a breath, dragged both hands through her hair, and went off to find Spence.

He was busy with the head agent, so she informed AJ she was going to take DeLaud’s car and head back to the club, that she’d notify Lance’s wife of his death. Plus it was time for her to reveal who she was and tell Brandon his feature stripper wasn’t going to be stripping anymore.

She was glad that part was over. She was more than ready to keep her clothes on in the future. She parked in front of the club. It had just closed, so she went to the side door and knocked. Ariele let her in.

“You missed your second show.”

“I know. Where’s Brandon?”

“In his office.”

“Is Cheri still here?”

“Yeah. She’s in the office with Brandon.”

Perfect. Brandon could help her support Cheri when she delivered the bad news. She went through the club and to the other side where Brandon’s office was. The door was closed. She wondered if they were having a meeting about Cheri’s performance, or attitude. Hell, it could be anything. She didn’t want to interrupt, but had no choice. She knocked.

It took a few seconds for Brandon to answer. “What?”

His tone was curt. “It’s . . . Desi.”

“Can it wait?”

“No. It’s urgent.”

She leaned against the wall and waited, then the door opened and Cheri walked out. Her face was flushed and she shot a vicious glare at Shadoe.

“What the fuck do you want? You missed your second show. I hope he fires your ass.”

“Actually, I need to speak to both of you.”

Cheri arched a brow.

“Can you come in here with me?”

“What for?”

“It’s about Lance.” She didn’t wait to explain any more, just stepped into Brandon’s office and figured Cheri would follow.

She did, and Shadoe shut the door behind her.

“What’s this all about, Desi?” Brandon asked.

She didn’t sit, instead stood as Cheri took a seat in the chair across from Brandon’s desk. She’d never done this before—delivered bad news. She didn’t like it, didn’t want to, but she had no choice. “First, my name is Shadoe Grayson and I’m an agent with the Department of Justice.” She showed them her badge and ID.

Cheri’s gaze shot to Brandon, then back to her. “What?”

Brandon just stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“We’ve been monitoring drug shipments coming in from Colombia, and the involvement of a Federal agent. I was sent to work undercover because we suspected the drug deals were somehow connected to the Wild Rose. Our agent was known to be hanging around here. He was using someone with a relationship to the club and the docks as an inside contact, and the drug deal went down tonight. We believe Lance was involved in all this, because he showed up in the midst of the deal.”

“What was Lance doing on the ship?” Brandon asked.

“We have reason to believe he was the inside contact for DeLaud here at the club.”

Cheri’s gaze shot to Brandon’s again, then back at Shadoe. “No. That can’t be. My Lance wouldn’t be involved in . . . drug dealing.” Cheri stood. “Where is he?”

“He was shot during an altercation with DeLaud. I’m very sorry to have to tell you that he didn’t survive.”

Brandon stood. “What?”

Cheri’s eyes widened. “No.” She blinked several times, then crumpled forward in the chair and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, no. Not Lance.”

Brandon came around the desk and stood behind Cheri, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t understand any of this. My club was being used to transport drugs? How could I not know about this?”

“These people are good at covering their tracks. And they had . . .” She looked down at Cheri, who sobbed into her hands. “. . . they had an inside person.”

Cheri began to wail.

“I need to get her out of here,” Brandon said, helping to lift Cheri from the chair. “Come on, honey. Let’s go get you a drink, calm you down, then I’ll take you home.”

Shadoe moved out of their way, feeling helpless. Was it always like this? The grieving ones fell apart and she would be able to do nothing but stand by and apologize? “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll just clean out my things and be off. Brandon, a Federal agent will be around probably tomorrow to take a statement from you and from the girls.”

Brandon nodded.

Cheri didn’t uncover her face, instead laid her head against Brandon’s chest and let him lead her from the room. Shadoe followed and went back to the dressing room, cleared out her locker, and loaded her things in her car. She wanted to say good-bye to the other girls, but they’d all taken off. She’d come back tomorrow and do that before they left town and headed back to Dallas.

The mission was over. The rush of adrenaline had passed, the excitement of wrapping up her first case evaporating as fast as a short burst of rain on parched pavement. Her head began to clear as she realized what this meant.

She and Spence would soon part. She’d report back to Washington to file her report on this case, and receive her next assignment. Spence would be off on his next adventure, too.

They were done.

The ache in the pit of her stomach intensified, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to spend the night with him, to feel his touch, his arms around her, his mouth on hers, and his cock buried inside her.

How was she ever going to be able to walk away from him?

She slid behind the wheel and reached for the ignition, then paused, looked as the blinking neon light for the Wild Rose was shut off. She leaned back in the seat and pondered.

And pondered some more.

Something clicked. Cheri leaning over the bar to whisper at Brandon. The fierce way he held her wrist. The looks exchanged between them. The flushed look on her face when they were interrupted tonight.

The way she covered her face when she found out about Lance.

Shadoe hadn’t seen any tears. Brandon didn’t seem all that upset about Lance. It had all gone down so fast. They hadn’t asked a lot of questions about the drug dealing or the club’s involvement. He’d wanted to hurry Shadoe out of there.

Why?

And Brandon had asked what Lance had been doing onboard the ship.

Shadoe didn’t recall mentioning everything had gone down on a ship. She was almost certain she hadn’t.

She suddenly had more questions. Maybe it was nothing at all, but after putting the pieces together, some things didn’t fit right. She needed to talk to Brandon and Cheri again. She opened the car door and tried the side door of the Wild Rose.

It was still open, so she went inside and through the dressing room, peering through the windowed doors into the club.

There, sitting at the bar toasting each other with champagne, were Cheri and Brandon.

Smiling, laughing, leaning in to kiss each other.

That was no grieving widow, nor a club owner upset that his club had been used to transport drugs.

She eased one of the doors open just enough to hear what was being said.

“We should send a thank-you note to the Feds for getting Lance out of our way,” Cheri said with a wide grin.

“That’s what he gets for wondering what DeLaud was up to. If he hadn’t been so nosy, trying to make the connection between us and DeLaud, he wouldn’t be dead now.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing my poor dead husband saw a mystery and went to figure it out, isn’t it? He’s the fall guy and we’re in the clear.”

“It couldn’t have worked out better. If they’d traced the drugs back to us, we’d be doing jail time now.”

Cheri nodded, then downed the rest of the champagne and laid her glass on the table. “We have nothing to worry about, baby. Everyone else took the fall. DeLaud and Lance and the guys on the ship. We’re in the clear.”

“But we’ve lost the shipments and all the money.”

Cheri shrugged. “The Colombians still need distributors. We’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll get a gig at another club and set something up there.”

Brandon leaned his elbow on the bar. “I don’t know. It was perfect having an inside man at the Feds like DeLaud.”

“Hey, there’s money in a deal like this. There will be someone else like DeLaud come along. We’ll make it work again.”

He laughed. “I guess you’re right. At least we came through this free and clear.”

“And we have each other now.” She slid off the barstool and moved in between his outstretched legs, twining her arms around him. “I didn’t even have to divorce Lance.”

Brandon wrapped his arms around her. “Or kill him.”

She laughed.

Shadoe shook her head. What unbelievable scum. They thought they were in the clear? They were wrong. She reached around for the gun tucked into her waistband, but as she did, the door creaked, and both Brandon and Cheri spotted her.

“What the fuck is she still doing here?” Cheri screeched and took off running after Shadoe. Shadoe pulled her gun and pushed through the doorway, but before she could get set Cheri leaped on her, knocking the gun out of her hands. Cheri landed on top of her, knocking the breath out of her. Brandon grabbed the gun and stood over her, pointing the barrel at her face.

She struggled to suck in oxygen. Cheri sat on her stomach, and Brandon loomed over her, a murderous look on his face.

“You’re dead, bitch,” Cheri said.

This wasn’t looking good. Shadoe was in deep shit.

Cheri reared back and the last thing Shadoe saw was a fist coming toward her face. She braced for impact.

EIGHTEEN

SPENCE HATED CLEANUP, THE PART AFTER A CASE HAD COME to an end, and all that was left was tying up all the loose ends, followed by paperwork. The paperwork would come after they returned to Dallas, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that right now. But there were interviews, talking to all the players, liaising with the head Fed in charge, and doing verbal reports.

All of those things kept him from doing what he loved best, which was the action. None of this standing around and bullshit-ting was action, but it was a necessary part of his job.

Right now they had amassed the group of DeLaud’s henchmen and were conducting on-site interviews to see if any of them would spill their guts before they decided to lawyer up. Sullen, silent, they stood cuffed and separated from each other, each being interviewed by a separate DEA agent and an interpreter. Spence wandered among them all, listening in on snippets of the interviews. So far not much was going on. He stopped to talk to John Jacobs, the agent in charge.

“Anything?”

“This one here looks scared shitless. Says he has a wife and four kids back in Colombia and wants to make a deal. Considering we don’t think he has much to offer, we’re willing to listen first and see if he has anything of value.”

Spence decided to hang nearby to hear what the guy had to say. He was pretty young for having four kids, but what did Spence know? Maybe the guy started early? The interpreter asked the questions, and the guy shot back in rapid-fire Spanish, gesturing wildly. The interpreter listened, then turned to John.

“He says DeLaud was definitely in charge, reported back to Captain Morales. They’ve been doing these shipments for about three years now, and the ship would come in three times a year with cocaine and heroin. They’d off-load to the waiting boat, then the boat would deliver the drugs in booze boxes to the Wild Rose. The booze boxes would be tossed out back as empties, to be picked up by the club and distributed from there.”

“Nice setup,” Spence said.

“Yeah.”

The agent asked questions through the interpreter. The guy started talking some more, and the interpreter arched a brow and turned to John. “He says he’s never seen that dead guy before.”