Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
DEAN
June Legarde, PhD, stands in front of me in a blazing fury. Deep brown eyes narrow in anger, going wide as I introduce myself. Her face softens with a smile, and my breath catches. Vibrant oranges and pinks halo around her, the sky purpling into dusk in a blaze of glory.
She’s even more gorgeous up close.
I swallow, my lips curving in an automatic grin, needing to play nice. Needing to convince her to trust me, even if she puts me on edge. No, her beauty puts me on edge. My last girlfriend taught me that lesson.
June Legarde is the target. Don’t forget that.
“Well, June, what will you be drinking tonight?” I offer my arm with a wink, like leading her into the building will give me some kind of control. But when she slides her hand into the crook of my elbow, it doesn’t feel like control.
My chest aches.
Why can’t the past stay buried?
We walk through the door, and the sounds from the highway fade. Jimmy Buffett croons about a lost shaker of salt over the raucous noise of people having a good time.
The occasional too-loud laugh, the clatter of forks on plates and the smell of salty, fried food invade my senses as I take in the surroundings.
Two visible exits.
One in back, to what looks like a marina, and the one we walked in. Probably at least one more, out the back of the kitchen. People mill around, light from their phones illuminating their faces as they wait to be seated.
We head to the hostess stand, and I try not to notice June constantly sneaking looks up at me. It shouldn’t leave me weak in the knees.
Two hundred and fifty pounds of hard-won muscle, towering at six foot five, and I’m KO’d by this woman’s casual touch.
Fucking hell.
Gritting my teeth, I chance a backwards glance at Pierce. He animatedly chats up Charlie, who, as usual, looks completely unimpressed by him. She definitely doesn’t seem rattled by the fact she just ran over a would-be gunman.
June squeezes my forearm, slightly startling me.
Shit, what did she just ask? “I didn’t catch that, princess.”
“I said you better be buying.” She leans in, her soft curves in all the right places, pressing against me. Thank fuck HQ okayed contact with her on our way in, because now all I can think about is how much more contact I want with her.
“And I only want the strongest margarita in Texas.” An eyebrow arches, her lips a thin line of frustration. “You wouldn’t believe the awful day I’ve had.”
“I would,” I say, too confident.
She blinks in surprise.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I amend. Putty. I’m like fucking putty in her delicate hands. Standing a little taller, I take a breath. “Try me. I’m a good listener.”
Her rosy lips curve into a broad, appreciative smile.
Fuck.
This is not going to be easy. Or worse, it will be too easy, and then what? I’ll arrest her for aiding and abetting the Russians, that’s what.
“How many?” A perky woman in a black headset looks up from a map of the place, and I memorize it in less than five seconds.
“Four,” Pierce pipes up.
“It’s a fifty-minute wait for a table, but there’s space at the bar.”
“Bar sounds perfect,” June says.
“Bar will be perfect.” I smile.
She squeezes my arm again, and I close my eyes briefly. Then shaking myself mentally, I flash another smile to the hostess, steering June to a four-top table in the bar area.
Pierce and Charlie pull up two empty stools, deep in conversation as June climbs onto a chair. She wrinkles her nose at the sticky spilled drinks coating the surface.
I’ve been tailing her for ages, and I’m still surprised at all her little quirks. Her purse on her lap, her ankles crossed neatly, the picture of a total prissy princess… yet I can’t help but follow the lines of her legs until they disappear under her tight black skirt.
This is wrong. Both my attraction to her, and how she’s acting.
It’s all sorts of wrong for someone who just went through what she did.
Her behavior—her reactions—don’t make sense. The two women are acting like nothing is wrong, and they just ran over a man. A man who pointed a gun at them.
I don’t expect Charlie to react, but June? If June is who she claims to be, just a civilian researcher, then she’s taking this way too in stride.
There’s no way she isn’t in bed with the Russians, just like her dad was.
“Everything okay?” June asks. Her forehead is adorably crinkled, and if I didn’t know better, I would almost think her concern was real.
“Yeah,” I tell her. I make myself smile at her. “I’m gonna go grab us some drinks,” I announce, looking around at everyone. “Whaddya want? And uh?—”
“I’m Charlie,” Charlie unnecessarily announces. Right. Because I’m not supposed to know her. Goddammit, I’m distracted. She wiggles her fingers in greeting, a familiar lopsided grin on her face. “I’ll take whatever June’s drinking.”
“Beer for me, anything on tap,” Pierce says, barely taking his eyes off his current target, Charlie Abbot.
Jesus . Apparently, Charlie’s just as good at wrapping men around her finger as she is at everything else.
Can’t say I regret hiring her… even if her methods are unconventional.
“Something strong,” I say, mask firmly in place. “That I can do.”
June presses a finger to the sticky spot on the table. Her lip curls up in distaste and she casts a desperate look around.
“I’ll see about getting the table cleaned up, too.”
She sighs, relaxing back into the chair.
“That would be freaking great.” Her eyes dart over the faces in the bar. Like she’s keeping an eye out for something. Someone.
I use the mirror behind it to keep an eye on the table. Brightly painted wooden fish hang in schools from the ceiling. The air conditioner sends them swinging on their clear fishing line, slightly impacting my view.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks.
“Two margaritas, two Shiners, and four shots of tequila, please.” It’s a bit much, but tequila seems like a good choice. It's strong. Plying June with alcohol for information might feel wrong, but it’s a good course of action.
Even though it’s exactly what my last girlfriend would do. I frown.
Hell, it’s exactly what she did do.
The bartender sets the tab down in front of me, bringing me back to the moment.
“Thanks,” I mutter, leaving a few bills behind. “Mind if I get a rag? We’ve got a few sticky spots on the table.”
He nods, producing a somewhat clean cloth, and I make my way back to the table. June watches me carefully as I scrub the thing, and it sets my teeth on edge.
I’m supposed to be watching her .
“That’s,” her voice falters as she speaks. “That’s really nice of you. I appreciate you cleaning up.”
I grunt, not trusting myself to answer and blow my cover. You don’t have to fake it , I want to snarl at her. I know who you are, now tell me where the drug sub is.
Yeah, that’d go over real fucking well.
“What’d you get for us?” Charlie asks, pushing her blonde hair over one shoulder.
“Something you’ll like.” Something that’ll get June just drunk enough to spill her guts, if I have any luck.
An odd expression flickers across Charlie’s face. It disappears as she flutters her eyelashes at Pierce.
“Your friend’s a real man of mystery, huh?”
“Dean can be pretty spooky.” Pierce laughs at his own joke, a double entendre June hopefully will miss, but my hands flex in irritation. The man grates on my nerves. My hand-picked team would never be so cavalier with the truth, not around a target.
“So, what do you guys do, anyway?” June asks, fidgeting with her purse strap.
“I—” I stop. Clear my throat. I can’t bring myself to tell my—our—approved cover story. I shake my head, as if that will help clear the sudden mental fog, and manage to inhale wrong, coughing.
“Dean’s a consultant,” Pierce supplies smoothly, smacking me on the back. “We work together on international shipping.”
Technically… not a lie.
June’s eyes narrow. “International shipping, huh? Surprised you two aren’t in Houston.”
“We work out of there pretty often,” I manage to say. “We’re, ah, entertaining some clients down here, trying to drum up business. You know how it is.”
Stupid, that sounded stupid.
I used to be good at this, at being charming and setting people at ease. Now every lie sounds hollow in my ears.
“Oh, that’s cool.” Charlie’s steely gaze meets me, as if she can see my train of thought. Maybe she can. She certainly seems to be laughing at me.
“Why would I know how it is?” June asks.
Thankfully, the loaded tray of drinks arrives, and I don’t have to make up another stupid lie. Fruity green mixer slops over the sides of frosty glasses onto the table as the surfer dude bartender plunks them down in front of us.
“Ladies, I assume the margaritas are yours.” Pierce slides their drinks over. “And I think my friend here decided to order?—”
June picks up a shot of clear tequila. Her hand shakes as she tosses it back, and Charlie’s eyes widen.
“Uh, June, maybe slow down a little?—"
But June’s already grabbed a second shot, and she tosses it back with a grimace. A moment later, she leans against the back of her seat and presses a hand over her lips.
“This is gonna be easier than I thought,” Pierce mutters in my ear.
My frown deepens. Maybe her, uh, eventful afternoon had more of an impact than I thought.
“That bad of a day, huh?” My forehead crinkles. An unfamiliar feeling threads through me: doubt.
“Like I said, you have no idea.”
If she is involved, then she’s green as can be.
She absolutely appears to be involved, and the DEA analysts likewise assessed she is, so this afternoon shouldn’t have shaken her.
Not this much, anyway.
My eyes narrow, and I pick at that feeling. I used to be able to trust my gut when it came to people.
Maybe I should try that again.
June coughs, her eyes watering, then picks up the margarita. My eyebrows shoot up. She’s clearly not a regular drinker. She takes a long draw from it, her throat bobbing as she drains the frosty glass.
“Brain freeze,” she coughs out, pinching the top of her nose.
“June was up for a grant.” Charlie’s brows knit together, and she shoots me a warning glance. “It didn’t go the way she wanted.”
I haven’t had enough contact with Charlie. I was too worried I’d blow her cover at the school, or worse, let Pierce in on the fact that I had Charlie working this case… without DEA approval.
Too bad I don’t trust anyone, it sure as shit would make life easier if I did.
June coughs again, and there’s a slightly glazed look in her eyes. At the bar, someone starts chanting to chug, and a group of rowdy college students pick up the cry.
She launches a lopsided grin at me. Guilt slides through me, and I can’t help wondering if I haven’t pegged her wrong. There’s something sweet about June, something na?ve, and it doesn’t fit at all with the profile.
“Maybe I should grab some chips and salsa,” I suggest.
Pierce kicks me under the table, and my smile takes on a hard edge as I slant him a warning look.
I want her tipsy, not incoherent. My foot makes impact with his shin, and Pierce’s chair slides back a little.
He glares at me. Serves him right.
“S’fine.” June waves a hand, picking up another shot. “I feel better already.”
“Uh, I think that’s a good idea. I’ll go grab some.” Pierce is already halfway through the room, maneuvering through the crowd to the self-serve nacho bar.
Charlie gives me a knowing look. “June, you should slow down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” She wags a finger at Charlie, leaning so heavily on the table it slightly tilts towards her. I stabilize it, incredulous. “Don’t go and try to render aid now. Bit too late to render aid. Render a band-aid. Render-aid band-aid.”
Charlie tosses her blonde hair over a shoulder, sighing. “Stop saying render aid.”
I’m lost, but June lets out a wild laugh.
“June, you need to slow down. You’re going to make yourself sick.” Charlie actually sounds concerned, and I glance back at her, confused.
I have never heard Charlie sound like anything but an asshole the entire time we’ve worked together.
Either she’s gotten better at acting… or she actually cares about June.
“Oh, how niiiiiice,” June half-sings, half-slurs. “How nice for you to tell me what to do.” Even her eyes are half-closed. “I want another margarita. I think I deserve it after what Charlie did. And didn’t do. She didn’t render aid, for example.”
June pokes me on the forearm. Goosebumps slide across my skin.
“She did not render aid,” June repeats, raising one eyebrow, then the other. Her finger points at Charlie, and then she makes finger gun with it. “Bang.”
Charlie raises her eyes to the ceiling, avoiding my steady gaze. Then, she slides her margarita toward June before pushing her finger gun down. Charlie slams back a shot.
I bite back a laugh, then try to press my advantage, see if I can get her to start talking. The sooner this charade is over, the better for all of us. Get in, get out, get my company up and running with this op under our belt.
“Oh yeah? What did Charlie do?” I cut my eyes to where Pierce is now at the bar, getting another drink. He’s digging into the chips and queso he was supposed to be bringing to June.
Asshole.
“I forced her to come with me here instead of going home to cry into her pillow.” Charlie crosses her arms over her chest. “You know, just us girlies doing girly things.”
My lips thin at her tone, her eyes narrowing at me. Why the hell is she doing the talking for June? That’s not helpful.
June rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at Charlie. “Shut up.”
Taking another long swig of the margarita, she nearly swallows half before Charlie eases it away from her mouth.
“Hey! That’s rude.” June turns on Charlie, then hiccups, her eyes going wide at the sound.
Coherent . I need her coherent, dammit.
“I think your friend just wants to make sure you’re okay. That’s a lot of alcohol.” I point at the half-drained glass.
“Who are you to judge, hmm?” June wags a finger. Squinting, she adds another, then laughs at her outstretched fingers. “Peace.”
Charlie lifts an eyebrow at me before returning her focus to her own glass.
“June doesn’t handle alcohol well,” she murmurs, and it’s clear it’s for my benefit and not the woman in question.
“Not judging.” I raise my hands in surrender. “Just suggesting.”
What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t even watch a potential asset get drunk without guilt-tripping myself? No wonder I lost all those bids.
Dammit . I need this op to go perfectly.
Need to get my business off the ground.
I need something to look forward to instead of staying stuck in the past.
The air conditioner hums, the frigid air blasting the dangling fish into a frenetic dance, and I take a breath.
Pierce finally returns, the half-eaten chips and queso somehow balanced perfectly with his fresh beer between his hands.
“Mmmm,” June lets out a throaty little moan of delight, snagging my full attention, my gaze homing in on her mouth. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I’m fucking starving. Oh, oops. Sorry,” she giggles.
“Sorry? For what?” She hasn’t eaten since breakfast? No wonder she’s already wasted. That’s no way to live. Maybe she’s more torn up about her dad than we assessed.
“Shouldn’t say fuck. It’s not professional.” She waves a loaded chip in my face, then moans in distress as a blob of queso splatters against the table.
My muscles lock up at the sound. What that moan did to me isn’t professional, either.
“Well, I think you’re safe with us,” Pierce tells her seriously, all charm.
My hands flex, then ball into fists. It sets my teeth on edge, him talking to her like that.
June’s eyes go wide, and her jaw drops, the chip falling from her hand. She grabs Charlie’s arm with one hand, her knuckles white.
Her face goes even paler.
“Shit. Charlie, is that the guy?” The question is a breathy whimper of distress.
Before I can react, June’s out of her seat, tequila in hand. She lists slightly to the right, all the tequila she threw back making her as unsteady as hell.
Regardless of her wobbly path, there’s no doubt she’s heading straight for the furious man who just walked into the bar.