Hidden Agenda

Easing in, Linc curled a hand around the side of her throat while his eyes locked with hers. “When you find that cowboy, babe, make damn sure he understands you’re mine.”

Her mouth went dry while arousal twined through her belly. The spicy scent of his aftershave was like a drug pumping into her system, spiking her pulse. For a mindless instant she wondered what it would be like to have his hands slicking over her bare flesh, to feel those perfect, white teeth scraping down her throat.

Her throat in which her pulse currently thrummed against his palm. The knowledge he could feel her response to him snapped sanity back into place. What was she doing? What in heaven’s name was she doing? She was a cop, on the job. He was her job.

With an alarm blaring in her head, her instinct was to jerk away from his touch, his scent. Since doing so might blow their cover, she eased back until his hand slid from her throat.

Linc said nothing, only watched her with his fascinating gold-brown eyes that had desire thickening around her like a spider’s web.

Carrie forced both a smile and an evenness into her voice. “I just had a thought.”

“What?”

“I’ll want to freshen up after I dance.” She held out her hand. “Why don’t you give me the key to the SUV so I can get my purse?”

“I’ll get it for you.”

“Sugar, I don’t want to have to keep track of it now,” she countered, keeping her hand out. “I’ll just slip outside when I’m ready.”

He pulled his jacket off the back of the stool, dug in the pocket for the key. “If you’re sure,” he said, dropping it into her palm.

“I’m sure.” She wrapped her fingers around the key. The ring held only the key to the vehicle, but she had seen Linc toss the key ring he usually carried into the glove box. That ring surely held his house key. Once he was immersed in his pool game, she would slip outside and make a clay impression.

He rose off the stool. “See you, babe.”

“Count on it, sugar.”

“Wanna ’nother game?” the heavyset biker with a Fu Manchu mustache asked while handing Linc a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.

“Some other night,” Linc said over the sound of billiard balls smacking together. He had spent the past hour playing pool while covertly checking men’s hairy forearms. He’d seen an uncountable number of tattoos, but none that resembled the coiled tail of a snake. His two-year search for Kim’s killer had led him to The Hideaway, but he’d known it would have been too much to ask to spot the bastard his first night there.

After replacing his cue in the holder bracketed to the wall, he snagged the beer he’d been nursing and strode toward the archway. He was vaguely surprised at the impatience burning through him. He’d always possessed the patience of a hunter, capable of hunkering down and waiting as long as it took to get what he wanted. That was one reason undercover work had been such a natural fit. What had changed? he wondered. Why did he feel a gnawing urgency to get the hell away from this place and not look back?

He paused when he stepped into the main room. The air was gray with cigarette smoke and seemed to shimmer with the music. Narrowing his eyes, he did a slow reconnaissance of the packed dance floor. Seconds later he caught a flash of fiery hair in the pulsating mass of bodies.

Earlier, he’d felt the softness of that auburn mane when he pressed his palm against Carrie’s throat. He’d been tempted to grab a handful of thick, silky fire, tug her chin back…

Then do what? he asked himself. See what it took to get her pulse beating harder than it already had been? He scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. The spike in her heartbeat didn’t necessarily mean she felt an attraction to him. This was her first undercover assignment, her nerves had to be working overtime. His weren’t, though. Attraction was exactly what he’d felt with his hand on her throat, his mouth inches from hers while he breathed in the scent of soap and woman.

Dammit! He didn’t welcome the attraction, had no intention of acting on it. He needed to concentrate on finding Kim’s killer. Period. Problem was, he couldn’t get his mind off the possibility his one-time best friend—or maybe someone else—had decided to make him the fall guy for seven murders!

Sipping his beer, Linc scrolled his thoughts back to that afternoon. After calling the Tulsa homicide cop, he had gone to see his boss. He’d laid out everything for Lieutenant Quintana—from the pattern that all seven dead men had SEU files to the fact that he had spent the weekend in close proximity to the Tulsa murder. Grim-faced, Quintana seemed convinced Linc had nothing to do with the killings, and indicated he would start the matter up the chain of command. His boss’s reaction somewhat eased Linc’s mind. Still, he had to keep up his guard in case he’d been targeted for a frame. With so much on his plate, he did not need the added complication of dealing with a new partner. Especially one who made his system churn.

A young cowboy swirled Carrie into view just as the song ended. The noise level dropped so fast it was almost like turning deaf. Linc saw the man whisper something in her ear; Carrie tipped her head back and laughed.

Linc set his beer aside and moved their way, not at all surprised she’d found a dance partner. Reaching her, he slid his arm around her waist, then turned his attention to the cowboy. He was in his early twenties, of medium height, broad shoulders, narrow hips, dressed in jeans and a denim work shirt, its sleeves shoved up on well-developed forearms.

“Time for me to claim my lady,” Linc said, and caught the flash of disappointment in the man’s eyes.

The cowboy shifted his gaze back to Carrie. “It was my pleasure, red.”

“And mine.” She offered her hand. “You take care, West.”

“Will do.” He gave her a smile with a dose of low-voltage charm. “Hope to see you around here again.”

“Count on it.”

Linc watched the cowboy melt into the crowd, then looked at Carrie. She had pulled her hair up with one hand and was fanning her bare neck with the other. The color was high in her cheeks, her hair damp at the temples.

She looked like she’d just engaged in a bout of hot sex and might be willing to jump back into bed for more.

The image had him grinding his teeth. “Looks like that cowboy is a real admirer of yours, red.”

“His name is West Williams,” she said, her voice a low whisper. “I don’t remember seeing information on him in our files. Do you?”

“No. Think he has a record?”

“My instincts tell me he’s a good guy, but I’ll run him.” She settled a hand on his arm. “We should dance. Over by the jukebox. There’s something going on with one of the booths. I can’t figure out what it is.”

“All right.”

The jukebox sparked back to life with a husky-voiced country singer torching a love song. Linc slipped his arms around Carrie, thinking he would have preferred a rowdy tune that required little touching. Trying to ignore the way her body meshed with his, he guided her over the wooden floor with smooth, intricate steps.

“You’re a good dancer,” she said against his ear.

“I figured you were waiting for me to step on your toes.”

She angled her head back to look up at him. Her mouth was red and wet and curved in genuine puzzlement. “What brought that on?”

Without thinking, he tangled his fingers with the tips of her hair. It was a shame, a damn shame, he thought, that she felt so incredibly good in his arms. “Could be the way your nails are digging into my shoulder.”

“Oh.” Her hand flexed open. “Sorry.”

“It’s just a flesh wound.” They reached the side of the dance floor closest to the long row of booths, most of them occupied. Linc bent his head so that his cheek brushed hers, his mouth close to her ear. Heat pulsed off her flesh and he wondered if her skin tasted as creamy as it smelled. “What am I looking for?” he asked.

“Check out the booth in the corner,” she said, swaying with him. “The one with the reserved sign on it.”

The slow song melted away into another with a quicker tempo. Linc splayed his fingers against her back and continued moving in the same steady rhythm while he watched the booth. Minutes later he said, “I’ve seen two men and one woman slide into the booth at separate times. Each sits there for a short time, then leaves.”

Carrie nodded, the light from the jukebox touching her cheek with gold. “While I’ve been dancing, I’ve counted a dozen people do the same thing,” she whispered. “A waitress never comes by to see if they want to order anything.” She shrugged. “Any guess about what’s going on?”

“Not yet.” When the song ended, he drew away, but kept her hand in his. “How about we try out the booth?”

“You’re reading my mind.”

She slid in first, he followed. “It’s too dark to see much,” she said seconds later. Against his side, Linc felt her body shift while she patted her hand against the wall. “All I feel is some sort of padded piece of wood,” she said.

“What size is it?”

“About the dimensions of a chair arm.”

“Does it move?”

“Can’t get it to budge.” Carrie met his gaze. “Those people wouldn’t have sat here and then left without a reason. They had to have picked up something. Or left something. Maybe both. There’s no other explanation.”

“Drugs and cash, maybe.” Linc swept his gaze upward, spotted a camera, its lens aimed at them. “We’re on film,” he said. “Let’s go outside and look at the other side of that wall. Maybe we can spot some sort of sliding panel.”

“Good idea.”

Linc smiled when a rail-thin waitress wearing tight jeans and a white T-shirt scurried toward the booth. “Two beers—”

She cut him off with a shake of her head. “I’ll be happy to serve you at another table.” She patted the small sign at the table’s edge. “This one’s reserved.”

“Sorry,” Linc said, rising. “Didn’t notice.”

“No harm done.” She ran a damp rag over the tabletop. “You folks find another spot and I’ll bring those beers.”

Carrie slid out of the booth. “Listen, sugar, all that dancing just caught up with me. How about passing on those beers and taking me home?”

“Sure, babe.” He slipped the waitress a few dollars, telling her they’d be back the next night.

Minutes later they were outside, following the beam of Linc’s small penlight while they crept toward the rear of The Hideaway.

He didn’t care that the air was as cold as a morgue fridge. In retrospect, it was far preferable to the heat that had surged through him while Carrie swayed in his arms. If he hadn’t felt a gnawing curiosity about what the deal was with the back booth, he would have made up some excuse to halt their dancing a lot sooner.

As it was, he planned to take a long, cold shower when he got to his room at the Drop Inn.

“See anything?” His words were almost soundless as he swept the penlight’s beam over the rear corner of the building.

“Nothing.” Carrie’s breath made tiny puffs of steam on the cold air. Narrowing her eyes, she stepped in for a closer look.

Holding the beam steady, Linc glanced sideways. Bare bulbs dangling from ancient fixtures affixed to the roof’s eaves illuminated the rear of the old house. The bulbs tossed shadows in every direction along the graveled access that ran the length of the structure. A few feet from where he and Carrie stood was a back door and wooden porch with several steps leading down from it. A Dumpster sat angled to one side of the porch. Beyond the Dumpster, another bare bulb illuminated a weathered, storm-cellar-type door that butted against the building’s foundation. Door to the basement, Linc surmised. The shiny hinge and padlock securing the door glinted beneath the light.

Linc shifted his gaze back to Carrie. As if searching for the trigger of a secret panel, she used her gloved fingers to prod the building’s rough-planked exterior. “None of the waitresses even looked at any of the people I spotted in that booth while I was dancing,” she whispered. “Then you and I plop down, and a waitress is on us like white on rice. Something’s definitely going on with that booth.”

“Yeah, I—”

Hearing a faint creak, Linc froze. In his peripheral vision he saw the back door swing open.

He shot Carrie a look to make sure she’d heard. Standing motionless, she watched the door with eyes as sharp as broken glass.

Adrenaline charging his system, Linc clicked off the penlight. A half second later, the bouncer stepped into view. His muscled arms looked rock hard as he stood in the pool of light illuminating the small porch. With one thick-fingered hand wrapped around the porch rail, he turned his head, his gaze conducting a slow sweep of the area.

Although pockets of shadows engulfed the corner of the building, Linc saw nothing that would provide cover. If he and Carrie tried to sneak away, their footsteps would sound like crunching echoes on the gravel lot.

He knew only seconds remained before the bouncer turned his gaze in their direction. Knew, too, only one explanation for his and Carrie being there would keep their cover intact.

Linc locked a hand on her wrist and jerked her against him.

“Play this out,” he ordered in a low, urgent murmur then crushed his mouth down on hers.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.