Baited (5 page)

Shit. Pride had made me take the case. Would my pride allow me to drop it?

You don’t think there is a case, remember?

Still, I’d have to stop over and talk to Rich tomorrow and bow out, now that things had gotten complicated.

“Come on. Let’s play some pool. Same ol’ rules; shot for shot. Miss a shot and you drink a shot.”

I sent him a dubious look.

“You’re the one who called me, remember? Said you were lonely and wanted to get your drink on.” Jimmer leaned over and looked at my crotch. “Show me them steel balls, little missy.” His eyes met mine with a full-on challenge. “Or didja let Martinez borrow them?”

“Fuck that. And fuck you. Rack ’em up.”

Julie Collins, Impulsive be thy name.

Big Mike grinned at me and set a bottle of Don Julio tequila on a tray with two shot glasses. “Like I said, if you don’t go lookin’ for trouble it finds you anyway.”

“Now you just jinxed me. Anything that happens is on your head, Big Mike.”

“Like that’s anything new.”

****

After laying claim to the primo booth in the back room that unofficially belonged to the Hombres, Jimmer and I played three games of pool. I’d missed a dozen shots, but hadn’t knocked back more than eight shots of tequila. Jimmer had six misses, but since he outweighs me by a hundred pounds, he wasn’t feeling nearly as loose as I was.

That’s when they walked in.
 

They—meaning three couples in full biker poseur mode. From the looks of it, they’d finished the poker run and hopped up on Harley fumes, decided to stop into Fat Bob’s—a “real” biker bar.

Jimmer waited menacingly at the end of the pool table for them to pass by. None of them made eye contact with him.
 

Or with me for that matter.

Good friend that he is, Jimmer listened to my birthday ideas for my man without too much sarcasm. Before we could get the details squared away, he received a phone call and lit out without so much as a goodbye, leaving me in the company of my good buddy Don Julio.

Within ten minutes of Jimmer’s departure, I realized the three couples were eyeing my booth.

Eventually douchebag #1 sent his girlfriend/wife over. The far-too-classy-looking-for-a-skanky-biker-bar brunette scanned me and my half empty bottle of tequila, but couldn’t quite conjure up a smile. “Is your boyfriend coming back?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Fine. Is your friend coming back?”

“Probably not.”

“Then you won’t need this much space. Would you mind swapping tables with us?”

“Yes, actually, I would mind.” I made a shooing motion at her.

She teetered away on stiletto boots that no real biker chick would be caught dead wearing, especially on the back of a bike.

The group conferred. I smoked. It seemed instead of having a good time where they were, they were more interested in booting my ass out of the booth and having a better time over here.

Yeah, good luck with that, motherfuckers.

A tiny blonde, around my age, proud of her big rack from the obvious way she displayed it, sauntered over. Up close she was one of those flawless makeup, perfect hair types. She checked out my sunburned skin, windblown hair, sleeveless T-shirt, jean capris and rhinestone flip-flops.
 

Instead of a sneer, she smiled. “I’d offer to arm wrestle you for this booth, but there’s a wild look about you that guarantees I’ll get beat. So how about this?” She placed her palms flat on the table. “See the guy in the leather jacket with the black and gray scruff?”

My eyes cut in that direction. Tall guy. Skinny. Probably fifty. Not bad looking. I’d guess a white-collar guy dressing down to blend in. “What about him?”

“He’s my date. I just met his friends a few hours ago and tonight has sucked ass. The guys talk amongst themselves and the wives are snarky when they’re not ignoring me completely. It’d help me out a lot of if you’d share your booth.”

“Why should I help you out?”

“Because ever since your friend left, you look as if you don’t wanna hang out by yourself, and I don’t wanna hang out with them. Plus, you look more like my type of person anyway.”

“What type is that?”

“The fun, shootin’ tequila type that doesn’t take any shit from anyone.”
 

I ground out my cigarette, just buzzed enough that her flattery hit right on the mark. Hadn’t I recently lamented about my lack of friends? “Now that you mention it, I
am
low on drinking buddies. What’s your name?”

“Lisa Morgan. Yours?”

“Julie Collins.”

“Well, Julie, what do you say?”

“I say have a seat. But be warned. Maybe I’m by myself because I’m an asshole.”

Lisa laughed. “I’ll take my chances.” She motioned the rest of her party to come over. The women each gave me a polite lip twitch that sort of resembled a smile. I didn’t bother learning any of their names, nor did I offer to share my bottle of Don Julio.

I felt Big Mike’s eyes on me. He sent Reena over. No one but Lisa noticed that Reena addressed me because they were all too busy barking drink orders at her.

My new friend scrutinized me and I bristled. “What?”

“Who are you?”

“What do you mean?” I poured myself another shot.

“First the enormous guy playing pool with you would’ve happily whacked any of us with his cue if we dared approach you. Then there’s your ‘fuck off this is my turf’ attitude while you’re knocking back a hundred dollar bottle of tequila. Now the bartender, another giant dude, keeps glowering over here. And the cocktail waitress nearly bowed before you. So what gives?” Lisa turned her back to her friends and upended my shot of tequila.

Damn. I liked this bitch. I poured another shot and put it out of her reach as I lit a Marlboro. “I’m a regular here.”

“I get that.” Lisa eyed my smokes.

“Want one?”

She shook her head. “I quit a decade ago. I miss it only when I’m out drinking.”

“I’ve never managed to quit for more than a day. Never wanted to.” My gaze caught on the two jabbering women on the other side of the booth, barely pausing to stop for breath, except to wrinkle their noses when cigarette smoke wafted in their direction.
 

The brunette aimed a brittle smile at me. “Isn’t smoking illegal in all bars and restaurants in South Dakota?”

“Probably. But Fat Bob’s patrons make their own rules. You really think if the cops show up here they’ll be arresting people for
smoking
violations?” I laughed and blew smoke rings at her until she broke eye contact.

Reena dropped off a round. Blended margaritas for the chatterboxes—who the fuck ordered a frozen frou-frou drink in a joint like this? The guys, spread around the pool table, drank beer. Reena left us with two bottles of Coors Light.

“What’s your story?” I asked Lisa.

“I’m a medical records administrator for a physicians group. Jeff”—she pointed to her date—“is a pharmaceutical sales rep. I’ve been divorced long enough that I was starting to miss having a man in my life. Jeff asked me out. I said no...Until I didn’t. This is our third date.”

“Will there be a fourth?”

Lisa shrugged. “He’s nice enough. But he’s another one of those ‘love me; love my friends’ kind of guys. Know what I mean?”

I glanced over at Big Mike. I’d spent more time with him than any of Martinez’ other bodyguards. He and I had a friendship of sorts. But I never let myself forget that his loyalty wasn’t to me and never would be—unless Martinez demanded it. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” I exhaled. “He seems a little old for you.”

“Guys his age are the sweet spot. Their kids are grown and they’re trying to reclaim their youth. Guys my age are usually divorced with joint custody schedules and/or child support payments. Guys younger than me are fun for a while, but lots of them are looking for a baby mama, and that ain’t for me.”
 

“No kids for you?”

“Nope. My ex thought I’d change my mind. When I didn’t he bailed.” Lisa sipped her beer. “What about you?”

“Not interested in adding them to my life either.”

“We are soul sistas. I knew there was a reason I was drawn to you. Now if you tell me you love Thai food, romantic comedies and 1970s soul music, I’m officially asking you to be my new BFF.”

I laughed. “Better hold off on making those braided friendship bracelets. I’m more of an action flick kind of chick. But I do own Earth, Wind and Fire’s greatest hits.”

Lisa clinked her bottle to mine. “Close enough.”
 

It felt...good talking to her. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a conversation with a woman who wasn’t a client.
 

After expanding our conversation to our favorite movies, TV shows, and food, she said, “Is there a man in your life?”

“The guy who owns this place is my boyfriend, my live-in, my old man—whatever the correct term is.”

“He’s a biker?” she asked cautiously.

It was tempting to say
no, he’s
the
biker around here,
but I refrained. “Yep.”

“Now the bubble around you makes sense.”

I shrugged.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a private investigator.”

A pause. “You’re pulling my leg.”

I dug through my purse until I found a business card and slid it across the table.

Lisa scrutinized it before she looked at me again. “Fuck me. I’m serious about having you as my new BFF because you lead a way more interesting life than I do.”

“Not lately.” I poured another shot for myself and sipped. “My business partner is doing the dangerous, fun stuff leaving me to handle the mundane aspects. Which is ninety percent of the job.”

“Lady, you don’t know mundane.”

We compared notes on job duties and I conceded that her office work was more tedious than mine. Our laughter somehow prompted her date Jeff to interrupt, cutting short our getting to know each other time.
 

I excused myself to use the bathroom, debating on whether to use the nicer facilities in Martinez’ private office suite. But I suspected afterward I’d crawl between his 1000 count sheets and sack out due to my slightly inebriated state.

Big Mike beckoned me over after I exited the ladies room in the bar, but I waved him off. I paused before heading to the back booth, noticing that the sextet had completely overtaken my space. My eyes narrowed. Fuckers were dead if they were swilling my tequila. When I saw no sign of the bottle, I assumed Reena had picked it up. As I watched them interact, it wasn’t that they’d encroached on my space that had me feeling melancholy, but they’d coupled up. If I returned I’d be a seventh wheel.

Nothing new about that.

I backtracked to the juke box. I’d never spent enough time at the front of the bar to peruse the music selection. Pretty much solid biker tunes: ZZ Top, Skynyrd, CCR, Neil Young, The Rolling Stones and a multitude of one-hit wonder bands from the 70s. In other words; all crap.

I’d just decided none of this music was worth even a lousy quarter, when I felt him move in behind me. His hard body. His soft lips on the back of my head. I closed my eyes and breathed him in. Leather. Motorcycle exhaust. The heated scent of his skin.

The man had the uncanny ability to appear when I needed him.

Martinez placed his hands on my hips and buried his face in my hair. He stayed like that for several long moments.
 

I had to wonder if his show of affection was because the bar was nearly empty and few could witness the softer side of El Presidente.

“Blondie.” His raspy voice set little electric charges across my skin, zipping in a line down the back of my body from the nape of my neck to my heels.

Rather than melt against him like I wanted to, I said, “Did Big Mike tattle on me? Because I swear I didn’t come into Fat Bob’s looking for trouble.”

“Trouble seems to find you, regardless.”

“Not tonight.”

“Happy as I am to hear that, I gotta ask what’s going on.”

“Why…whatever do you mean?” I didn’t simper well and Martinez snorted.

“Why Jimmer called to chew my ass about why you’re acting all depressed and shit?”

I spun around and Tony boxed me against the jukebox. Upon seeing his stunning face, I couldn’t blame the girly sigh because of too much booze. Even as long as we’d been together I still got that little flip in my stomach when I was this close to him, completely lured in by his looks and his compelling don’t-fuck-with-me-vibe. My gaze traveled over his smooth, golden skin, highlighted by the sculpted lines of his cheekbones and strong jaw. His assessing brown eyes could ignite a fire in me or send a shiver of fear straight to my soul. His full lips hid beautiful white teeth that formed the most devastating smile I’d ever seen.

Not that he was smiling at me now.

I slid my hands up his chest and twined my fingers in the mass of silky black hair that brushed his collarbones.