Читать книгу Spy in the Saddle - Dana Marton - Страница 8
ОглавлениеChapter Two
She couldn’t see him. “Shep!”
Then he popped back into sight and shot at the Mustang, blew out a window as the car picked up speed, roaring away.
Lilly rushed forward and aimed at one of the back tires, barely seeing anything from the dust cloud the car was kicking up. She missed.
“You stay right here,” she heard Shep call out, probably to the kid, then he was next to her.
“Call in the plate. Call the office.” He rushed forward, up the shot-up trailer’s steps. “Law enforcement,” he called out when he reached the top. “Don’t shoot. Are you okay in there, Jimmy?” He kicked in the already damaged door and disappeared inside.
She moved after him, glancing back as the dog returned and ran into the gap between the shed and the trailer next to it, back to the boy. One step forward and she could see the kid, his arms tight around the dog’s neck as the animal licked his dirty face. Didn’t look as if either of them had gotten hurt.
She pointed at him. “You stay there. Don’t move. Okay?”
Neighbors peeped from their homes.
She scanned them and evaluated them for possible trouble even as she held up her badge. “FBI. Please go back inside.”
She clipped the badge onto her jacket so she could dial, gun in one hand, the phone in the other, her blood racing.
The line was picked up and she summarized in a sentence what had happened, reported the license plate, listed the make and model of the car, and asked for assistance. Then she went up the stairs after Shep to help him.
She found him in the back of the trailer, standing in a small bedroom that smelled heavily like pot. Clothes and garbage were thrown everywhere. Their brand-new lead, a scrawny twentysomething she assumed to be Jimmy, lay in the middle of the floor. Frustration tightened her muscles as she took in the bullet holes riddling his body.
Shep crouched next to him, feeling for a pulse with one hand, still holding his gun with the other. He straightened suddenly, swearing under his breath, then speaking out loud what she pretty much knew already. “Dead.”
He pushed by her, out of the trailer, and she ran behind him, noting the young mother who now had the little boy wrapped tightly in her arms.
“You,” Shep called to a man in his late forties who’d also appeared, probably from a neighboring trailer, while they’d been inside. He wore denim overalls over bare skin and held a hunting rifle.
“This is FBI Agent Lilly Tanner,” Shep told him as he hurried to his SUV. “She’s deputizing you.” He turned when he reached the car. “You sit in this chair—” he pointed to the recliner by the steps “—and don’t let anyone go inside until the authorities get here. Do you understand?”
The man looked doubtful for a second, but then he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Shep jumped into his car, and she had to follow if she didn’t want to be left behind.
She snapped on her seat belt, keeping the gun out. “What happened to standing still long enough to think and come up with a plan?”
“No time.” He turned the key in the ignition.
“I’m not a sheriff. I can’t deputize people,” she said through her teeth as he gunned the engine. “You just left a crime scene to a civilian. Is this the kind of Wild West law enforcement your team is running here?”
“It’s called doing what it takes.” He stepped even harder on the gas pedal and shot down the lane at twice the speed she would have recommended, people scampering out of his way.
A grim, focused expression sat on his face, his weapon ready on his lap, rules and regulations the farthest thing from his mind, obviously.
He was a different man from what she remembered. He belonged on the battlefield, not among civilians. She pushed the thought back. She’d barely been here; the determination was too early to make. She’d give him a fair shake. He deserved that much from her.
But she would have to make that determination at some point. Her mission here had an extra component his team wasn’t aware of. She was to make recommendations whether to keep the SDDU’s Texas headquarters in operation or have one of the domestic agencies take over their duties.
The law forbade U.S. military from being deployed inside the borders of the United States. The Special Designation Defense Unit didn’t technically belong to the military—their top secret team reported straight to the Secretary of Homeland Defense—but they were a commando team, no matter how they sliced and diced it.
The few FBI and CIA bigwigs who did have knowledge of the SDDU were more than uncomfortable with them being here. And then there was, of course, the rivalry. The very existence of the SDDU seemed to imply that the bureau and the agency weren’t enough to handle the job.
She was supposed to write up an evaluation and recommendation based on her experience here. But her judgment of the small Texas headquarters would have implications for the entire SDDU team. There was some pressure on her to come up with recommendations that would restrict their operations to outside the borders, like the military.
Pressure or not, however, she was determined to keep an open mind. Even if Shep wasn’t making that easy for her.
He drove like a maniac. The Mustang was nowhere to be seen. It’d gotten too much of an advantage. Not knowing where it was headed, they would have little chance of catching up.
She cleared her throat. “We would have been better off staying and searching the trailer, I think.”
Instead of responding, Shep made a hard left without hesitation when they hit the county road, and without yielding to oncoming traffic.
“How do you know they went this way?” she asked over the blaring horns and squealing tires, her right hand braced on the dashboard, her blood pressure inching up.
“Burned rubber on the road. Wasn’t there when we came. They didn’t slow to take the turn.”
She glanced back but, of course, they’d long passed the spot. Burned rubber... She should have picked up on that. Would have, normally. She needed to snap to instead of allowing him to distract her.
He overtook a large semitrailer and nearly ran a car off the road in the process.
She had to brace herself again. “You can kill someone like this.” She might have raised her voice a little. “What happened to waiting for backup? Also known as standard procedure.”
Back in the day, he’d been a lot more balanced—the sane voice of authority and all that. Rules used to mean a lot to him. He’d had a ton of them. But not anymore, it seemed.
Which he further proved by saying, “We don’t run things by the company manual here.”
“No kidding.”
God help her if the other five were like him. She pushed that depressing possibility aside and put on her business face. The bureau had sent her here to keep this wild-card team in line, and she was the woman to do it.
Shep might have been her parole officer at one point. She might have had a crush on him so bad she hadn’t been able to see straight, but a lot of things had changed since then. She was here to do a job.
She opened her mouth to tell him that, but he pointed straight ahead, cutting her off. “There.”
The red Mustang was a speck in the distance ahead of them.
He floored the gas and did his best to catch up, scaring innocent motorists half to death in the process as he whipped around them like a race-car driver.
But when he finally reached the red Mustang, it picked up speed. So did he. Was he insane? Nobody could fully control a car at speeds like this.
She meant to read him the riot act, but he cut her off, once again, before she could have gotten the first word out.
“Take over the wheel.”
“What? No—” But she had to grab the damn thing when he let go without even looking at her.
Then he took the safety off his gun, rolled down his window, pulled the upper half of his body outside and started shooting at the men in the car in front of them.
Of course, they shot back.
* * *
SHEP TRIED TO HIT the back tire, but the Mustang sat low to the ground and he was high up in the SUV, nearly sitting in the window, so the angle wasn’t much to work with. He couldn’t shoot at the two idiots inside the car, which would have been easier. They needed them alive for interrogation.
“Coming in.” He popped back onto his seat and grabbed the wheel from Lilly, who slid back into her own seat to make room for him, shooting him a murderous look, her full lips pressed into a severe line.
He floored the gas and rammed the car in front of them.
The Mustang nearly swerved into oncoming traffic.
Lilly braced herself on the dashboard. “Slow down! You’re endangering civilians on the road. Shep!”
“Take over the shooting. It’s easier for you to use your right hand.” He needed both hands for the ramming.
“This isn’t how it’s done. Public safety always comes first.”
When the hell did she turn all prim and proper? “The public is safe. Unless you’re a bad shot.”
She said something under her breath he didn’t catch.
“Listen—” He rammed the Mustang again. “I don’t know how you do things at the FBI, but this is not white-glove law enforcement. You’re in the combat-boot section now. If you want to stay here, you’re going to have to step up to the plate.”
She unsnapped her seat belt, muttering something under her breath, then rolled her window down and leaned out.
He did his best to keep the car steady for her.
She shot at the tire, didn’t have any more luck than he’d had, with the Mustang swerving. She leaned out a little farther.
The man in the passenger seat shot back at her.
She didn’t even flinch.
Shep could see from the corner of his eye as she lifted her aim. And shot the bastard straight through the wrist.
“Good shot.” He flashed her a grin as she pulled back into the cab. But then the smile froze on his face.
Crimson covered her ripped suit sleeve.
His blood ran cold as he watched hers drip. “You’re hit.”
He slammed on the breaks and did a U-turn, tires squealing, horns beeping around them as he plowed into the opposite lane, back the way they’d come. Oh, hell.
She was shooting him the megadeath glare. “What are you doing? Are you insane?”
If he was, he was entitled to it with her showing up in his life after all these years without warning. He straightened the car on the road. “Taking you to the hospital.”
“The bullet didn’t hit bone. It’s not that serious.” She held the bloody arm up, bent at the elbow, and looked under her sleeve for a few seconds before she flexed her elbow. She winced and tried her best to hide it, turning her head.
He stepped harder on the gas. Oh, man. He’d had her for only an hour and he’d broken her already.
Jamie was going to kill him. Mitch Mendoza, too. Mitch was probably going to torture him first. “Push your seat back. Head down, arm up. I’m going to get you help.”
“I’m not bleeding out. Take it easy.”
He couldn’t. He’d been responsible for her in the past and that somehow stayed with him. Plus she was Mitch’s baby sister now.
Dammit, he should have never let her come with him to Jimmy’s place.
He glanced into his rearview mirror, but the Mustang had already disappeared. “From now on, you work out of the office.”
“I don’t think so.”
Anger rolled over him. “If you didn’t get shot, I would have those idiots by now.” She had no idea how distracting she was.
“You could have killed us with your driving,” she snapped back. “You could have killed innocent civilians.”
He swallowed a growl, hoping to God they would sedate her at the hospital. He wondered who he’d have to talk to to get her knocked out for a week.
He drew a steadying breath and focused. “When we get to the E.R., you need to keep in mind that my team is doing undercover work here. We’re consulting for CBP as far as everyone else is concerned.”
“I’m not going to the E.R. Seriously.” She paused for a moment before she continued, “If you want to, you can take me back to my hotel. I wouldn’t mind changing clothes.”
“You need a doctor.”
“I have a first-aid kit in my room. It’ll be faster. I go to the E.R. with a non-life-threatening injury, and we’ll be there for the rest of the day.”
He chewed that over. She was right. Not that he had to like it.
“Fine. I’ll take you back to your hotel. But I’m looking at your arm. Then I’ll decide if you have to go to the E.R.”
She scowled and, even scowling, managed to look beautiful. “You were always bossy.”
She was talking about the bad old days.
“I was supposed to tell you what to do. That was my job.” And he’d failed spectacularly. He didn’t like to think about that, so he asked, “Where are you staying?”
“Pebble Creek. Prickly Pear Garden Hotel. Right in the middle of town.”
He knew the place.
He picked up his phone and called the office, updated Ryder on what had happened at the trailer park. With the license-plate info Lilly had already called in, half the team was already out looking for the Mustang, and so was local law enforcement, so that was good. They’d get them. Shep told Ryder the direction the car had been headed when last seen.
“How are you doing?” he asked Lilly when he hung up. They were reaching Pebble Creek at last and he had to slow a little as there were even more cars on the road here.
The small border town was getting ready for a rodeo. There were signs all over the place and billboards with images of cowboys and bucking bulls. The rodeo circuit was a big deal around these parts, a lot of outsiders coming in, which wasn’t helping their investigation one bit.
“You’re not responsible for my well-being,” Lilly was saying. “I’m not seventeen anymore.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” he said aloud, without meaning to.
A quick laugh escaped her, the sound sneaking inside his chest. Even her laugh was sexy, heaven help him. He turned down Main Street, drove straight to the hotel and pulled into the parking structure.
“Are you okay? Why don’t you just sit here for a minute?”
She shot him a dark look. “I’m not going to pass out.”
Good. Because he really didn’t want to have to carry her up. He didn’t think he could handle touching her.
They walked to the elevators together. He kept close watch on her from the corner of his eye. At least they were alone when they got on. Her bloody arm would have brought on some questions, for sure. But they reached her room on the third floor without running into anyone.
She had a suite, small but tidy. She walked straight to the closet and grabbed some clothes. “I’m going to clean up. Make yourself at home,” she said before she disappeared behind the bathroom door.
He looked around more carefully. The space, like any hotel room, was dominated by a bed: king-size, plenty of room for two. He cut that thought right off and turned his back to the damn thing. He blew some air from his lungs. He shouldn’t be here. He shoved his hands into his pockets and reassured himself with the thought that he was here only in a professional capacity, and this would be the last time.
He scanned the rest of the furniture: a desk and a table with chairs in the small kitchenette. Plenty enough for the week she would be staying.
The sound of running water drew his attention to the bathroom door. He bent his head, rubbed his thumb and index fingers over his eyebrows as he squeezed his eyes shut for a second. He so didn’t want to think about the new, grown-up Lilly naked under the hot spray of water.
He did anyway. Maybe he had more self-discipline than the average Joe, but he was still a man.
She kept the shower brief. Long before he could have reined in his rampant imagination, she emerged from the bathroom, wearing soft white slacks and a pale green tank top that emphasized the green of her eyes. A nasty red wound, at least four inches long, marred her lower right arm. It still seeped blood.
She went to the closet again and bent to the bottom. She grabbed a jumbo first-aid kit, then came over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I wouldn’t mind if you helped me bandage this up. I’m not good with my left hand.”
The bed? With five chairs in the suite, she had to sit there?
He almost suggested the kitchen table, but he didn’t want her to guess that she affected him in any way.
He stepped up to her, trying not to notice her fresh, soapy scent. “You travel with an emergency kit?”
She’d been a pretty haphazard person back when he’d known her, definitely not the Girl Scout type. More of a “let the chips fall where they may” sort of girl.
She popped the lid open. “I like to be prepared.”
Of course, she was an FBI agent now. She’d probably been shot at before, even if he didn’t want to think about it. Obviously, she’d lived and learned.
He looked at the brown bottle of peroxide in the middle of the box. “Let’s start with the disinfecting.”
The bullet ripped along her skin but didn’t go through, didn’t damage muscle, or not too badly. That was good. She was right—she didn’t need the E.R. Although, it might have been better if a nurse was doing this.
He hadn’t planned on seeing her in so little clothes that he would have to notice her toned arms. He hadn’t planned on getting close enough to her to touch her.
But fine—he was a soldier. He could suck it up for ten minutes. As long as he didn’t look at the curve of her breasts, which the tank top very unhelpfully accentuated.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s what they always say.”
He slipped into latex gloves and disinfected the wound then dabbed it dry. To her credit, she didn’t make a sound. He leaned closer to get a better look at the damage now that dry blood didn’t obstruct his view.
She held still. “So?”
“The missing swath of skin is too wide for butterfly bandages, but the gash isn’t deep enough to really need stitches.”
To her credit, she didn’t say I told you so.
He put on antiseptic cream then a sterile pad, wrapped her arm in gauze. “It’s going to leave a nasty scar.”
“Good thing I’m not a photo model.”
As she shrugged, his gaze strayed to her naked shoulder, to her soft, tanned skin. Feeling lust at this moment had to be wrong for at least half a dozen reasons. Trouble was, she had him so bamboozled, he couldn’t remember any of them.
He cleared his throat. “Good to go.”
She flashed a smile. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He stepped back.
“And thank you for...before,” she added with a tilt of her head, her eyes growing serious. She filled her lungs, a consternated look coming over her face for a second. “I’m sorry if I was a difficult teenager.”
Difficult didn’t begin to describe her. “You were something.”
She smiled again.
He didn’t smile back. “And by that, I mean trouble. And it was pretty obvious you’d be even bigger trouble in a couple of years. I was just hoping we wouldn’t be running in the same circles by then.”
She watched him. “And here I am.”
“And here you are.” He drew a slow breath, and the flowery scent of her soap hit him all over again.
* * *
LILLY WATCHED THE WARY expression on his face.
Being alone in a hotel room with Shepard Lewis had been her teenage dream. To have him here now seemed beyond strange, even if under vastly different circumstances than she’d spent hours daydreaming about back in the day.
She’d written songs about him, for heaven’s sake.
She pushed all that away.
“You kept insurance on the car I borrowed,” she said. Okay, stole. But seeing how they were practically colleagues now, there was no sense splitting hairs.
He shifted where he stood. “Figured you couldn’t afford it. Driving without insurance is illegal. Didn’t want you to get into more trouble if you got caught.”
“You never reported it stolen. That car saved my life. I lived in it the first year after I ran away.”
He nodded.
“How come you’re no longer a parole officer?”
His dark eyes focused a little sharper, his jaw jutting out a little, his masculine lips tightening.
Oh, God. “Did you quit because of me?” Had she been that bad?
He backed away from her, to the window, and looked out. He said nothing.
“You did?” She stared.
He did a sexy, one-shouldered shrug. “Technically, I was let go.”
She stared some more as she tried to make sense of that.
“Why? You were really good. You were the only decent person I met in the system. If anyone could have made me go straight, it was you. You just got me too late. I was... Look, nobody could’ve gotten through to me by that point. Why on earth would they let you go?”
He turned back to her, holding her gaze. “There was that letter.”
For a long second, she had no idea what he was talking about. Then it clicked. “The email I sent?”
“Work emails are not private.”
“But I was thanking you for all your help and apologizing for the car—”
And then it hit her.
Heat flushed her face. The email... Oh, God. At the end, in a fit of teenage drama, she’d confessed her undying love. She might have even mentioned that she would be saving her virginity for him.
She’d blocked that memory, apparently, until now. She cringed as she pushed to her feet and busied herself with packing up the first-aid kit. FBI agents didn’t blush, she tried to remind herself, too late.
“I’m sorry,” she said without looking at him. She couldn’t just now.
She had a fair idea what had happened. He’d probably been accused of encouraging her teenage fancy. He hadn’t. The opposite, if anything. He’d always tried to treat her as a big brother would, which used to frustrate the living daylights out of her.
“I’m really sorry,” she said again, feeling it in the bottom of her soul.
“Don’t worry about it. I found my place.”
She didn’t know what to say. She put away the white box and moved out to her kitchen to put a little distance between them. “Would you like a drink?”
“I better get going.” But he stayed where he was and watched her for a long minute. “There was one thing I could never figure out. Why did you set fire to the house?”
The air got stuck in her lungs. “Your house burned down?”
Again, he waited awhile before he spoke. “Could have been an accident.” He shook his head, then scratched his eyebrow as he thought. “I had the oil pan over to the side. You knocked a few things over when you drove the car off the metal ramp, come to think of it. Something might have thrown a spark.”
She’d burned his house down.
She sank into the nearest chair as the stark truth hit her. “I ruined your life.”
He gave a wry smile. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
For the first time in a long time, she had no idea what to say. He was armed. Why hadn’t he shot her yet?
She wasn’t about to ask him and give him any ideas.
For her, coming here, seeing Shep again meant...tying up some loose ends from her past. He’d been a good memory. She might have even looked forward to showing off to him a little...look, I’ve made it, that kind of thing.
She might have spent some extra time on her hair and makeup this morning. He’d pushed her away years ago. Now part of her wanted him to see what he’d missed and maybe even regret it.
She closed her eyes. What a fool she’d been.
All these years, he must have thought of her only as his worst nightmare.
His phone rang, breaking the silence, and he answered it. She was ridiculously grateful for the chance to gather herself.
He listened before he said, “Okay, I’ll be right there.”
“What is it?” she asked, still a little dazed by his revelations. “Did they find the Mustang?”
He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Not yet. It’s probably hidden somewhere in a garage right now. It belongs to a Doug Wagner, who doesn’t seem to be home at the moment. Keith went out there. He got a list of Wagner’s buddies. A neighbor said Wagner likes to hang out with them at The Yellow Armadillo.”
“Which is?”
“A seedy bar in Pebble Creek. Known smuggler hangout.” He shrugged. “But he wouldn’t be out in public right now, after a hit. We’re going to run down his friends and see if he’s holed up with one of them or, at least, if one of them is holding the Mustang for him.”
He held out his phone for her, with a mug shot on the screen. The man in the picture was average-looking— beady dark eyes, greasy hair, giant chin.
She’d seen only a little of the Mustang’s driver, but enough to match him to the photo. She pushed to her feet. “That’s him. I’m coming with you.”
“No.” He said it as if he meant it, in that stern, disapproving tone she knew only too well. “You just got shot. You’re probably still tired from flying out here. And now you’re injured. Stay and rest. Just take the rest of the day off, all right? Give your body a chance to recover.”
She bristled for a moment but then, just this once, she decided to give in to him. A few hours of distance might be just what the both of them needed to put the past behind them. They needed to do that so they could move forward.
“I’m really sorry about before. Do you accept my apology?”
He nodded without having to think about it. “I’m glad it all worked out for you in the end. It’s good to see you doing well.”
“You, too.” It was a relief that she hadn’t driven him to alcohol or something. “When I come into the office tomorrow morning, we’ll start over. Could we do that?”
“It’s a deal.” He walked out the door with a brief nod at her, then closed it behind him.
She had to give it to him, he wasn’t one to hold a grudge. She wasn’t sure she could have been as understanding. She thought for a minute about their past, about where they were now, and tried to put things into perspective. Think positive.
She did that, and she also thought of something that would let her show Shep that she’d changed, that she wasn’t the same person who’d nearly ruined his life, that she was good at what she did now.
The sudden need to prove herself to him took her by surprise.
When she’d received the assignment, she got a list of the team members and a one-page memo on each. She knew she would have to face Shep and she didn’t really think she’d have any problem with it. She’d expected an awkward moment or two, maybe, but then they’d get over it.
Reality, however, turned out to be a lot more complicated.
She looked up the address of The Yellow Armadillo on the internet, then walked to her closet. Just because she’d agreed to stay away from the office for the rest of the day, it didn’t mean she was done with investigating. She wasn’t here on vacation. She wasn’t here just to observe and evaluate the team.
She was here to help them achieve their objective.
She’d come prepared, brought undercover clothes in addition to her FBI suits. She pulled on blue jeans, cowboy boots, left the tank top and combed her hair out, then pushed a cowboy hat over her head. Ready. She would hang out at the bar, nurse a beer and get a feel for local activity.
Wagner was the key. The Coyote must have sent him to take out Jimmy, a loose end. Wagner could lead them straight to the Coyote, who could take them straight to the terrorists. They needed Wagner.
Her car was at the office, but The Yellow Armadillo was just a few blocks away. A chance to clear her head was more than welcome. And she could use the walk to get a better feel for Pebble Creek. She took the stairs, adding a little more to the exercise.
Her phone rang. Unknown number.
“Hey, it’s Jamie. Shep said you got shot. How are you doing?”
Okay, that was weird. She wasn’t used to family checking up on her. “Just a scratch. Not to worry.”
“If you need anything—”
“I’m fine.” As a rule, she handled her life on her own. She didn’t depend on people.
Jamie paused for a second. “Okay. Just wanted to check in.”
The day was hot but not unbearable as she hung up and walked out onto the street from the hotel lobby. She turned right after the bank and walked down the side street until she found the bar.
Its sun-faded, chipped sign hung over a reinforced steel door, every inch scuffed, crying for a paint job. The parking lot was half-empty. Still, considering that it was before noon, that didn’t seem like bad business. But if the bar turned a profit, the owner sure didn’t invest in appearances.
When she stepped inside, the smell of beer and unwashed bodies hit her. At least a dozen people were drinking and talking at the tables. Could be they’d been out on the border, smuggling all night, then came here to grab a drink before they went home to sleep. Their gazes followed her as she cozied up to the bar.
The bartender towered more than a foot over her, drying glasses. Definitely a bruiser.
“Howdy.” He glanced at the bandage on her arm, but said nothing about it. The bar wasn’t the kind of place where people would ask questions about something like that, apparently.
“Hey.” She sat by one of the columns that extended from bar to ceiling, holding a dozen ratty ads for local services and whatever. That way, at least one side of her was protected. She scanned the short hallway in the back, could see a turn at the end that probably led to the office, then the back exit.
The bartender looked her over. “What’s your pleasure, little lady?” He raised a bushy eyebrow. She didn’t belong here and they both knew it.
She thought about a beer before lunch, and her stomach revolted. “Wouldn’t mind starting with coffee.”
He pushed a bowl of peanuts a few inches closer to her and turned to the coffee corner. He was back with her cup in two minutes, powdered creamer and sugar on the side. “You new in town?”
“Traveling through.”
A waitress sailed by and winked at her. “Looking for your next heartache?”
Lilly gave a smile, hoping like anything that she hadn’t already found it. “No, definitely not.” Letting her teenage crush with Shep reemerge would be beyond stupid. “Nice town, though. Might stay awhile,” she added, suddenly inspired by the bottom ad on the post that caught her eye. The bar band was looking for a new singer.
“If I can find a gig.” She nodded toward the ad and tried not to think how many years it’d been since she’d been onstage. But hanging out at the bar wouldn’t give her half the chance to snoop around as working here a few hours a night would. It’d make her an insider.
“You sing?” the waitress asked as she waited for her orders to be filled. She was in her early forties, a bottle blonde, slim, wearing a white T-shirt with the bar’s logo on it and a short black skirt with an apron.
“Ain’t much else I can do. I got just the voice the good Lord gave me.” Lilly tried to sound country, as if she might just fit in.
The woman looked doubtful, but she said, “Come back tonight. Brian’s the boss. He’ll be holding tryouts.”
“Thanks—”
“Mazie. And this one here’s Shorty.” She snorted as she indicated the bartender with her head. He fairly towered over the both of them, busy with the beer tap.
“Lilly. I think I might just try for that gig.”
Even if Shep was totally going to kill her for it.
