Undercover Engagement (Private Pleasures 5)

“Hey, Eden. Nice to see you again. Missed you yesterday for ladies’ night.”

Eden smiled at Jeb Rawley from her side of the bar and held up her splinted wrist. “I took an unexpected detour to Dr. Longfoot’s office.”

Jeb nodded. “Heard about that. Girl versus truck.” He gestured at her wrist. “Bet it hurts.”

“I’m fine.” She wiggled her fingers for him. “This girl is tougher than she looks.”

“Guess so.” He glanced around, then aimed a very toothy smile at her. “’Cause you look damn fine, gir

l, but you don’t look one bit tough. Are you on your own tonight? If so, sit yourself down on that barstool and keep me company. First two drinks are on me—one to welcome you to town, one to make up for nearly getting flattened by a truck.”

“Uh. Thanks, but I’ve got to grab a table. Swain’s right behind me. He got waylaid in the parking lot talking trucks with another guy. I’m scouting for the table, plus Kenny and Dobie.”

Jeb frowned a little at that, then shrugged. “My loss. I haven’t seen those boys tonight, but Roxy’s playing, so I expect they’ll be along. What can I get you while you wait?”

The tightness in her nervous stomach made the very thought of a drink unappealing, but before she could decline, an arm settled around her shoulders, and she found herself hugged possessively to Swain’s side. “Two bourbons, neat.”

“Brand?” Jeb’s question came out like a challenge.

“Yippee Ki-Yay…motherfucker,” Swain muttered under his breath when Jeb turned away to grab the bottle from the top shelf of liquor on display behind the bar.

“Hey, now.” She shot him a warning look. “Don’t pick a fight with the bartender. I’m keyed up enough already.”

Swain pulled her in close and kissed her cheek. “That’s what the bourbon’s for.” He twisted his neck to work kinks out, and she heard his facet joints crack. Knowing he shared her tension didn’t help.

“There’s a lot riding on tonight. I need to stay sharp.”

“Choux, we get any sharper, we’re going to accidentally cut pieces off each other. Let’s try it the other way. You get a little drunk, or pretend to, at least. We’ll talk at the table—put on the same basic act we put on in Whelan’s office this afternoon—then I’ll peel Kenny off to play pool. You dance with Dobie. Cry on his shoulder. Literally, if you can manage. Just get us in there, Eden. I know you can do it.”

Jeb plunked down two short glasses filled with amber liquid and smiled at her. “On the house.”

“Thank you,” she said as the dark-haired bartender turned to wait on another customer. Swain handed her a glass and clinked his to hers. “To us.”

“To us,” she repeated and swallowed liquid fire, barely noticing the burn for wondering if he’d really meant that or if he’d actually meant “To the op” or “To succeeding tonight.” To getting one crucial step closer to completing their assignment. Before she could think of a way to ask, a group of newcomers entered Rawley’s. “There they are,” she whispered.

Swain placed his empty glass on the bar with a quick, attention-grabbing slam. When Jeb turned, he said, “Four more,” tossed twenties down, and called the guys over.

“Hey,” Dobie said when they’d threaded their way through the crowd. “Oh, thanks man,” he added when Swain handed him a glass.

“What’s the occasion?” Kenny wondered aloud as Swain passed him the other glass.

“This is how we roll,” Swain said, quoting the lyrics of the song playing over the noise of the busy pub. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” they said, raised their glasses, and downed the shots.

“Smooth,” Kenny coughed, pounding his concave chest with his fist.

She was starting to feel smooth, with the second shot warming her blood. “Oh, there’s a table. C’mon.” Grabbing Dobie by the hand, she pulled him down the steps into the main room and over to the recently vacated four-top a dark-haired waitress worked to clear. Roxy approached the front of the room, perched on the barstool set up there, positioned her guitar on her lap, and then leaned into the microphone and introduced herself. Over the welcoming applause, Swain handed the waitress more bills and spoke close to her ear as he ordered another round. All Eden heard were his instructions to “keep the change” before he, too, sat.

The brunette gave him a smile and a “Be right back, sugar,” then strode off with a hip-swaying walk.

“So, seriously,” Kenny asked as he sat, “what are we celebrating?”

“I’m made of money, didn’t you know?” Swain pitched his reply over the opening notes of Roxy’s acoustic version of “Back to December.”

The reply replaced Kenny’s smile with a look of confusion. “Uh, no…” He glanced at Dobie and Eden.

“Well, Kenny, you’re in good company there. I know I’m not made of money. Dobie knows. Don’t you, Dob?”