Undercover Engagement (Private Pleasures 5)

Uh-uh. No. She couldn’t do this now. Two law enforcement teams relied on her to have her head in the op and her emotions under control. “Lockbox,” she whispered, then winced as she belatedly remembered the damn wire. Great. Two law enforcement teams now thought she was losing it.

Clear your mind and concentrate on the job.

Following the instructions Dobie had provided, she pulled her car into the dingy little lot behind the pub and parked by the back door, beside Kenny’s Honda. “Here we go,” she murmured and turned off the engine. Indulging in one deep, nerve-settling breath, she lifted her bag onto her shoulder and got out of the car. Kenny and Dobie got out of the Honda.

Her nerves didn’t settle after all. They spiked. She couldn’t find her voice. Dammit, she couldn’t do this—walk into a meet, alone and outnumbered, with no gun, no Taser, not even a lousy cannister of pepper spray? What if the guy inside wasn’t who they expected? What if he had a weapon? What if he made her as a cop? What if…

Swain’s out here, listening, and his instincts are razor sharp. If something’s just a little off, he’ll pick up on it. He won’t let anything happen to me.

Just like that, her spiraling thoughts calmed. Her throat quit its lockdown, and she said, “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, Eden.” Kenny walked over and gave her a hug. “How’re you doin,’ girl?”

She managed a half smile. “Hanging in.” She eased away and hugged Dobie. “Thanks for setting this up.”

“No problem.” Dobie released her and moved to her side. “Let’s go in. He’s expecting us.” Flanked by the guys, she walked to the back door of the pub. The clouds bumped ominously overhead.

Nerves weren’t necessarily a problem. Heartbroken Eden Braxton, about to embark on an illicit career as a way to assert her independence, would be nervous. But probably not silently so. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful,” Dobie quickly assured her.

“Amazing,” Kenny agreed.

She let their responses coax a smile out of her. “You guys are too kind. I figure this is, like, a job interview.” She smoothed a hand down her dress as they walked through the still, silent kitchen. “I haven’t been to a job interview in a long time.”

“You don’t have a thing to worry about,” Kenny replied from ahead of her. “No experience necessary. It’s a pretty basic gig. Like Uber, but better pay.”

“Have you done it?”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “I’ve, you know, observed. It’s not rocket science.” He pushed through the swinging black kitchen door and into the empty main room of the pub. The lights were off, but the windows at the front of the bar let the gray afternoon in.

“I hope not. I’m no rocket scientist.”

“You’re really smart, Eden.” Dobie smiled from beside her. “I can tell just by talking to you. You know how to, like, decide about people. You’re smart enough to call something done when it’s done—even if it sucks—and not talk yourself into settling for less than you deserve.”

She looked over at him, acutely aware Swain was listening in. Good. He could chew on those clues for a wh

ile. “That might be the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me.”

He shrugged. “It’s true.”

“Hi, guys,” a voice called from the front of the pub, startling her. She looked up to find Jeb behind the bar, drying pint glasses. “Right on time.”

“Hey,” Kenny called and walked up the steps to the bar. “Did you doubt us?”

He hung the glass from a hook above the bar and tossed the towel onto a counter just below. “I wouldn’t set my watch by either of you. But I didn’t doubt her.” He sent her a sympathetic smile that somehow still managed to look predatory and rested an arm on the bar. “Hi, Eden.”

“Hi, Jeb.” She worked not to let any particular emotion show in her voice or expression. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. The boys thought maybe you could help me out.”

He nodded. “Maybe we can help each other out. I hear you kicked Swain to the curb.” He aimed more sympathy at her, this time with his eyes. “Some men just can’t hold on to a good woman. They don’t know how. It’s not your failing; it’s his. But even so, I know it’s hard. You’re going through a tough time, emotionally and financially. I can ease some of it.”

She offered him a smile. “You’re very understanding. How would it work?”

“I grow very high-grade weed. I’d offer you a sample, but I hear from these two”—he pointed at Kenny and Dobie—“you don’t use.”

“I don’t. Any kind of smoke aggravates my asthma.”

“No worries. Honestly, it endears you to me all the more.” He winked. “Don’t have to worry about any percentage of my goods going to”—he made air quotes—“‘employee benefits.’ I’ve reached a level where I grow enough crop, reliably, to keep five dealers busy throughout the county, but I’ve been handling Bluelick more or less on my own.”