Subject: Sergeant Finn McAllister, K-9 handler

Mission: Go undercover...without getting under the covers!

Rumor has it someone at the local honky-tonk is supplying meth to airmen, and K-9 handler Finn McAllister will find out exactly who’s responsible and shut them down. But when the petite, blonde bar owner gets all up in his face—and kicks him out—Finn’s blood burns...with raw desire.

Tucker Blackburn brings out the devil in Finn, and he can’t resist going undercover as her new boyfriend. The sparks between them are part fury, part arousal and all heat. But Tucker’s been hiding the truth about a key piece of evidence...and if Finn isn’t careful, he might fall for his number one suspect!

“I don’t follow directions very well...”

“How’s that working for you, soldier?”

“At the moment?” Finn’s hands settled lightly on Tucker’s hips. “Jury’s still out.”

She refused to take a step back.

He liked that confidence. It was sexy as hell.

Finn flashed a wicked grin and bent his head, his mouth settling over hers, a warm demand. But instead of quenching the thirst he’d been fighting since he met her, that one taste only made him crave more. Damn, this wasn’t smart. He was supposed to be finding a drug dealer, not kissing the hell out of a potential suspect.

Pulling back, he stared into her dazed eyes, unable to fight the curl of satisfaction that rolled through his belly. He’d done that to her. With one kiss. One mind-blowing kiss.

Tucker yanked out of Finn’s arms and a bolt of anger flashed through her eyes as her palm connected with his cheek. The crack of skin on skin echoed through the empty bar...

Dear Reader,

I’ve loved every minute of writing my Military K-9 series. Not only was the research fun—can you say adorable dog videos?—but I’ve learned so much. The stories of bravery and sacrifice have tugged at my heartstrings over and over again.

For Finn McAllister, working with dogs was a side benefit to his real calling—getting drugs off the street. The tragic loss of his sister sent his life on a trajectory he hadn’t quite expected, but he’s still grateful for every day. On the other hand, Tucker Blackburn has been afraid of dogs since she was six. And she isn’t happy at all when Finn and Duchess stroll into her bar. What starts out as a clash of wills soon ends with both of them discovering more than they expected about themselves and each other.

Military Working Dogs dedicate their lives to serving our country just like every other US soldier. But once they no longer serve a purpose, their journey back to a normal existence and a family who can love and support them is often difficult. However, there are organizations that provide funds and programs to assist in this transition. If you’re interested in learning more, please visit missionk9rescue.org.

I hope you enjoy reading Finn, Tucker and Duchess’s story! I’d love to hear from you at www.kirasinclair.com, or come chat with me on Twitter, @KiraSinclair.

Best wishes,

Kira

Rescue Me

Kira Sinclair

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KIRA SINCLAIR writes emotional, passionate contemporary romances. A double winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, her first foray into writing fiction was for a high school English assignment. Nothing could dampen her enthusiasm...not even being forced to read the love story aloud to the class. Writing about sexy heroes and strong women has always excited her. She lives with her two beautiful daughters in North Alabama. Kira loves to hear from readers at kirasinclair.com.

For the dogs that have graced my life, shown me unconditional love and given true companionship—Bridget, Tippy, Ming, Jack and Emma. Gone, but never forgotten.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Extract

Copyright

1

THE KENTUCKY ROSE looked like a good time.

Or what he was supposed to think was a good time. But that wasn’t what had brought Finn McAllister out to the popular honky-tonk on a Friday night.

He could still see the drawn face of Sergeant Freeman lying in that hospital bed. The pallor of his skin as he’d explained where he’d bought the drugs that had landed him in the ER. From a woman at this bar.

The man had a long road ahead of him. Not just dealing with the physical aftermath of ODing and the legal consequences that would come with it, but the emotional issues that had the airman turning to illegal drugs for relief in the first place. It was a story Finn had seen all too often over the years.

In this instance, Freeman had been lucky. Three other airmen and a handful of civilians had lost their lives.

You’d think, after years of seeing the toll drugs could take on a person, Finn would have gotten used to it. That would never happen. Each time felt personal.

Maybe because each time reminded him too much of his sister, Bethany.

So tonight he was at the Kentucky Rose, hoping to find something that would help him shut down the pipeline of meth being funneled straight to the soldiers it was his job to protect.

The bar was fairly new, only open a little over a year. But according to the guys he’d talked to on base, it had generated a lot of buzz.

Gravel crunched beneath the heels of his boots. Not the hand-tooled leather boots he’d likely find inside, but the well-worn combat boots that had served him well most of his career. Broken in and comfortable.

Someone opened the door, and loud music spilled out into the night. Beside him, quiet as a shadow, Duchess, the military working dog he’d been handling for almost eight years, pricked her ears and scanned her surroundings.

Finn didn’t go anywhere without Duchess, but tonight she was more than just along for the ride. Trained to scent drugs, she had a job to do. Just like he did.

“Let’s get this over with,” Finn murmured, giving her the signal to heel.

The mingled scents of beer, women and something earthy hit him as he walked through the heavy front door. The bar was huge, a big old wooden structure on the outskirts of San Antonio that, from the outside, looked like a run-down barn. But the inside...

The place was packed, even early on a Friday night. And not just with the wild boys from Lackland Air Force Base down the road. Men and women of all ages were mixing together. Laughing, dancing, sharing drinks.

“Hey, sugar. Can I get you anything?”

The redhead stared up at him with vibrant green eyes. If she was a day over twenty-one then he’d eat Duchess’s harness for breakfast tomorrow. Dewy, Southern-girl innocence clung to her like the scent of roses that swirled around him when she moved close.

Finn took the barest step away.

“A table and the darkest beer you have on draft.”

The redhead twittered, countering his move by inching closer and settling a hand on his arm. Dammit. He really wasn’t in the mood to get hit on by his waitress tonight. What he wanted was a dark, out-of-the-way corner, so he could sit and watch.

“The beer I can handle, but the table might be a problem. You should have gotten here a half hour ago if you wanted someplace to sit.”

Shifting, Finn moved so that the waitress’s hand fell away. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

“You do that,” she said, flashing a megawatt smile that probably won her a lot of tips. He didn’t have the heart to tell her it wouldn’t get her anywhere with him.

Heading toward the back wall, Finn found an empty spot in the shadows. It would work. A good place to observe.

Off to the side, a rowdy group crowded around a mechanical bull. They let out a raucous cheer as a huge dude got bucked off, hitting the mats with a resounding thud.

On the other side of the bar, the dance floor was packed. Couples were bumping and grinding to the country music blaring from speakers strategically placed all around. And was that...? Yes, it was. The mirrored ball revolving lazily over the floor was shaped like an armadillo.

That pretty much summed up the place. Quintessentially Southern honky-tonk tacky.

Reaching behind him, Finn found Duchess’s head and gave her a good scratch behind the ears. A German shepherd, Duchess was one of the best dogs he’d ever had the pleasure of handling.

Her demeanor was so calm, especially when working. Even as a puppy, she hadn’t been rambunctious like the others in her litter. She could scent the smallest amount of marijuana, the tiniest packet of cocaine lodged in some of the most insane cavities on the human body. She was a machine, and a very well-behaved one.

Several feet away, a group of rowdy thirtysomethings began to gather their things from a table. Finn took several steps in that direction, intending to claim the space while he had the chance. He’d been on his feet since before dawn this morning, called by his commanding officer when word of Freeman’s OD came in. His entire body ached, something he was hoping a beer would fix.

From the other direction, Finn noticed a group of college kids eyeing the same table. Not on your life.

Picking up the pace, Finn was intent on reaching it first, but a warm, golden voice had him halting in his tracks.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

It didn’t help that the words were accompanied by the most compact little dynamo slipping right in front of him and blocking his path.

Her hands were balled on lush hips, blond hair cascading in curls down her back. The deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen flashed at him, full of outright anger.

Over her shoulder, Finn watched the competition grab the chairs around the table, pull them out and plop their infantile butts down.

This was the most irritating end to a day full of shitty experiences.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The tiny blonde, who tried to compensate for her five-foot-nothing height by wearing the most insanely impractical heels he’d ever seen in his life—even though she was still over half a foot shorter than he was—crowded into his personal space. Her finger landed in the center of his chest and she poked.

Her gaze darted behind him, landing on Duchess. Fear flashed across her expression before she tamped it down.

Great. It didn’t happen often, but occasionally Finn encountered people who were afraid of dogs. And while Duchess was one of the sweetest, gentlest animals he’d ever met, there was no getting around the fact that she was big and could be intimidating. That impression wasn’t helped when people learned she was a trained military dog.

Yes, she could take down bad guys, but only on command. Not that this woman wanted to hear that right now.

“You can’t bring a dog into a bar. Get him out of here.”

Finn cocked his head and for several seconds seriously considered picking her up and moving her out of his way. He bench-pressed more than she had to weigh. “Her.”

“What?”

“My dog is a her. Just because she’s big doesn’t mean she’s male.”

Shaking her head, the sprite of a woman said, “She can be male, female or in the process of gender reassignment for all I care. She doesn’t belong in my bar. Get her out of here.”

Her bar?

Finn let his gaze travel down her body again, a little more intrigued this time.

It fit. The impractical shoes were a perfect complement to the armadillo spinning lazily overhead. Her jeans were well worn and molded to her body. She might be small, but it was obvious she had curves in all the right places. And the black T-shirt she wore, emblazoned with the logo of a local craft beer, emphasized that fact.

As she leaned closer, the pressure from her finger increased. That was really beginning to irritate him.

“You have to leave,” she reiterated.

He could argue with her—actually, Duchess was legally allowed to be on the premises. But considering his purpose for being at the Kentucky Rose in the first place, it probably wasn’t a smart idea to piss off the owner. Yet.

So he’d try to cajole.

“I just ordered a beer.”

“Too bad. Your dog isn’t welcome.”

Or maybe not.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Finn stared down at her. “My dog is a highly trained military working dog. She’s a decorated war hero. She’s a hell of a lot better behaved than half the people in this tacky excuse for a bar.”

The minute the words were out of his mouth, Finn realized he’d made a tactical error. She might have been angry before, but now she was downright pissed.

Her skin flushed a deep pink. Her eyes turned glacier, but somehow still had the ability to burn straight through his skin.

“Tucker.” Someone yelled the name out across the crowd. He didn’t realize the voice was addressing the woman in front of him until the brute attached to it appeared behind her. You could’ve fit her inside the man’s clothes twice and had room to spare. But the guy was all frickin’ muscle.

Not that it particularly mattered to Finn. He’d fought guys bigger and badder than this one and come out on top.

“You need help with this guy, Tucker?” he asked, keeping his gaze trained on Finn.

Tucker. That was interesting. He’d never have pegged her for a Tucker, although something about the name fit. Unusual and dynamic, just like the woman.

“Nope. He and his dog were just leaving.” Her eyes flashed a warning. For some strange reason, he really wanted to ignore it, just to see what she’d do.

But out of the corner of his eye he saw several more men who were obviously the brute’s backup slide into place on either side of him. Finn’s mother hadn’t raised a complete idiot.

“All right.” Finn held up his hands. “Duchess and I will go.” For now.

But they’d both be back. Because the Kentucky Rose was the first real lead in finding and stopping the meth that had cost them several soldiers in the last two months.

He wasn’t about to walk away from that.

* * *

BLOWING A BREATH that fluttered her bangs over her eyes, Tucker watched the door slam shut behind the soldier and his dog.

It was a shame he’d been such an arrogant asshole—bringing a dog into a bar—because he was a gorgeous one.

She didn’t mean to study the way his jeans clung to his tight ass as he’d walked away. Or the bulge of his strong biceps beneath the tight edge of his T-shirt. Or the sexy stubble that covered his cheeks and did nothing to hide the dimple in the center of his chin.

There was no question, the man was rough around the edges. She hadn’t needed him to tell her he was military, she’d known it before he opened his mouth by the way he held himself. That alert, prepared-for-anything way his gaze had moved around the room.

She’d grown up with an airman, her dad the only real family she’d ever had. And while she loved him, she also knew damn well she wanted nothing to do with any more soldiers. She’d had her fill of the uncertainty and fear that came with living that life.

Which possibly made opening a bar right outside an Air Force base a little like selling water on the edge of the desert. A smart business decision, but terrible for her personal life, considering the majority of the men she met were ones she refused to consider dating.

Maybe she should’ve opened the Rose somewhere else, but San Antonio was familiar...comfortable. It was the first place in her entire life that had felt like home. She loved the Texas twang in everyone’s voices. The Southern charm of the people who inhabited the city. The green landscape against the wide open skies. Hell, she even liked the humidity in the summer.

She’d spent enough of her life moving from one base to another, never really feeling like anywhere was home. Or being left behind while her only living parent was in the middle of a war zone. Growing up with that stress and uncertainty...nope, not interested in courting more.

The Kentucky Rose was her chance to finally grow some roots, have a place all her own that no one could ever take away from her.

Turning on her heel, Tucker took a second to let her gaze travel across her bar. Taking in the happy patrons and hardworking staff, a sense of pride and satisfaction filled her. This was what was important.

She’d done this. Built this all by herself with hard work and sheer grit.

There was one rowdy group of guys, apparently in town celebrating a bachelor party. They’d been slamming back shots since they walked in the door. She’d have to tell Matt to stay close in case they got stupid drunk and made trouble. She also made a mental note to send Kayla over with some nachos on the house. Hopefully, the food would soak up the alcohol and slow them down a bit.

The first strains of The Devil Went Down to Georgia pumped into the room. From every corner, waitresses started whooping. The patrons, especially the regulars who knew what was coming, joined in. As one, the girls moved toward the bar, jumping up onto the wooden surface Tucker had spent hours sanding herself. In perfect unison, her team began to kick and stomp to the music, following the choreography they’d spent hours learning.

Tucker’s eagle eye watched each of them, looking for any small imperfection they could work on the next time they practiced. Her team often left those sessions dripping with sweat and groaning about how much of a taskmaster she could be. But they looked forward to them anyway. She made sure they still had fun, with lots of laughter and camaraderie.

This might be work, but she regarded every woman on her staff as a friend. Over the last year, she’d made a point to foster the idea that they were family, not just coworkers. And she really believed that. On the floor, it was important to look out for each other, especially during busy nights like tonight.

“Tucker.” Wyatt walked up, his large shoulder brushing against hers. He’d been with her from the very beginning as her head of security. But they’d known each other longer than that. Wyatt had worked at the bar she’d managed while putting herself through grad school.

At one point he’d tried to get into her pants, but she’d shut him down damn fast. Almost as bad as messing with a military man would be sleeping with one of her coworkers or employees. She didn’t mix business and pleasure.

Now they were just good friends. Wyatt often stayed late to walk her out. He’d become the overly protective little brother she’d never had. And since he and Michelle, one of her best waitresses, had been together for almost six months now, everything had worked out for the best anyway.

“Thanks for helping me handle that guy and his dog before.”

“Didn’t look like you needed much help, boss. As usual. You had things well in hand.”

“Yeah, but it’s always better to have backup. At least he was smart enough to realize he was outnumbered and should leave quietly. I would’ve hated to make a scene.”

“But you would’ve done it anyway.”

She shrugged. “Sure. If I needed to.”

Wyatt nodded. They’d worked together long enough to know how the other operated.

“I see you sent Kayla over to defuse the bachelor nightmare that was brewing.” Wyatt tipped his chin in the direction of the bar. The song had flipped over to something about a girl and a tractor. Her team had melted into the crowd, back at it, serving the customers.

Everyone except Kayla. She was sitting on the bar, her tiny shorts riding up and flashing the curve of her ass. She tossed her long mane of red curls and laughed, the throaty sound carrying across the bar.

One of the guys tried to run his hand up the outside of her thigh. Before he could get far, Kayla smacked his hand and let out another peal of laughter like it was a joke.

“Stay close to her,” Tucker said, shaking her head.

A self-defense instructor and rape victim advocate by day, Kayla could take care of herself. But that didn’t mean Tucker was willing to leave her without backup if she needed it.

“You got it, boss.”

“And keep your eyes on your job, not on my dancer.” She smacked his arm, offering a glare they both knew was fake because she couldn’t quite keep her lips from twitching into a smile. Besides she didn’t really mean it. He and Michelle were good for each other.

Wyatt tossed her a grin of his own and wandered closer to Kayla. She glanced up, gave him a little nod and half smile of appreciation before returning her attention to the guys crowding around her.

On a bright note, Kayla should get an amazing tip. The money would definitely come in handy when she had to pay her tuition next semester. It wouldn’t be long before she had her master’s in psychology.

Tucker didn’t suffer any fools. She only hired people who had intelligence and drive. Ambition was a prerequisite. She wanted her business to be a stepping stone to more for everyone who walked through the doors—just like it was quickly becoming the kernel of her own dream come to life.

Growing up, she didn’t anticipate her calling in life would be to own a bar. But her entire outlook changed when she took a bartending gig at a little dive outside her college campus. At first, she was just looking for something that didn’t require a lot of effort and brought home enough to pay her tuition.

But in no time, she’d fallen in love with the life, her coworkers and customers. There was something about the camaraderie that fed her soul just as much as the classes she crammed for each day. And when her aunt left her a decent inheritance, Tucker had decided to combine it with her newly minted MBA and open her own business.

Months of pouring over plans, market research, studying the industry to determine what she could offer that other bars couldn’t...it hadn’t been easy, but it was absolutely worth it. Almost a year later, she was well on her way to success.

Shoving away from the column she’d been leaning against, Tucker headed for the women’s restroom to do a quick check. Pushing open the custom door made from reclaimed wood, she scooted past the line of waiting women with a smile and a murmured, “Excuse me.”

Everyone seemed happy, which is what she always liked to see. A couple of women were crowded around the long mirror, gossiping about a guy and reapplying gloss.

Grabbing a stack of heavy paper towels stamped with the Kentucky Rose logo, she refilled the first dispenser on the far side of the trough sink.

“Those napkin thingies are adorable,” one of the women said. “That’s what I love about this place. It’s the little touches.”

“Like the armadillo!” someone else exclaimed from behind the stall door.

“Thanks,” Tucker said, flashing an appreciative smile. “This is my home and I want it to feel that way for everyone.”

“Nicest bar I’ve ever been to,” someone else said, before slipping out the door.

“Not pretentious or seedy. Welcoming.”

That was exactly what she’d been going for with each and every detail she’d layered into her bar. Tucker turned to fill the dispenser at the opposite end of the counter, but stopped when something caught her eye. Someone had dropped trash along the back of the sinks.

It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. She realized she ran a bar and that most people didn’t treat it like their own place, but what kind of prick just left garbage on the counter when there was a can not three steps away?

Fishing between the wall and the towel tray, Tucker snagged a corner of whatever it was and tugged—but got a hell of a lot more than she’d expected.

It wasn’t just some cellophane from a new tube of lip gloss or even a condom wrapper. There, in her hand, sat a small bag of white crystals.

Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised—again, it was a bar, after all—but she was. Tucker had a strict rule and everyone who worked for her knew it. No drugs—using or selling—by staff or customers. Anyone suspected of being high was shown the door.

Tucker stared at the baggie in her hand. Small enough that none of the women around her even appeared to have noticed. What the hell was she supposed to do with it?

“Tucker? You in there?” Wyatt yelled through the partially opened door. “We’ve got a problem.”

Crap. Tucker stuffed the bag into her pocket. One problem at a time.

2

FINN WAITED FOR about twenty minutes, watching the people come and go from the shadows surrounding his Jeep. Enough time that Tucker would assume he’d left, hopefully get busy with something else and not notice when he and Duchess slipped back inside.

He wasn’t anywhere near finished with the Kentucky Rose—or its feisty owner.

Waiting until a rowdy group of college guys crowded the front door, he melded seamlessly with the group. The guys pushed at each other, laughing and generally making asses of themselves, never even noticing he was amongst them. Idiots.

Blending into the shadows on the outskirts of the room, Finn found a booth that was unoccupied—probably because it was far away from the dance floor, bull and bar. Still, it worked perfectly for his purposes.

Duchess, her paws barely making a sound, curled up beneath the sticky, gouged surface of the table. Her head rested on his feet. To anyone who might spot her, which was unlikely in this crowd, they’d probably think she was napping. But Finn knew she was actually paying more attention to what was going on than half the people in the place.

He’d barely settled before a waitress swept over to his table. “What can I get you tonight?”

He ordered another beer. Maybe he’d actually get to drink this one. Several minutes later, the waitress plopped a frosty glass onto the table in front of him, apparently oblivious to the dog not three feet away.

Good. If he was lucky no one else would notice her, either.

Grasping the cold glass in his hand, Finn settled back into the corner of the booth, propping his legs up across the seat. The beer was good; he’d give Tucker that. A nice selection from a local microbrewery.

Finn watched, taking in the patrons and the staff. Looking for anything that stuck out to him as strange.

It didn’t take long for Tucker to surface again. He watched her move efficiently through the crowd, stopping to encourage some women who were obviously out for a night without kids and husbands to indulge by taking a turn on the mechanical bull. They went from reluctant to whooping and hollering, huge smiles on their faces.

At another table, she nudged a group into purchasing more drinks. At the next, where an inebriated group of professionals had obviously overindulged, she pushed food and glasses of water, instead. She expertly maneuvered each of her customers into having a good time, and the most impressive part was, they had no idea it was happening.

But Finn noticed. Because paying attention was part of his job.

He tried not to let her distract him, but over and over again he found his gaze drawn to her body, her smile, the way her face lit up when she laughed.

Several times he wished he had his camera so he could capture the flash of amusement as it stole through those bright blue eyes. Or the glint of light off those soft, golden curls. His fingers itched to hold the camera in his hands, to view her through the tiny window and see what else a photograph might expose about the woman he couldn’t seem to ignore.

But leaving the camera tucked away behind the seat of his Jeep was the smart move. Having Duchess beside him was conspicuous enough; if he’d strolled in here with an expensive piece of equipment hanging around his neck, too...it would have been too much.

Finn finished his beer, flagged a passing waitress and requested another. He was fifteen or so minutes into the second when Tucker disappeared into the back. The crowd was getting rowdier, typical Friday night. The hand on his watch was creeping toward midnight. The mom crowd had headed home a while ago, to relieve their babysitters, leaving behind only the hard-core partiers and singles searching for a hookup.

The mix of professionals and college students was outnumbered by airmen. Even out of uniform, Finn had no trouble picking them out—both men and women looking for a good time.

Someone cranked the music just a little louder. Darkness draped over the dance floor like a curtain, only broken by the flash of laser lights bouncing off the walls and that damn mirrored armadillo hanging from the ceiling.

People were laughing, singing and dancing. To his left, someone started yelling, the sound loud enough to rise above the crowd. Finn was on his feet before he registered the intention. Duchess was right beside him, her shoulder even with his hip.

Twenty feet away, two large men were shouting at each other. Finn didn’t have to guess; it was obvious to him they were both soldiers. Idiotic hotheads.

Chairs fell backward, clattering to the ground. Coming from opposite corners of the bar, three bouncers were headed for the melee, but it would take them too long to wade through the crush of people.

Finn was closer.

Gritting his teeth, he was halfway across the space when the first punch was thrown. The crunch of bone against bone echoed around him. Glass shattered on the wooden floor. One of the guys grunted, but Finn had no idea if it was the fool who’d thrown the punch or the idiot who’d taken it.

Unfortunately, it didn’t stop there. Stunned, the punchee shook it off, then threw one of his own, landing a solid uppercut followed by a body shot. The other guy doubled over.

Another bruiser entered the fray, and then a fourth. Fantastic, just what he needed, these knuckleheads drawing attention to themselves and tearing up the place.

Finn was right there, but not fast enough to prevent this from turning into a true clusterfuck. The situation was deteriorating quickly as buddies, fueled by alcohol and big egos, backed up their buddies.

The situation was bad enough, but it got ten times worse when he saw the bright flash of blond hair ahead of him.

Shit. Where had she come from?

“Tucker, don’t!” Finn hollered.

She glanced over her shoulder, saw him and frowned. But she also ignored him, turning away.

Goddammit.

She practically disappeared between the bruisers who were too busy slamming each other into the tables that had emptied around them to notice a woman shoving her way between them.

The first guy went to throw another punch, but Tucker stepped right in front. He was too drunk to react before his fist connected with her jaw.

Tucker’s head snapped sideways. She swore, the low, throaty hum of the sound reverberating through Finn’s chest and making his belly cramp. He watched, helpless, as her body crumpled to the ground.

Finn’s heart thumped erratically behind his ribs. A sense of impending doom he hadn’t experienced since coming home from Afghanistan overwhelmed him. They were going to trample her.

He found a burst of power, wading right between the flailing fists and brawling men, taking a couple of glancing blows across his ribs and shoulder that he didn’t even feel. Reaching down, he gripped Tucker and hauled her up.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pushed his way back out of the melee, using his broad body to protect hers as much as possible.

As he passed one of the bouncers who had threatened to throw him out earlier, Finn growled, “Get a handle on this.”

“Working on it. She okay?” the bouncer asked, nodding his head toward Tucker.

“Don’t know.” She wasn’t fighting him, which was a bad sign. What little he knew about the woman suggested she probably wasn’t one to take kindly to being hauled about. Something he had to respect. But she also wasn’t limp and lifeless, as he’d feared he might find her.

Confident the men Tucker had hired were capable of getting control now that they were close enough to the fight, Finn strode swiftly to the booth he’d been in minutes before. Duchess gave a low whimper, but was right behind him.

He eased Tucker down onto the vinyl seat, propping her against the wall before pulling back so he could look down at her.

He expected to find her a little dazed.

Instead, those dark blue eyes that always seemed to snag him raged with anger.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Twice now she’d growled those words at him. He was really starting to hate that question. “Saving your ass, darlin’.”

“My ass didn’t need saving. It’s perfectly capable of taking care of itself.”

“Didn’t look like it from where I was standing...looking down on you sprawled across the floor.”

Pulling her feet back, she tried to jerk up and sit straight.

Finn grasped her calves and pinned her legs right where they were. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

“Get your hands off of me.”

“Gladly, as soon as you promise to stay put.”

“I have to handle the situation.”

Finn threw a glance over his shoulder. Five bouncers had swarmed the area and were each manhandling a soldier in the general direction of the door.

“Your security team has it well in hand.”

“I’m sure they do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need to be there. This is my place. It’s my responsibility.”

His lips twitched. “I imagine you pay good money for men who can handle this kind of thing for you. Let them earn their paychecks. You had the wind knocked out of you.”

He watched her little button nose scrunch up and her soft pink mouth twist into a grimace. A shudder ripped through her body and she finally sagged against the side of the booth. “God, I can’t believe I didn’t see that punch coming.”

Bowing her head, she started to probe along her cheekbone. He didn’t miss her wince. The skin was already starting to mottle. In a few hours she was going to have one hell of a bruise across her cheek.

“I’m damn impressed.”

Her gaze flashed up to him before dropping back to the table again. “Yeah, my guys are good. I only hire the best.”

“I wasn’t talking about your staff. I was talking about how well you took that punch. He was one hulking dude and put everything he had behind that hit.”

“My cheekbone is throbbing with the proof of that.”

“I know some pretty badass women, and I don’t think any of them could have taken that hit and still been coherent enough to hold a conversation with me right now. Why isn’t your brain rattled?”

She shrugged. “Not the first punch I’ve ever taken.”

Shit. For the second time tonight, Finn wanted to knock someone on their ass—preferably anyone who’d ever given Tucker bruises.

She must have registered where his brain had gone because she quickly said, “No. Not that way.” She scoffed, the rough sound scraping through her throat. “I’ve been involved in martial arts and self-defense off and on for years. I was raised by a single dad who believed in making sure his little girl could take care of herself.”

“Smart man.”

“He is. But that’s all I meant by not the first time I’ve taken a punch.”

Satisfied she was showing no signs of concussion, Finn turned away long enough to snag the arm of a passing waitress and request she bring him a towel or bag filled with ice.

He might not know her well, but even Finn realized it was a testament to just how much her cheek must be hurting that Tucker didn’t make some snide comment about him ordering her staff around. Or that after the waitress returned with some ice wrapped in a towel, she didn’t protest when Finn moved close, sliding his hip against hers, to place it against her cheek.

But she did hiss and jerk back in response to the pain and cold.

Finn wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, holding her in place.

“That hurts,” she grumbled.

What was wrong with him? He wanted to pick her up, plop her down into his lap and do whatever it took to make the pain go away. Even though he knew that wasn’t possible.

The only person Finn ever worried about taking care of was Duchess—and she wasn’t technically a person.

“I’m sorry, but something tells me you’d rather keep the swelling and bruising to a minimum.”

With a sigh, she settled against the wall, the warmth of his palm cupping her head. The soft rain of her hair brushed across the back of his hand.

His gaze snagged on her lips. He wanted to taste them. Wanted to know if the taste of her would be just as spicy as her attitude, or if that prickly outer shell hid a sweetness designed to bring a man to his knees.

But he didn’t get the chance. He could feel the presence behind him long before the man spoke.

“Boss, problem’s all taken care of.”

“Great. Thanks, Wyatt.”

“You okay?”

“She’s good. Looks like she’ll have one hell of a bruise tomorrow, though.”

The toe of her shoe connected with his hip. “I can speak for myself, thank you very much.” Her gaze shifted to the man standing just over his shoulder. “I’m fine. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be back out on the floor.”

“Take your time. The guys and I have everything in hand.”

Finn watched Wyatt disappear. Beside him, Duchess stirred. She moved to follow and Finn was too preoccupied to notice or call her back. He wasn’t worried about her—she was better behaved than the morons they’d just thrown out.

“Hey, how the hell did you get back in, anyway? I’m pretty sure I said you and your dog weren’t welcome.”

“And yet we weren’t the ones who just tried to start a riot in the middle of your bar.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

Finn shrugged. “I’m not the one sitting here with an ice pack on his cheek.”

She shoved at him. Finn moved so Tucker could slide out of the booth. He figured asking her to sit still a little longer wouldn’t have made any difference. He could have stonewalled and kept her in, but he wouldn’t put it past her to duck under the table.

The minute she stood she let out a loud hiss and her entire body buckled again.

Jolting forward, Finn caught her around the waist, not bothering to wait before depositing her back onto the bench.

Kneeling in front of her, he asked, “What’s hurting?” even as his gaze swept over her looking for apparent signs of injury.

“My ankle. I must have twisted it when I got knocked on my ass.”

His mouth tugged into a frown. “It’s no wonder with these death traps you seem to think are shoes.”

Slipping one of the heels from her left foot, he dropped it onto the floor, not caring when it clattered with a resounding bang.

“Hey!” She jerked forward, trying to dive after the shiny black heel. “Those cost eight hundred dollars.”

Finn wrapped his fingers around her ankle, the smooth warmth of her skin registering somewhere deep inside. “Excuse me?”

“They’re couture.”

“Did you just tell me that you spent almost as much as my mortgage payment on an impractical pair of heels?”

For the briefest moment, Tucker looked a little sheepish. But the expression didn’t last long, quickly replaced with bravado and a no-nonsense stare that threatened to cut straight through him.

God, there was something about this woman that lit up everything inside him. She was infuriating and adorable at the same time. Intriguing and tempting.

“I don’t need to justify my spending habits to you.”

“No, you sure don’t,” he said, tucking his chin into his chest to hide the smile he couldn’t quite stop. Probing her ankle, he moved it from side to side, testing her range of motion. So far, it wasn’t swelling, which was a good sign. “But maybe you should lay off the heels for a few days while this heals.”

She harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest, but didn’t argue with him.

Slipping the other shoe off, this time carefully setting it onto the floor beside them, Finn grasped her by the arms and gently pulled her up, taking as much of her weight as she’d let him.

“Try putting some weight on it.”

Gingerly, she did, only grimacing slightly, before shaking his hands away. “I’m fine.”

His fingers tingled where they’d touched her skin.

Scooping her shoes up, she limped away.

Shaking his head, Finn debated whether to let her go or try to help. It was obvious which she wanted. But before he could make up his mind, a commotion snagged his attention.

Several feet away, Duchess was raising a ruckus, barking and pawing at the floor.

Finn stilled. There was only one thing that would cause the dog to react that way.

“What the hell?” Tucker flashed him a glare. “If she leaves so much as a scratch on my floor I’m sending you the repair bill.”

“Darlin’,” Finn said. “You’ve got a bigger problem than a scuffed floor. Duchess only reacts that way to one thing.”

“I hardly think she’s found an IED buried beneath the floorboards, soldier.”

“No. Duchess isn’t trained to scent bombs.”

Pushing ahead of her, Finn stalked over to where Duchess was going crazy. A couple of tables had been pushed out of the way during the fight, and right there, tucked halfway beneath the leg of one of them was a plastic bag filled with a decent amount of crystal meth. Not the kind of baggie sold for a single hit of fun...this was a big enough score that it would be broken up and sold.

“Drugs. Duchess is trained to find drugs.”

* * *

SONOFABITCH. THAT’S WHAT she wanted to say, but she managed to not let the word out. Not because she particularly cared what the man standing beside her thought of her vocabulary—she’d been raised by a soldier and she owned a bar. Her dictionary of curse words was understandably intense. But giving in to that urge would probably lead to a serious meltdown that she didn’t have the luxury of indulging in right now.

Tucker stared at the little baggie dangling from the soldier’s fingers. Twice in one night. Her teeth ground together. Taking a deep breath, she dragged her gaze up.

“Well, that’s a problem.”

A big one. Finding that bag in the bathroom was one thing. Sure, she did what she could to keep drugs out of her bar, but it was inevitable that some might slip through.

But him finding a sizable amount on the floor, the same night, was more than a coincidence. It was a major issue, one she and Wyatt would have to address.

“Really?” His dry tone irritated the hell out of her.

She moved to take the bag, but he snatched it out of her reach, holding it above her. “No, you don’t.”

So frustrating. Tucker tipped her head back and glared at the drugs dangling above her.

“What? I wasn’t planning on using it.”

“Sure.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she scowled at him. “I try my damnedest to keep that shit out of my place, but I’m not naive enough to think it doesn’t still get in.”

“So you intend to turn this over to the police?”

“Why would I do that? It isn’t like the drugs can be traced to a person. They were lying on the floor. I’ll just...flush them down the toilet.” That was exactly what she needed to do.

“Uh-uh.”

“Look...” Tucker’s voice trailed off and she realized that she didn’t even know his freakin’ name. He’d picked her up off the floor, sent her blood pressure spiking as his palm cupped the back of her head, held an ice pack to her throbbing cheek and she didn’t even know his name.

Maybe she should keep it that way.

“Finn McAllister.”

“And Duchess.” She knew the dog’s name. The dog she didn’t like to even glance at because it sent a zing of apprehension through her chest. “Look, Finn, I appreciate you sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“Gee, what an amazingly passive aggressive expression of appreciation.”

Tucker let out a sigh. “Fine. Thank you for stepping in and helping with our little problem. And for making sure I was okay.” Even she heard the reluctance in her words.

“Wow,” he said, a smile stretching across his gorgeous mouth. No man should have lips like that, perfect and lush, the thin white scar running through the right edge only making him more dangerously tempting. “That might have been even worse.”

“No, I really mean it.”

She did. While it grated that she’d needed the help, she was big enough to realize it was the truth. No doubt she’d get another lecture from Wyatt when this was all over. He was constantly telling her not to get in the middle of altercations and just let him and the guys do their jobs.

But she had a hard time taking a step back and watching anyone protect what she’d worked so hard to build.

Her father had raised her to be self-reliant and independent. She could still hear his voice in her head, telling her she was a big girl and needed to be strong, right before he left her by herself for months. She hadn’t disappointed him then and she had no intention of starting now.

Even if there were days she felt...alone.

Despite the sense of family she tried to build within her team, they came and went. As much as she hated it, she was used to a fluid train of people moving in and out of her life. Moving around a lot as a kid, she’d become adept at being friendly with everyone, but not actually forming friendships because it always tore her heart out when those bonds were inevitably broken.

She’d built those old, protective walls pretty strong and high. Now, she wasn’t sure she knew how to find a door—or even a crack—to let someone in. Not really.

Her cheek throbbed, her ankle and ass hurt, and her head was starting to pound, from stress, the punch, whatever. She was done dealing with this mess.

And this man.

Taking a step away, she said, “I’m assuming since your dog is trained to scent drugs that you know the best way to destroy that.” She nodded at the baggie still suspended above her head. “I’m going to trust you to take care of it, but if you decide to smoke it...”

“Not happening.”

“Whatever. If you decide to use it yourself I don’t want to hear about it if you OD.”

The corners of his lips turned up slightly, not nearly a smile, but definitely humor at what she’d said. The idea that he was silently laughing at her burned.

Slowly, he lowered his hand. Arms crossed over his chest, feet spread wide like he was king of the castle surveying his domain, his gaze ran over her. In the middle of a crowded bar he suddenly made her feel like the only person present. How the hell did he do that?

“You know something?” he finally said. “You’re cute.”

Tucker gave a fake gasp. “I’ve never heard that in my entire life.”

Between her small stature, long blond curls and refined facial features, people tended to take one look at her and see sweet and soft. There was a large part of her that delighted in proving those people wrong because she was neither of those things.

Finn, however, simply ignored her sarcasm. “And I wouldn’t touch the stuff if someone was holding a gun to my head. I’ve seen the results firsthand. It’s nasty.”

Tucker could hear the bitterness in his words, but didn’t want to care. She definitely didn’t want to ask.

It didn’t matter anyway. In the next five minutes he was going walk out of her bar and out of her life.

“I have a business to run and a nasty bruise to ice. I’d appreciate it if you and your dog left my premises.”

“Nice way to repay us for the help.”

She shrugged. “My bar, my decisions. The sign outside the front door clearly says I have the right to refuse service to anyone I choose. Your tab’s on me. Have a good life, Finn McAllister.”

3

SITTING ON THE balcony off his bedroom, Finn stared at the sun rising over the flat green landscape and into the wide-open sky. He’d spent years in other places, but San Antonio had always been home. His parents still lived in the suburb he’d grown up in not far away.

One of the main reasons he’d bought this house was for the unencumbered view. Sure, off in the distance he could see the high rises of the city, but here...he’d found some peace. Although, tonight it had done little to settle the jumble of nerves and emotions churning inside him.

His gaze snagged on the baggie of crystal meth that sat on the table in front of him. He’d placed it inside an evidence bag. Later in the morning he’d contact Officers Dade and Simmons, members of the joint task force he and Duchess had been assigned to assist, and turn it over. If they got lucky maybe they’d get some prints and another lead.

Eventually, they’d get back the chemical analysis, which could tie this batch to the others that had been discovered at the scenes of the deaths they were investigating.

The fine crystalline powder stared at him. Mocked him. But he couldn’t look away.

God, he hated that drug. Hated all of them, really, but he hated meth with a fiery passion. He wasn’t lying to Tucker when he said he’d seen the cost of the high it brought. Ultra addictive, it didn’t discriminate in the lives it destroyed.

His sister had been beautiful, popular, intelligent. She’d been in the top of her class, well on her way to an academic scholarship at a good college. No one in her life would’ve imagined she’d become an addict and OD, dying just two months before her high school graduation.

Finn could still see the image of her pale, lifeless body on that cold metal slab in the morgue. He’d been the one to identify her, his parents both too devastated to do it.

That experience had changed the trajectory of his own life. He’d already been in the Air Force, headed to the K9 training unit. When they’d offered him the chance to train with a drug dog instead of a bomb dog he’d jumped at the offer, joining a new mission that specialized in combating the increasing use of illegal drugs among soldiers.

He’d do anything he could to get drugs off the streets and get soldiers proper help for the stress they were under.

Now though, he and Duchess were out of active duty. Transferred to the training center so he could ensure the next crop of K9 handlers had the skills they needed to perform their jobs.

“Duchess, heel.”

The first soldier who’d ODed had been a tragedy. Well, truly, all of them were. But when the third one died, Finn and Duchess, because of their experience and specialized skills, had been temporarily assigned to a team from the drug enforcement unit. The General himself had given Finn a clear directive saying that stopping the flow of meth onto the base was his top priority.

Finn already knew exactly what Dade and Simmons were going to say when he told them what had happened. It was clear someone needed to keep an eye on the Kentucky Rose, and he had every intention of volunteering for the job.

From what Freeman had told them, they were looking for a woman. Thanks to the drugs, the man’s memory was weakened and he hadn’t been able to give them much to go on. He recalled her long hair and the fact that she was shorter than he was, but the rest of the details were fuzzy. They were hoping a couple of days’ rest would help him remember more.

Finn had Googled the fiery blond bar owner and he’d had to wonder, given that Tucker Blackburn fit the admittedly broad description they had, if she might be involved in some way. But either she was an award-worthy actress or her reaction to drugs in her bar was genuine. He’d watched the emotions flit across her face, unguarded and unchecked—bewilderment, irritation, anger and then disgust.

For the moment, he decided to operate under the belief she was unaware. Which, if it was true, only made him angrier. This was not going to be a picnic and there was a part of him that raged on her behalf for being dragged into this mess.

But there was nothing he could do about that. The Kentucky Rose was smack in the middle of it all, and if he had his way the inconvenience was going to get bigger before it got better. The best he could do was try to protect her.

Even if she wasn’t going to like his methods.

* * *

THE NEXT AFTERNOON Tucker stood in the middle of the Rose and tipped her head back. Closing her eyes, she let the silence and scents of the place soak into her. This was her favorite time of day. Before they opened. Before any of the staff arrived. When it was just her and the place she’d built.

Some people didn’t like bars when they were empty. With the lights glaring, you could pick out all the scars on the bar and the rough edges of the walls. The tables were stark instead of inviting. Pretty colors didn’t twirl across the dance floor, beckoning you to take risks and try moves you possibly shouldn’t.

Monique, one of her oldest friends, often said the place was a little creepy when it was empty. Too big and...bare.

Tucker liked it because it was all hers.

An ugly purple and yellow bruise had bloomed over her cheek, but she’d managed to cover up the worst of it with makeup. Not that she particularly cared. She just didn’t want to deal with the questioning looks and raised eyebrows it seemed to cause.

Her ankle was a little more troublesome. She’d bought a thin bandage brace, which was helping, downed several ibuprofen and forsaken her fancy heels—she really missed those extra few inches—for a pair of brown and teal cowboy boots that offered a little more support.

She’d try and take it easy tonight. Last night had been long and crazy. It had felt like everything that could go wrong did, capped off with the realization that the drugs Finn had found were apparently the same ones she’d discovered in the bathroom. The bag must have fallen out of her pocket when she got knocked on her rear in the fight.

Which was both good and bad.

Maybe the problem wasn’t as bad as Finn seemed to think. Either way, he’d taken the drugs and hopefully disposed of them as he’d said he would. At the moment her best option was to view the situation as one less thing on her to-do list. And, with any luck, tonight would be less insane. Although it was a Saturday, so she wasn’t holding her breath.

For right now, she needed to get the place ready. Tucker walked behind the bar and began taking inventory of what she needed to replenish from the back stock room. They’d gone through a ton of whiskey and vodka last night. She also needed several cases of beer.

She was lost in her own world and the familiar minutia when a loud knock echoed through the place.

Tucker frowned. The last thing she wanted to deal with was some idiot who thought she should be open merely because he was ready to start drinking.

Grabbing the stun gun she kept tucked behind the bar, she headed for the front door.

It was made of old, solid wood she’d found at a flea market, and she’d commissioned a local artist to carve it into a door, adding the bar’s logo to the scarred surface. She loved that door. It was one of the first things she’d had made when she decided to open the place.

The only downside was that she couldn’t see who was waiting on the other side. And since it was possibly one of her staff instead of an idiot customer who couldn’t read signs or tell time, she flipped the locks and pulled the door open several inches.

She should have let them pound away.

Standing on the other side, were two officers, their badges already out, ready to flash in her face. And behind them stood Finn McAllister, Duchess sitting prettily at his side.

“Hi, Tucker. Can we come in?”

She should have known he’d come back to haunt her.

“Considering your friends, I’m going to guess I don’t have much choice in the way I answer that question.”

“No, ma’am,” one of the officers said, his voice apologetic. “I’m Officer Dade and this is my partner, Officer Simmons. We have a few questions for you.”

With a sigh, Tucker swept the door open, gesturing them inside with the business end of her stun gun.

“Please put the weapon down, ma’am,” Simmons said, his hand already sitting on the butt of his own gun.

“Don’t worry. I’ll put it away behind the bar. I might not be thrilled to see you standing at my front door, but I’m not about to shock you. A girl can’t be too careful, though.”

“No, ma’am.”

Tucker turned and started walking through the bar, doing everything she could to hide her limp. For some reason, she didn’t want Finn to know her ankle was still bothering her.

“Finn, make yourself useful and lock the door behind you, would you?”

One of the men snorted, but she wasn’t sure which one and didn’t particularly care to find out.

Slipping the stun gun back into its hiding place, she spread her arms wide along the business side of the bar. “Can I offer you gentlemen a drink?”

“We’re on the clock, but appreciate the offer.” Dade declined with a subdued smile.

She hadn’t expected them to accept, but she was wise enough to make the offer anyway. “Then let’s skip straight to why you’re here. I’m sure Mr. McAllister notified you his dog discovered some drugs here last night. It won’t surprise you to hear that happens sometimes in this business, despite my best efforts to eliminate it. I don’t condone drug use. And, unlike other bars, neither I nor my security team look the other way when it happens.”

Officer Dade nodded his head. “That’s good to hear. But this isn’t simply a case of someone partying too much.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Officer Simmons chimed in. “The bag Duchess discovered contained enough crystal meth to qualify as possession with the intent to distribute.”

A heavy pit opened up in her belly. “You’re telling me this isn’t just college kids looking to have a good time. Someone was dealing inside my bar.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Simmons answered anyway. “We think so, yes.”

Crap, she really hadn’t wanted to hear that. This was a bigger problem than she’d realized.

“We have reason to believe someone has been using the Kentucky Rose to distribute. Any thoughts on who might be doing that? Suspicious regulars? Anyone who’s been hanging out over the last few months, giving you an uncomfortable vibe?”

Maybe they didn’t need a drink, but she did. Scooting down the bar, Tucker grabbed a glass, scooped some ice then filled it with water. The cool liquid eased her suddenly dry throat, but did nothing to soothe the sick churning in her belly.

“No. As I pointed out to Finn last night, I have the right to refuse service to anyone. My guys are trained to spot troublemakers and we bounce them as soon as we identify a problem. Anyone who might’ve raised a red flag wouldn’t have been hanging around for long.”

Finn finally chimed in, “What about your staff?”

For the first time since they’d walked in, Tucker looked at him. And then regretted it. Which was why she’d been avoiding him in the first place.

The stubble covering his chiseled face, the divot right in the center of his chin she wanted to run her tongue over. The way his watchful green eyes skimmed across her face, eliciting a tempting hum of awareness... Yep, pure trouble.

Her body’s reaction was irritating. And unsettling.

Which was probably why she barked out her answer when she really hadn’t meant to. “None of my staff would be that stupid.”

Finn quirked a single eyebrow, calling her statement into question with nothing more than the gesture.

That didn’t help settle her. “They’re loyal, Finn. We’re tight. We look out for each other and they understand how important the Rose is to me. They’d never do anything to jeopardize my business.”

“You hope,” he muttered under his breath.

“I know,” she said, her words ringing with finality. Because even the thought of someone close to her doing this hurt. It couldn’t be her staff.

Tying the Rose to drugs and dealing could have disastrous consequences for her business. The last thing she needed was to headline the six o’clock news with a story about a drug bust at her bar. Contrary to popular belief, not all publicity was good publicity. That kind of story could sink the good reputation she’d built this place on. Marketing was everything in this business, setting her apart from the numerous other bars in the city. With so many options, one bad story would easily send her customers elsewhere.

Not to mention the potential for her to lose her business and liquor licenses.

“Gentlemen, are you sure you’re not jumping to conclusions? The bar was busy last night, as it is most Fridays. We were wall-to-wall people by the time Duchess found the drugs. Not to mention there’d been a fight. I suppose they could have belonged to one of the guys involved, but of course, I can’t say for certain. And I’m not willing to assign blame to someone just because they were acting like a drunken idiot.”

Dade grunted. “Do you have security cameras?”

Crap. Something dark started squirming through her belly. There was no telling what they’d find on her security footage. She normally scanned through the tapes with Wyatt every couple weeks, but they hadn’t had a chance lately. It was entirely possible they’d discover the drugs falling from her pocket in that fight.

There was no good way to explain that, at least not at this point. Anything she said would look like a lie to cover her own ass.

The only way she was turning over the security footage was if she viewed it first.

“Yes, I have cameras, but they don’t cover the entire place,” she hedged. “I record the parking lots, front and back, all entrances, including the one employees use. I have a couple strategically placed on high traffic areas and the back stock room, just in case of theft. But the bar is too big to have cameras covering every square inch, and there’s also a little issue called privacy.”

“Still, we might get lucky and find something useful.”

Tucker tried to keep her posture and voice level. “I’ll ask my head of security to pull the footage together for you. Might take a couple days. Weekends are our busiest time.”

She tried not to squirm, but it was difficult beneath Finn’s strong, steady gaze. She didn’t like the way he was watching her.

Or maybe that was just her own guilty conscience projecting.

Finn shifted. “Listen, Tucker. This isn’t just about a drug dealer. There’s been a trend of deaths from people ODing on crystal meth over the past eight months. A joint task force has been formed to try and find the source of the drugs and shut it down.”

Her eyes flitted to Duchess. “And you’re involved.”

“Duchess and I have some unique skills and we’ve been temporarily assigned to the team. We want to find these guys just as much as the police.”

Tucker let her gaze swing between the three men leaning against her bar. The expressions on their faces made her belly dip. Dade stared hard at her, as if he could force her to do whatever he wanted by sheer force of will. Simmons’s face was half cajoling and half apology.

Finn’s expression was shuttered and unreadable.

Turning to face him, she asked, “What do you want?”

“An airman who was revived after ODing told me he purchased the drugs here. From a woman.”

“Well that narrows it down.” Realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. “That’s why you and Duchess were here last night.”

That pissed her off. Why the hell hadn’t he come to her? Let her know what was going on and why he was there? She wouldn’t have made a fuss about the dog then.

“Yes. This is the first break we’ve had in the case, Tucker. Months of frustrating searches that’ve led nowhere while more men and women die.”

What was she supposed to say to that? No, she didn’t like the idea of people dying. Yes, she wanted to help if she could.

“Again, what do you want?”

Finn leaned across her bar, putting himself closer and making her want to move in the opposite direction. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he affected her.

“To put someone here undercover.”

A buzz of energy crackled across Tucker’s skin. “And I don’t suppose Dade or Simmons have been tapped for that assignment.”

“Nope,” Finn shook his head. “Duchess and I have.”

Of course. “I don’t like dogs.”

“You don’t say...” His dry tone scraped down her spine.

“And just how do you expect to integrate with my team? Want me to hire you as a new bouncer? Everyone on staff knows I’m not looking.”

“No. We were thinking a little more intimate...more access.” Finn’s eyes flashed, ripping down her body quickly before zeroing back in on her gaze. “You dating anyone, Tucker?”

That rollercoaster ride her tummy was on took a major free fall.

“No.”

“You are now.”

4

“I DON’T WANT you here.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that abundantly clear.”

Dade and Simmons had left. For the last thirty minutes Finn had been trying to calm Tucker down. It wasn’t working very well. She was pissed, and he supposed he didn’t really blame her.

Not that it would make much of a difference.

They couldn’t force her to cooperate, but he’d already figured out she was going to go along with their plan. If she wasn’t, she wouldn’t be so upset. She’d have simply told him to leave. Or waited until some of her muscle showed up and had them throw him out. Or at least try.

Instead, she’d been raining down words over his head, calling into question his parentage and the size of his package, and insulting just about anything else she could think of. The woman had an inventive vocabulary. He’d give her that.

In fact, watching her go off on her tirade was rather entertaining, not that he’d admit that to her.

What he found most intriguing was that her ass-chewing didn’t seem to slow her down one iota, her words punctuated by slamming cabinets and drawers, clanging glasses. He was impressed that she could continue a steady monologue while hauling what had to be a hundred pounds of bottles.

And God forbid he offer to carry them for her.

He’d realized very quickly that attempting to share the load just led to more tongue-lashing—and not the kind he actually wanted.

So he and Duchess had decided to take a seat at the bar and just watch.

Damn, she was gorgeous. What he wouldn’t do to be able to capture the tiny whirlwind of activity on film, though he doubted his amateur skills could do her justice. She didn’t let anything derail her—not the bum ankle she was trying to hide, his unexpected visit or the proposition he’d delivered.

Her skin flushed with exertion and anger. Her blonde curls were wild and begging to be tamed—like the rest of her.

Her prickly attitude made him want to grab her, swing her into his arms and give her something else to occupy her mouth besides the barrage of words. Something inside him wanted to soothe her, distract her, channel that energy.

For the first time since she’d started, Tucker stopped. Or rather, her body stopped while her mouth kept moving.

“Stop staring at me.”

“I’m not.”

Her hands landed on her hips, one cocking out to the side as she tossed that long mane of hair over her shoulder. Her bangs curled into her flashing blue eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“You are. Stop it.”

He’d let her spill her anger because he was hoping the well would eventually run dry. Unfortunately, he was starting to think that wasn’t going to happen.

Time to change tactics.

Standing up, he scooted around the end of the bar. Tucker shifted on her feet, but didn’t retreat. Maybe she should have.

Her head tipped as he moved close, heat and awareness hitting her glare. Her expression sliced right through him, the combination of anger and passion stirring something deep inside him.

Was she this fiery and explosive in bed? Finn had no doubt. Like trying to grab hold of lightning. Dangerous and exhilarating.

“Sweetheart, you can’t strut around in skin-tight jeans, a T-shirt that clings to every curve you own, and that wild mane of hair, and not expect some attention. Surely, you’re used to it by now.”

Tucker’s soft pink mouth thinned. It was naturally that color and he much preferred it to the shiny pink gloss it had been painted with last night. Not that the image of her taking him into her slick mouth hadn’t flashed through his thoughts more than once since then.

“No, actually, I’m not. I’ve worked in bars for most of my adult life. I know what men usually go for, and it isn’t my boyish frame.”

What the hell was she talking about? “The only thing about you that screams boy is your name. Trust me, the rest of you is all woman and I am not the only man who’s noticed.”

Closing the space between them, Finn gave in and cupped the back of her neck with his palm. Her body vibrated with her irritation, energy arcing across his skin where he touched. Soft curls cascaded over his fingers and he used his hold to tip her head back. God, a man could get lost inside her dark blue eyes. He’d never seen anything like them. Just like the rest of her, they were gorgeous. Unusual.

“I’m going to hazard a guess that the men give you a wide berth not because they’re not interested, but because you have a Do Not Touch sign blazing above your forehead in bright letters.”

Tucker scoffed, the sound scraping through her throat. “Yeah, right. Hasn’t stopped you.”

“I don’t follow directions very well.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

So much about this woman intrigued him. She might be terribly tiny, but her attitude said she was ten feet tall and could tackle anything in front of her.

He liked that confidence. It was sexy as hell.

Keeping his hold light, Finn slowly began guiding Tucker backward. It was a dance, one they’d been skirting around since last night. Considering the job he had to do and the role he was taking on, maybe it was better to get this out of the way now. Diffuse the tension building unchecked between them. Especially since they were going to be playing the boyfriend/girlfriend game.

Her gaze was wary, but she didn’t slip away. She stayed right with him, moving step for step. Her eyes glittered, not just with anger, but with a curiosity she couldn’t quite hide.

Finn flashed a wicked grin and didn’t stop until her back connected with the wall. Bending to her, Finn’s mouth settled over hers, a warm demand. He didn’t touch her anywhere else. Left her plenty of room to push him away if she wanted.

Her lips were tight and stiff for several seconds, but like magic, within moments she was melting against him. She went up on tiptoe, trying to get closer. And her hands gripped his biceps hard, dragging him in. Her mouth opened, the tip of her tongue sweeping across the seam of his lips.

Finn let out a groan of his own, opening and sinking into what she’d offered.

His palm settled against the curve of her cheek, his thumb slipping across the line of her jaw and angling her chin higher.

Her skin was damn soft, her mouth warm, reminding him of somewhere else he’d like to sink deep. God, the taste of her was the best aphrodisiac he’d ever had. Instead of quenching the thirst he’d been fighting, that one taste only made him crave more. Damn, this wasn’t smart.

Finding a flash of willpower somewhere buried deep, Finn uncovered the strength to pull back. He dropped his forehead against hers, feeling the soft flutter of her breath brush across his throat. He fought for...something. Sanity. Integrity. Something other than the demand beating a rhythm through his body, urging him to take more.

Pulling back, he stared into her dazed eyes, unable to fight the curl of satisfaction that rolled through his belly. He’d done that to her. With one mind-blowing kiss.

“Damn, woman. If the men in this place knew how amazing that mouth was, there’s no way in hell they’d ever leave you alone.”

* * *

TUCKER YANKED OUT of Finn’s arms. Her heart thumped erratically. Her belly writhed with nerves and an energy she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

In fact, she’d grown accustomed to not letting herself feel.

Something else rolled through her, too. A bolt of anger that had her hand flashing out and her palm connecting with Finn’s cheek. The smack of skin on skin echoed through the empty bar, the shock of contact reverberating up her arm, zinging straight through the top of her skull.

“Shit.” Why had she done that? “I’m so sorry, Finn.”

If guilt wasn’t spreading through her like a bad case of chicken pox, she might have thought the shock that left his jaw slack was funny. It really wasn’t.

He stepped away from her, a deliberate movement that took him out of range for round two. Not that there’d be one.

He rubbed his cheek, the gentle scritch, scritch, scritch of his stubble sending a tingle down her spine.

“Let me get you some ice.” It was the least she could do.

He stared at her for several seconds before his entire body started shaking with laughter. The sound of it rolled out of him, a little rusty and rough. She liked the timbre of it. Like he didn’t use it often and it was a privilege that he was sharing the sound with her.

No, she wouldn’t let it get to her.

“It isn’t funny,” she said, barely controlling the urge to stamp her foot. She’d slapped the shit out of him and he was laughing?

“I beg to differ. Can you imagine telling this story to our grandchildren? About swapping ice for our injuries the first time we met?”

What? Tucker blinked, panic and confusion tumbling around inside her. “Whoa there. No one said anything about grandchildren. This is a pretend relationship.”

“So you are going to do it?”

Tucker sighed. How the hell had they gotten to this point? Not five minutes ago this man had had her backed against the wall with his tongue down her throat and her mind blank with wanting him.

Beneath her breath, Tucker swore. Finn heard it anyway. She could tell by the tiny quirk to his lips. Damn, she wanted to feel them again. To really savor the moment this time, instead of being blindsided.

Nope, she needed that like she needed a hole in the head.

“I don’t have much choice, do I? But I do have one demand. You can’t bring Duchess into the bar.”

His eyebrows creased together, wiping away his jovial expression.

“She’s the reason I was asked to do this, Tucker. Without her there’s no point in me being here. I need her to scent your customers for traces of drugs.”

“No.” She wasn’t budging on this. “I can’t have your dog running around my bar, freaking out the patrons.”

“She didn’t bother anyone last night.”

“She bothered me. And having her here after throwing y’all out last night would only raise everyone’s suspicions.”

Finn threw his hands in the air. Beside them, Duchess stirred and Tucker couldn’t stop herself from skittering in the opposite direction. Yes, she hated to admit that the dog scared her. But that was the reality.

“Then I might as well not even be here.”

Tucker shrugged. “Okay. Sorry I couldn’t help more.”

She could practically hear Finn’s molars grinding together with frustration. The muscle in his jaw ticked and the vein in his neck throbbed.

“Tonight. I’ll agree to leave Duchess home tonight, but we’re going to revisit this issue.”

“You can revisit it all you want, but I’m not changing my mind. She isn’t a service dog, Finn, and doesn’t belong in my bar.”

She could tell he wanted to argue more, but was smart enough to realize it wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “We need to talk about the rest of it, then. Your staff needs to believe that we’re a couple.”

“Good luck with that. They were all here last night and saw the sparks flying between us.”

“So we use that to our advantage. Some of the fieriest relationships stem from passionate hate.”

Yeah, not in her experience. As far as she was concerned, any relationship that started out rocky was most likely doomed to failure. Actually, most relationships were doomed to failure, period.

“My team know me a little too well to believe we’d suddenly be together after only one night.”

“So we play things a little slow for the next couple days. I hang around, which is really the point of me being here in the first place. You gradually spend more and more time with me.”

She really didn’t want that, either, but there wasn’t much she could do to prevent it. Unless she wanted to refuse to cooperate and have her security team toss him whenever he showed up—and they’d want to know why. Much simpler just to let him spend a few days at her bar, realize he was mistaken about what was happening here and finally leave her alone.

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