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Sitting in her car outside the bar two nights later, she knew she had made that drastic mistake. A horrendous mistake. One guaranteed to break her heart in half.
Breathing out roughly, she tested the feel of the boots she wore before opening the door of her small car and stepping out.
The hollow heel still felt a little strange.
Casey had brought her the boots the night before, claiming he felt the newly designed heel would be more secure than her purse for hiding the flash drives she carried to her father twice a week.
The tiny chamber was waterproof and it would be impossible to detect the drive using any electronic means, he assured her.
He’d acted positively protective, and for a second, just a second, she’d wondered if she had been wrong, if he felt something more for her than simply lust.
“Can’t have those drives getting lost or stolen if some yahoo decides to grab your purse.” He’d shrugged then. “I hate wasting my time.”
And her hopes had plummeted.
Dammit.
She’d thought by now he would have at least shown a few emotions besides worry over the damned flash drives.
The information on them was imperative, she knew. The tracking of terrorists, both homeland and overseas, was imperative. Drug and weapons runners and any other criminal element that walked through the doors of the bar were fair game.
Every customer was photographed the second they entered and, using hidden remote cameras, additional pictures could be taken.
Who they met with, who they danced with, what they did in the parking lot. Rumors, gossip, and drunken bragging were recorded, saved, and then placed on the flash drive to be given to the captain. He then delivered it to the homeland security team assigned to break down the information and investigate as needed.
It was done quietly, effectively, and it had worked for eight years. Since the day Ethan Cooper had reopened the Broken Bar and brought the proposal to the captain, after he’d learned about the clientele he wouldn’t be able to keep out of it.
Since that day, the bar had reigned as the only alcoholic establishment allowed within the county limits. The Broken Bar was a favorite among the locals as well as the criminal element. And Ethan Cooper ran the establishment with an iron hand.
No dealing, drugs or otherwise, was the rule, though they’d recorded it happening often enough.
The bouncers watched out for the women first, innocent men second, and they were all friends of Cooper’s. Tough, hard-eyed bastards who had been discharged from the army for one reason or another.
Some honorably.
Some not so honorably.
Smoothing the skirt of her short dress, Sheila made her way from the parking spot she’d managed to snag at the side of the building and stepped up to the wood walkway that stretched around the bar.
The entrance was manned that night by Turk.
One of those hard-eyed bastards who had been not so honorably discharged.
“Miss Rutledge.” He nodded as he opened the door for her.
“Thanks, Turk.” She threw him a quick smile as she moved past him.
“Casey will be out in a bit, he’s in a meeting with Coop.”
She almost paused at the bouncer’s announcement. She almost turned around and asked him why she should care. But she knew these men.
Number one, he wouldn’t tell her what he knew, and there was no doubt he knew something; otherwise, he’d never have said anything.
Holding her irritation for Casey until later, she moved into the building and headed for the long, gleaming teak bar at the side of the room.
A band was belting a country-western tune on the other end. The sound of the steel guitar, the lazy sensuality in the singer’s voice, and the sight of the customers swaying on the dance floor were enough to assure her she’d arrived late.
Everyone had had just enough booze to loosen inhibitions, if any existed, and lead them to the dance floor where they could rub and grind and in some cases even complete the sexual act in the dimmer areas as the sexually charged music seemed to infect them.
