Page 3 of Elite Metal: Warriors

If she was indeed a reporter, and if she was here investigating their team, this was serious. Elite Metal operated successfully because they were covert. So much as a hint about their true purpose or identities could bring down a shit storm of apocalyptic proportions. And for the team members out on active missions, it could mean their lives.

When Chrome came back to the table, his expression was grave. He dropped into his chair with a grunt and fixed Sterling with a dark glare.

“Well?”

“It’s a go.” He picked up his beer but didn’t drink. “Your orders are to find out why she’s here and what she knows.”

His gut tightened. Damn. “Parameters?”

“Whatever it takes.” Hard. Cold. Clear. There was no way they could allow a leak. There was too much at stake. Too many operations underway that could be compromised. They’d all suffered the consequences of a leak before. They’d all lost friends. They’d all lost a lot. Chrome forced a smile, but it was mostly teeth. “Use your legendary charm and find out what’s what.”

“Right.” Sterling’s fingers tightened. The thought of getting close to her, even on a mission, sent a sizzle of trepidation…and anticipation through him. “And if I find evidence she’s investigating the team?”

Chrome shrugged. “Bring her in.” The tone of his voice made Sterling’s blood go cold. He was ruthless when it came to protecting his team. Nothing was off-limits. Nothing.

God himself could not protect that woman if she was doing what he suspected. For the first time in his life, he sincerely hoped his sixth sense was wrong. She seemed so small and defenseless, balancing a tray as she made her way into the pool hall, pigtails bouncing. So innocent.

He hoped he was wrong about her. But he knew he wasn’t.

Steeling himself for a task he knew would be very unpleasant, he nodded in wordless acceptance of the mission and pushed away from the table. Carrying his beer, he sauntered over to the bar, where the opportunity for a “casual” meeting was most likely. He leaned on the counter and worked his beer, pretending to watch the game on TV. His attention was really on the mirror over the bar, where he could track her movements.

The sizzle of eagerness as she approached annoyed him.

Damn, she was alluring. Her blonde hair was pulled back in pigtails, revealing the delicate cut of her cheek. A fringe of bangs were swiped carelessly to the side. Her features were exquisite, with a slender nose turned up a bit at the end, and a little dent in her chin. Her eyes were enormous and gray, and they almost made her look vulnerable.

Almost.

There was something about her stride, the tight way she controlled her movements, the way her gaze was constantly assessing the environment around her, that belied any weakness. He had no doubt this woman was perfectly able to protect herself and would do so with ruthless ferocity.

But if babe in the woods was the way she wanted to play it, he was game.

She sidled up to the bar and waited to give Daryl an order. Sterling let his gaze slide over her in a lazy perusal. Though it was hardly necessary. He knew each and every curve by heart. When their gazes met, clashed, it sent an electric charge down to his bowels. He imagined, from her startled expression, she felt the same, but he ignored the thought. If she was a ruthless reporter, he doubted his presence would faze her in the slightest.

He tweaked up his lips and lifted his beer in a silent salute.

She eyed him with an appreciative look. He was sure it was about as authentic as a plug nickel. Her attention stalled on the patch on the shoulder of his jacket. “You ride?”

A little worm crawled through his gut. Shit. She didn’t waste any time. “Yup.”

“What kind of bike do you have?”

“Night Rod.”

Her pink tongue dabbed out to wet her lips. His knees went weak. “Harleys are so hot. I love…the vibrations.”

Fuck.

She tipped her head to read the patch, though he suspected she knew damn well what it said. “EM Motorcycle Club?” She tried to make her tone casual, but he caught the ribbon of intent behind it.

“Yup.” Just a regular, everyday MC. Nothing to see here. Look away.

She slid closer. Too close. Her scent teased his nostrils and made him salivate. It took some effort to remind himself what he was doing here. And it wasn’t hitting on a waitress. “I think bikers are sexy,” she purred.

Or maybe it was.

Maybe that was the best way to get the confirmation he needed.

It was hardly an onerous mission.