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.
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
