Holy shit. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? What had started out as a bad night had just taken a turn for the better. “How do you know no one believes me?”
“It’s my job to read between the lines. It’s what makes the difference between a good reporter and a great one.” She nudged his beer toward him. “Drink up. You don’t want it to go to waste.”
Tank finished his beer and closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness threatened to topple him off the stool. Damn. It had been a long time since he’d had so much to drink. “Yeah, well it doesn’t matter what people think. I’m going to find him on my own.”
“Sounds to me like you need a friend. My offer is still open. No strings attached.” She finished her drink, licked a drop of Patrón off the corner of her mouth. Tank’s gaze rested on her lips where the drop had been, and he wished he’d been the one to lick it off.
Tank gave her an apologetic smile. “That’s nice of you, but like I said, it’s biker business. We don’t involve reporters.”
Ella’s cheeks reddened, and she dropped her gaze, her voice wavering. “You seemed so sad. I just wanted to help because I know how it feels, and if something comes of it that makes a good story and doesn’t get you in trouble with the MC, then that’s a bonus for me. If not, maybe we’ll just get to know each other better, and I’ll get to indulge my secret love for investigative journalism and maybe get you the happy ending I never had.”
Longing gripped him so hard he could barely breathe. He’d sell his soul to see T-Rex again. And yet he’d be stupid not to heed Banks’ warning—the same warning T-Rex had given him so long ago. Tank wasn’t stupid—T-Rex had cured him of that belief—but he was picking up some signals that Ella might be interested in taking their conversation out of the bar, maybe even to bed. And that’s what he needed right now. A little distraction. He could play along, pretend he was considering her offer, and after they’d had their fun, he would gently turn her down.
“So what could you do to help?”
Ella squeezed his hand and leaned in close. “Why don’t we go to my place and talk about it some more?”
Hell, yes. He was going to score.
Tank’s gaze dropped to her chest where her current position gave him a perfect view of her ample cleavage, the crescents of her creamy breasts, and the edge of her red-lace bra. His cock hardened, and he growled deep in his throat. He must not have had that much to drink because performance clearly wasn’t going to be an issue. Oh, yeah. He could play this game.
“Does that growl mean yes?” she whispered, her lips brushing over his ear.
“Let’s go.” He stood, staggered a step, and then righted himself when she grabbed his hand.
Something about her hand triggered a memory from earlier in the evening, a painful memory, but damned if he could remember what it was.
THIRTEEN
Holt knew there was trouble the moment he walked in the door.
And it wasn’t just because of the black sedan parked outside, or the fact Rick’s Bar and Grill was unnaturally quiet given the rough crowd. No, it was the stench of law enforcement; the pungent odor of power that created an invisible barrier around the undercover cop that only those who lived on the wrong side of the law could detect. Which, from the looks of it, was pretty much everyone in the bar.
Except Naiya.
As quickly as he had stepped in, he stepped out again. He wouldn’t be able to do any good if he gave that damn cop even the slightest reason to suspect them of Leo’s death—and he was damn sure that’s why he was talking to Naiya. After three months in Viper’s dungeon, Holt was off his game, or he would have ditched the damn Bolton Beaver shirts right away. Thanks to the pimp’s clothes, he was safe, but the cop was sniffing too damn close to his girl and he had to get her out of there.
But first he had to ditch the weapons and the bike. No doubt the cops had taken the CCTV tapes from the gas station in Still Water and run the plates. Even if they hadn’t, the bike was conspicuous for both its size and the fact there weren’t many like it on the road. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He’d killed Leo in a public place and stopped too close to the scene of the crime. But that was Leo’s fault for running the bike down to empty.
He glanced through the window at Naiya and the cop. She didn’t appear to be distressed. In fact, it looked like they were just having a friendly chat, like two people who’d just met in a bar. But after years living on the wrong side of the law, Holt knew just how tricky cops could be, and this guy was after Naiya. No doubt about it.