She had the biggest brown eyes Judd had ever seen.
She also looked innocent as hell, despite the ridiculous
clothes she wore and the huge, frayed canvas tote she
carried. Did she actually think she blended in, just
because her coat was old and tattered, her hat a little
ratty? Did she think anyone would ever believe her to be
among the homeless? Not likely.
So what was she doing here at this time of night? The
lower East side of Springfield was no place for a lady
like her. She strolled past him again, this time more
slowly, and her eyes were so wide they could take in
everything in a single glance. They took in Judd.
He felt a thrill of awareness, sharper than anything he'd
ever felt before, then she looked away. But not before he
detected the faint pink blush that washed over her fine
features. That blush had been obvious even in the dim
evening light with only the moon and the corner street
lamp for illumination. She had flawless skin.
Dammit. He had enough trouble to worry about, to be aware
of, without some damned Miss Priss trying to fob herself
off as a local. Judd had only stepped outside the bar to
get a breath of fresh air. The smell of perfume inside was
overwhelming, and enough to turn his stomach.
He could hear the music in the bar pick up beat and knew
the dancers were coming on stage. In less than ten
minutes, he'd have to go back in there, baring himself in
the line of duty.
Damn. He hated this cover. What decent, hardworking cop
should have to peel his clothes off for a bunch of hungry,
grabbing women? For nearly two weeks now he'd been
entertaining the feminine masses with the sight of his
body, hoping to uncover enough evidence to make a bust. He
knew for a fact the upstairs of the bar was a sight for
business meetings, yet there hadn't been hide nor hair of
a damned gun deal. Clayton Donner was laying low.
It was discouraging, but he'd never give up. He was now,
at thirty-two, completely alone and in his prime, more fit
than ever. Not only did he meet the necessary requirements
to pull off such a ludicrous cover, he had a vested, very
personal interest this time.
He would definitely get Donner, but that didn't mean he
enjoyed displaying himself nightly.
Each of the strippers had a gimmick. He thought his was
rather satiric. He played out the tough street cop,
complete with black pants held together with strategically
placed velcro. They came off with only the smallest tug.
He even had Max's original leather jacket, a prized
possession to be sure, to add to his authenticity. The
women loved it.
He wondered if old Max had known how sexy the cop personna
was to females. Or if he would have cared.
God, he couldn't think about Max -- not and still do his
job, which was to appear unscrupulous to the point of
being available to Donner. Clayton always needed new
pigeons to run his scams. Judd intended to be the next
pigeon. It was the only way to get close enough to make a
clean bust.
And the last thing he needed now was a distraction with
big brown eyes. Despite his resolve, his gaze wandered
back to the woman. She loitered on the corner beneath the
street lamp, holding that large, lumpy bag to her chest
and trying to look at ease. Judd snorted. That old coat
was buttoned so high she damned near strangled herself.
What the hell was she doing here?
He'd just about convinced himself not to care, not to get
involved, when three young men made notice of her. Judd
watched as they approached her, watched as she started to
back away, then evidently changed her mind. She nodded a
greeting, but it was a wimpy effort, and totally wasted.
Hell, the men looked determined, with no need for
provocation, and she looked ready to faint.
Walk away, he thought, willing her to move. But she stood
her ground. He sensed, then he absolutely knew, she was
getting in over her head. His body was already tensing,
his eyes narrowed in expectation of the trouble to come.
They seemed to be talking, or more to the point, she was
trying to speak to them. She gestured with her hands, her
expression earnest. Then one of the men grabbed her and
she let loose with a startled screech. In the next
instant, those huge brown eyes of hers turned his way,
demanding that he help.
The little twit thought he was a regular street cop and
would blow his cover with very little effort.
Well hell, he couldn't allow her to be manhandled. He
pushed himself away from the doorway and started forward.
The men were obviously drunk, one of them doing his best
to pull her close, but she kept sidestepping him. Judd
approached them all with a casual air, his height of well
over six feet immediately drawing the men's attention.
"Here now, boys." He kept his tone low and deep,
deliberately commanding. "Why don't you leave the lady
alone."
Judd could see her trembling, could see the paleness of
her face in the yellow light of the street lamp. The man
didn't release her; if anything he tightened his hold. "Go
to hell."
The words were slurred, and Judd wondered just how drunk
they were. They might believe him to be a cop, but in this
area, law enforcement personnel carried very little clout
and regularly drew vicious disdain. Damn.
He couldn't get into a brawl -- he might very well lose
his pants if he did. Not that he wouldn't enjoy knocking
some heads together, but still. Where was a real uniformed
cop when you needed one?
He turned his gaze on the woman. "Do you want their
company?"
She swallowed, her throat working convulsively. "No."
One of them shook his fist in Judd's face, stumbling
drunkenly as he did so. "She's already made a deal with
us." He grinned stupidly at the woman, then added, "You
can't expect a little thing like her to run around here
without a weapon to protect herself..."
One of the other men slugged the speaker. "Shut up, you
fool."
Judd went very still, scrutinizing her face. "Well?"
Again, she swallowed. "Well...what?"
"Why do you need a weapon? You planning to kill someone?"
Whisper soft, his question still demanded an immediate
answer.
Shaking her head, then looking about as if seeking
desperate escape, she managed to pique his interest. No
way could he walk away now. Whatever she was up to, she
didn't want him to know. Because she thought he was a
street cop?
Disgusted, Judd propped his hands on his hips, his brows
drawn in a frown. "Do you want the company of these men or
not?"
She peered cautiously at the drunken, leering face so
close to her own. Her lips tightened in disapproval and
disdain. "Ah...no. Not particularly."
A genuine smile tipped his mouth before he caught himself.
She was fine boned, petite, and everything about her
seemed fragile. She was no bigger than a ten year old
sickly kid, but she had gumption, he'd give her
that. "There you go, fellas. The lady doesn't find you to
her liking. Turn her loose and go find something else to
do."
"I got somethin' to do already." Her captor's hold
loosened just the tiniest bit as he spoke, and suddenly
she jerked free, then did the dumbest thing Judd had ever
seen. She sent her knee into the man's groin.
Unbelievable. Judd shook his head, even as he yanked her
behind him, trying to protect her from the ensuing chaos.
He couldn't do any real damage to the men without
attracting more spectators, which would threaten his
cover. And the woman was gasping behind him, scared out of
her wits, no doubt. But damn it all, he definitely did not
want to lose his pants out here scuffling in the middle of
the sidewalk with common drunks. One of the men started to
throw a punch.
Judd cursed loudly as the woman ran around him, evidently
not as frightened as he'd thought, and leaped on his
attacker's back. She couldn't weigh over a hundred pounds,
but she wound her fingers in his hair and pulled with all
her might.
Enough was enough. A brief glimpse at his watch showed it
was time for his performance. Judd grabbed the man away
from her and sent him reeling with a firm kick to his
butt, then stalked toward the other two, every muscle in
his body tightened for defense. Too drunk to persist in
their efforts, the men scurried away.
Judd turned to face the woman, and she was...tidying her
hair? Good God, was she daffy then? He saw her look toward
the canvas bag, which now lay in a puddle on the sidewalk,
but she made no move to retrieve it.
"You don't want your bag?" he asked with all the sarcasm
he could muster.
"Oh." She glanced over at him. "Well, of course..." She
made a move toward it, but he shook his head. He could see
more raggedy clothing falling out the opening, and if
there was one thing this woman didn't need, it was hand-me-
downs.
He took her arm in a firm but gentle hold, ignoring her
gasp and her resistance, and started her toward the bar.
He automatically moved her to his right, between his body
and the building, protecting her from passersby. He held
his temper for all of about three seconds, then gave up
the effort.
"Of all the stupid, harebrained...lady, what the hell did
you think you were doing back there?" He wondered if she
could be a journalist, or a T.V. newswoman? She most
certainly wasn't used to living in the alleys, or going
without. Everything about her bespoke of a generous
upbringing. Even now, with him hustling her along the
walk, she had a certain grace, a definite poise, that
didn't come from being underprivileged.
She glanced up at him, her head only reaching his chin,
and he noticed she smelled nice, too. Not heavily perfumed
like the women in the bar, just...very feminine. Her wavy
hair, a light brown that looked as baby-soft as her eyes
and ended at the top of her shoulders, bounced as he
hurried her along. She was practically running, but he
couldn't help that. He was going to be late. He could hear
the music for his number starting. Pulling his clothes off
was bad enough. He didn't intend to make a grand entrance
by jumping in late.
She cleared her throat. "I appreciate your assistance,
officer."
Without slowing his pace, he glared at her. "Answer my
question. Who are you? What the hell are you up to?"
"That's two questions."
He growled, his patience at an end. "Answer me, dammit!"
She faltered in her step, then glared up at him
defiantly. "That's really none of your business."
Everything inside his body clenched. "I'm making it my
business."
Digging in her heels as he tried to haul her through the
front door, she forced him to slow. "What are you doing?"
There was a note of shrill panic in her voice as she took
in her surroundings. Judd had no time to explain, and no
time to consider her delicate sensibilities. Everyone in
this part of town - everyone who worked in and frequented
this particular bar - thought of him as a money hungry,
over-sexed, willing exhibitionist. It was a necessary
cover and one he wasn't ready to forfeit. Donner would
show up again soon, and once he decided Judd was a
familiar face from the area, he'd make a move to utilize
him. It would happen. He'd make it happen.
Still gripping her arm, Judd trotted her toward the
nearest bar stool. "Stay right here." He stared down at
her, trying to intimidate her with his blackest scowl. The
music was picking up tempo, signalling his cue.
She popped right back off the seat, those eyes of hers
accurately portraying her shock. "Now see here! I have no
intention of waiting--"
He picked her up, dropped her onto the stool again, then
called to the bartender. "Keep her here, Freddie. Make
certain she doesn't budge."
Freddie, a huge, jovial sort with two front teeth missing,
grinned and nodded. "What'd she do?"
"She owes me. Big. Keep your eye on her."
"And if she tries to pike it?"
Judd gave Freddie a conspiratorial wink. "Make her sorry
if she so much as flinches."
Freddie looked ferocious, but Judd knew he wouldn't hurt a
fly; it was why they had not one, but two bouncers on the
premises. But the little lady didn't know that, and Judd
wanted to find out exactly what she was up to, why she'd
been hanging around downtown, and why she'd tried to
disguise herself. Gut instinct told him he wouldn't like
what he found.
Suddenly the spot light swirled around the floor. Cursing,
then forcing a grin to his mouth, Judd sauntered forward
into the light. Women screamed.
In the short time he'd been performing here, he'd
discovered a wealth of information about his gun
dealer...and become a favorite of the bar. The owner had
promised to double his pay, but that was nothing compared
to the bills that always ended up stuffed in his skimpy
briefs. He refused, absolutely refused, to wear a G-
string. His butt was not something he showed to more than
one woman at a time, and even those exhibitions were few
and far between. But his modesty worked to his advantage.
The women thought he was a tease, and appreciated his show
all the more.
As he moved, he glanced back over his shoulder to make
certain the lady was still there. She hadn't moved. She
didn't look as though she could move. He held her gaze,
and slowly, backing into the center of the floor, slid the
zipper down on the leather jacket. He actually saw her
gasp.
Her intent expression, that of innocence and curious
wonder, annoyed him, making him feel more exposed than he
ever had while performing. That he could feel his face
heat angered him. He was too damned old, and too cynical
now, to actually blush. Damn her.
Purposefully holding her gaze, determined to make her look
away, he let his fingers move to the top of his pants. As
he slowly unhooked the fly, one snap at a time, teasing
his audience, teasing her more, she reeled back and one
dainty hand touched her chest. She looked distressed. She
looked shocked.
© 2003-2025