ONE
A STRIPPER? HER? NOT A CHANCE IN HELL.
Spencer King walked a circle around Agent Shadoe Grayson, shook his head, and decided that this assignment was going to fail.
“No way is anyone going to believe she’s a stripper.”
As he stopped in front of her, she arched one perfectly manicured brow and narrowed her brown eyes. She was pretty, but nothing about her screamed “stripper.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, darlin’, but you’re not the right man for the job.”
She crossed her arms. “And why is that?”
“Well, look at you. Loose, dark pantsuit with God only knows what kind of body underneath it, hair in a bun without one strand out of place. Your face is pinched so tight you look like you have a stick shoved up your ass.”
“Jesus, Spence, use some tact.”
Spence glared at his boss, General Grange Lee. “When have I ever used tact?”
“Good point.” Grange turned to Shadoe. “I’m sorry, Agent Grayson. The guys around here aren’t polite.”
“I don’t need polite, General Lee. I’m just here to get the job done.”
Spence leaned against the sofa arm and shook his head again. “You aren’t gonna get it done looking like that. Strippers wear less clothes than that goin’ to church on Sunday.”
“This is regulation Department of Justice uniform . . . What is your name again, Mr.—”
“Spence. Just call me Spence.” He directed his attention back to General Lee. “Grange, this isn’t gonna work.”
“It’s going to have to. We’ve been given the assignment; we’ll work it out.”
Spence slid fully onto the couch and planted his booted feet on the coffee table. “Whatever. But who’s going to teach the prim schoolteacher over there how to be sexy?”
“I am not a schoolteacher. I’m a trained field agent.”
He grinned. “Yeah, but you ain’t no stripper.”
She pivoted and faced Grange. “Really, General Lee. This is ridiculous.”
Spence thought so, too. He could think of a hundred women who would make better strippers than Miss Prim and Proper. Of course, those hundred women were strippers, so that was probably why. What dumbass in Washington thought up this colossal clusterfuck of an assignment?
“We have a DEA agent out there selling us out to the Colombians,” Grange reminded him. “Our job is to find him and detain him, and if we’re really lucky, intercept the next shipment so we can take down the drug smugglers. We’ll make this work.”
Spence shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss.”
The others began to trail in—all part of the Wild Riders, a secret government organization charged with operating under the radar, assisting the government in less than legal ways. Spence loved his job. He got to steal and do illegal things that suddenly became—legal.
“So, another assignment?” Mac asked, his new wife, Lily, in tow. Jessie came with them. They piled up on the sofa, Lily pushing at Spencer to scoot over.
“So it seems,” AJ said, coming in with Rick to stand behind the sofa.
Diaz and Paxton followed.
“Agent Shadoe Grayson of the Department of Justice. These are the Wild Riders.” He made them all introduce themselves, then asked her to take a seat, motioning to a space left over on the sofa where Spencer sat.
Spence noted with some amusement that she took the vacant chair next to the sofa. Oh yeah, she was going to be all over the men at the strip club. She couldn’t even stomach sitting close to one man. He resisted rolling his eyes, not in the mood for a lecture from Grange.
“I have new assignments for all of you, but we’ll get to the reason Agent Grayson is here first,” Grange said. “Here’s the deal. For some time now, the DEA has been aware that every drug bust operation involving the Colombian cartel in the New Orleans area has been foiled, as if the Colombians have received advance knowledge. They know they have someone inside feeding them information, and every time the DEA tries to set up their own sting, the rogue is nowhere to be found. It’s as if the Colombians are able to swing a ship into New Orleans, offload drugs, and move out without the government knowing anything about it. So someone is tipping off the Colombians about potential covert operations, and we think the rogue inside is in league with the Colombians.”
“Probably because the agent knows everyone in his department, knows when he’s being followed or if there’s a plant,” Mac suggested.
“Or her,” Lily said.
“Exactly,” Grange confirmed. “Which is why we’ve been brought in. The rogue doesn’t know us.”
“But wouldn’t the rogue know Agent Grayson?” Lily asked.
“No. She’s new.”
“Great. A rookie,” Spence mumbled.
Shadoe glared at him. Spence smiled.
“Agent Grayson might be new in the field, but she’s very good at her job. Don’t underestimate her. Plus, she has some . . . special talents that the department is thrilled to make use of.”
“Such as?” Rick asked.
“I have a photographic memory,” she answered.
“Oh, cool. So you can remember everything you read and hear?” Jessie asked.
Shadoe nodded.
“Bullshit.” Spencer didn’t believe anyone could have a photographic memory.
“ ‘No way in hell is anyone going to believe she’s a stripper. Sorry, darlin’, but you’re not the right man for the job. Well, look at you. Loose, dark pantsuit with God only knows what kind of body underneath it, hair in a bun without one strand out of place. Your face is pinched so tight you look like you have a stick shoved up your ass’ . . . Should I go on, Spence, or stop now?”
“Well, goddamn. She just repeated everything I said to her right before y’all came in.”
“No shit?” AJ asked.
“No shit.” Spence looked back at Shadoe with a nod of appreciation. “I stand corrected, darlin’. You’ve got the skills.”
Those weren’t her only skills, either. Because when her lips lifted in a hint of a smile, he saw a spark flash from her brown eyes that rocked his balls into a quiver of awareness. Damn she was pretty. Even with her severe clothing, without makeup, and with hair pulled back, there was definitely . . . something.