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  Miriam scooted up in line. “I’ve got to go. I’m next in the grocery line.”

  “Whatever. Call me if you need anything. Anything. I mean that.” Nick was sober again, and the seriousness filtered down the line.

  “I will. I love you, Nick.”

  “Love you, too, munchkin.”

  A few aisles over, Jake sighed to himself as he steered the wobbly buggy through the store aisles. He had to get out of this funk. Adding a twelve pack of imported beer to the bachelor food already in his cart, he tried not to think about what his grocery choices said about him.

  Now he lived on rotisserie chicken, cereal, and beer.

  It had been a week since he’d learned Joe had flitted through his parents’ retirement funds, but he still wasn’t over it. If it had been anybody else, he could have put it behind him as a mistake his parents had made and had to deal with themselves. But knowing how sick his dad had looked, how sad his mother was, how it was tearing his family apart, and it was Joe who had done it, that was what killed him.

  Add that to the infidelity thing, and Jake was like a man obsessed with bringing down his brother.

  He wasn’t the first man who had been cheated on, but there weren’t many men whose brother had slept with their wife under the guise of helping their marital relations. Of course, Abby had broken his heart, mostly because she’d been with Joe since she didn’t think they’d wanted the same things in bed. She’d cried. She’d apologized. She’d begged.

  But the damage had been done.

  Knowing he hadn’t satisfied her, she hadn’t talked to him about it, and she’d gone to his brother instead had rocked him to his core. The betrayal did more than sting, it burned. White hot. Every time he looked at her.

  He’d tried to save his marriage, give her what she wanted, but he couldn’t look at her the same way knowing Joe had touched her and she’d enjoyed it.

  He threw some packages of Ramen noodles in his cart, blindly.

  The thing was, he’d have been willing, eager even, to try the things she wanted to try in bed, if she’d only said something to him first.

  He hated his brother.

  It wasn’t just the Abby thing. He’d never known a set of twins to be more different than he and Joseph. Usually, one twin was outgoing while the other was an introvert. Or one was a jock while the other was more intellectual. Sure, some differences were to be expected, but Jake felt sometimes like he and Joseph were the product of some weird social experiment, one he couldn’t explain.

  Joe had always been wild, but in the last year or so, he’d been dangerous. Like, scary dangerous. Sleeping with Abby had been one of a dozen instances where Joe had stepped over the line with his erratic behavior. He hadn’t spoken to his brother since, and he was okay with that. His dad understood, but his mom just wanted everyone to get along. It was hurting her, and Jake felt really bad about that but was unable to bend. Joe had fucked his wife, and he did it to prove a point. That Jake was less of a man.

  Trying to force his mind to happier thoughts, he grabbed a package of Nutty Buddies and thought of his son. One good thing had come from his marriage to Abby, and that was Drew. Just thinking about Drew gave Jake butterflies in his stomach—the surreal feeling he had created something so perfect, so happy, so giving. Drew was the light in Jake’s day. That and his work.

  Making his way to the check-out, as usual, his eye perused the magazines—more specifically, the photos on the front. He was a photographer and had a new deal in the works for a coffee table type book of photos of people in the Austin area. He was working with a buddy of his who was a writer, looking for people to tell their story.

  So there were good things going on. He just needed to focus on them.

  The security office seemed sparsely populated. The only people Jake saw were the Pierce brothers as they led him back to an office down a hallway. Nobody was in reception, and the entire place had a musty smell.

  “Sorry about the state of things. We’ve been out an office manager for the last three weeks, but she’s back now and working double-time. Apparently, we can’t take care of ourselves without her.” Simon seemed affable enough, with his self-deprecating words, but it seemed to Jake like it was difficult for him to say.

  Simon Pierce was the consummate professional. He wore a suit that didn’t do much to hide his fitness. Jake could tell he was a healthy guy, his skin and hair showed that, but the way his shirt stretched over his biceps, which were easily the size of Jake’s leg, was intimidating. But Simon’s smooth professionalism calmed him somewhat. His dark hair framed a friendly face with a small, neatly trimmed beard showing faint signs of gray. The dark eyes were warm, making Jake feel an innate trust toward him that he could only hope wasn’t misplaced.

  Simon’s brother, Quinten, was a muscle-bound, quiet type. Obviously Simon’s brother, he was younger looking, but larger, dwarfing everything else in the room. Jake was ashamed to admit, the spit lip, black eye, and bruised cheek intimidated him. Idly, Jake wondered what the other guy looked like.

  Jake Calahan considered himself a lover, not a fighter, aware of the cliché that was. He was a photographer by trade, an ‘artsy’ endeavor by anyone’s standards, even though he paid bills by taking portraits. He wasn’t the type of man who fought other guys, and that was okay with him.

  Of course, that’s probably what drew his ex-wife to his brother—the danger which rolled off Joe in waves. But he wasn’t here to think about that. Joe was an asshole in his own right, and this Pierce firm would be hired to find the money, plain and simple. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about Abby with them. They didn’t need to know what a dipshit he was.

  He couldn’t really relate to these dudes and felt more than a little threatened by them. Jake took care of himself, but because he wanted to live a long, healthy life, free of heart disease, not so he could beat the ever-living shit out of people. It was obvious these guys were trained to do just that. Which was why Jake was here.

  His buddy, Chris, had recommended Pierce Securities and Private Investigations when they’d done some work for him finding a long-lost relative. His friend said they were discrete and professional, and Jake hoped they could help out his parents. Joe needed to be stopped.

  He was so pissed at his brother he could hardly speak straight, but he laid it all out for the Pierce brothers, hoping it was something they could handle. “I know he’s looking for a bar manager, someone to handle payroll and purchasing and stuff like that. He’s been through three in as many months because he’s got a taste for women and tends to hire T and A instead of brains.” Simon’s face got a thoughtful look on it, and Jake went on, “If you have a woman who could go in there, dressed sexy or something, he’d probably go for it. Especially if she’s got a dumbed-down resume. He hates women with brains. I just need to find out what he’s doing with the money my parents gave him. It certainly hasn’t gone toward renovation, like he’s claiming. Nobody’s touched that bar.”

  “Miriam would work,” Quinten, the bruiser, said.

  “No,” Simon barked, startling Jacob.

  Quinten shrugged off his brother’s tone of voice and looked him straight in the eye. “She’s the only woman we have on staff. And she’s got the tits and the ass.” He said it almost wistfully, and Jake got the impression big bruiser guy liked this Miriam chick. It would be funny, if he wasn’t distracted with his reasons for being here.

  Simon stiffened at his desk, his face reflecting his displeasure. “I don’t like it. And you’re not supposed to be looking at Miriam like that.” Quinten only shrugged. Jake had a flash of some deeper story here, but it wasn’t his concern. “What if he’s into something dangerous? She’s not trained for that stuff.”

  “She could hire me. I’d watch out for her. I can work with her on the mat.” Jake’s eyes widened at the implications. Number one, this guy just solidified he was a boxer of some sort and tough as shit. Number two, they were prepared for anything, with skills like that, and were
willing to get this Miriam girl in the shape she needed to be prepared. His confidence in his decision crested. These guys would do what he needed them to.

  “Joe really only hires pretty women. He’s a bit of a pig like that.” Everything Jake said about his brother turned his stomach. “But if you want to try, go ahead,” he offered helpfully. He really needed these men. Joe was going to rip the rest of his family apart with his deceit, and if there was something Jake could do to stop it, he would.

  Quinten seemed affronted, clenching his fists, and Jake swallowed, afraid he’d pissed him off. “Miriam’s pretty. That’s not the problem.” Yup. Definitely was crushing on Miriam. But that wasn’t Jake’s problem.

  “Well, I have no idea what my brother’s mixed up in. I can’t say it’s not dangerous.” And that right there was the crux of Jake’s problem. He had no idea what his brother was up to, but the likelihood it was illegal as hell was right up there with the likelihood that Santa would bring him a Costa Rican villa this year for Christmas. He didn’t want his parents’ retirement to be flushed down the drain with whatever scheme Joe had up his sleeve, and he sure as hell didn’t want his parents involved in his brother’s illegal dealings.

  Acid roiled in his stomach, and Jake dug around in his pocket for the packet of antacids he had started keeping there.

  “That’s the problem,” Simon said thoughtfully. Jake felt a tinge of apprehension. These guys were expensive, but not the most expensive out there. He wanted someone good, though. He didn’t want to have any doubts about the reliability of their reports. After a long pause, during which Jake watched Simon mull over the idea, chewing the inside of his cheek, he spoke.

  “Okay, Miriam can do it if she thinks she can, and IF she can get Quinten in after her. We can set up a bartender to be stealing from the till or something.” He clapped his hands on his thighs, “Otherwise, we’ll come up with something different.”

  “If there’s not a crooked bartender already,” Jake offered helpfully.

  “Yeah.” Simon pushed a stack of papers across the desk. “You can take these home to fill out as completely as possible before we sign the paperwork. We require half up front as a retainer, plus expenses.”

  Dismissed, Jake left, feeling more upbeat about taking Joe down. It was a shame he was resorting to this type of stuff with his brother, but something had to be done; Joe was out of control.

  Miriam had been in the gym trying to freshen up the stale air when the new client got there. She’d taken out the dirty towels she found in random places to take home to wash, but it still smelled like sweaty socks. She sighed softly to herself. Men.

  She was spraying some cleaner on the new sparring mat the boys had invested in, when she heard Simon calling her.

  “Mir? Can you come in here? I’ve got a job for you.” Simon’s voice bellowed down the hall at her, and she stopped the eye-roll before it got started.

  Miriam grabbed the last towel and mumbled under her breath, “Does the coffee pot need cleaned?”

  Out loud, she called out a polite, “Yes, sir?” as she walked down the hallway. She liked her job, honestly. It just seemed like she wasn’t appreciated enough for her skills in the office. She was proud of what they’d managed to build here in a short amount of time.

  As soon as the boys had learned she cooked, they’d peppered her with requests. She should feel flattered but couldn’t help the occasional twinge of unappreciation. Miriam knew it was simply the way she was looking at life right now. She needed to change her attitude. And at this point, the entire thing was probably a reaction to or by the hormones in her body. She was taking some, and needed the levels adjusted, so she really had no business outwardly freaking out about anything she might be reading wrong.

  Miriam entered the office to find Simon and Quinten waiting for her. Lowering herself into a chair, she stooped her shoulders to hide the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra. Nobody had said anything yet, and she was okay with that. Quinten noticed, though, and Miriam avoided looking at his raised eyebrow at her posture.

  “We need you to take a job as a bar manager to find out where the owner is siphoning his money. He’s gone through tens of thousands of dollars with nothing to show for it.”

  Her breath left her in a whoosh. They wanted her to work undercover? That was unexpected. She was the one who filed paperwork and organized the office. Straightening subconsciously, she asked, “Quinten can’t do it?” Sneaking a glance at him, she saw he was staring at her chest, a thoughtful look on his face. She needed to talk to him. He was good at keeping secrets, and Miriam could see the wheels turning in his head as he examined her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she leveled a pointed look at him

  “He only hires pretty ladies. You get in, find a problem with the bartender, and hire Quinten to back you up.” Simon folded his hands, looking her straight in the eyes. “But it’s purely up to you. I don’t want to put you in a position where you’re uncomfortable. You’re safety is more important to me than the job.” He was the only person in the office she had told about her surgery. As the head boss, Miriam felt he should know she was taking so much time off for the elective procedure. And he hadn’t judged her, so why was she assuming the others would? Because she judged herself. If she were honest, that was the reason she expected everyone else to.

  When she absorbed his words, a flush of pleasure stole across her cheeks. The fact that Simon thought she was pretty would have been enough to make her take it, but for him to then go on extolling the value of her safety? Wow.

  She wasn’t attracted to Simon, or any of the boys, really. It had just been so long since anybody had said anything about her looks, good or bad. She’d begun to think she was asexual in the boys’ eyes. Or ninety. Except Quinten. He’d always been more attentive to her and Miriam thought he might want something more, but she wasn’t willing to go there. Not with him.

  As much as she hated to admit it, Miriam’s femininity was important to her. It really always had been, with Vince’s barbs about her womanhood. But now, with her surgery, her femininity—or lack thereof—was even more important. She had thought that losing her breasts wouldn’t be this big of a deal, but it was. Unsure if it was the lack of hormones, she made a mental note to ask her doctor on her next visit. Her thoughts and emotions were all over the place.

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Go in for an interview and get the job. You’ll need to dress the part, unfortunately. The professionalism you exude here won’t get you very far at a bar on Sixth Street. Then, just do your best to fit in and find out what’s going on. You’re actually perfect for this sort of thing. Turns out, he can’t hire a pretty face with brains. Until you.”

  She swallowed hard. “Do you want me to seduce him?” She wasn’t adverse to that part of the job, although she didn’t know if she could seduce just anybody. Regardless, a shiver of pride went through her at Simon’s kind words. He had faith in her for more than just a housekeeper.

  A frown crossed his features as he thought about it. “Honestly, I’m not sure what this job will entail, but I don’t think so. Just flirt with him for now. The client seems to think he’s mixed up with something dangerous, or illegal, but he doesn’t know what it is. Until we’re sure, I’m going to say no. But flirt with him a little. Get him to trust you.”

  She nodded. Seemed simple enough.

  Three hours later, Miriam was walking up Sixth Street, dressed in the highest heels and the shortest skirt she owned. She had managed to use her compression bandage for a tube top, stuffing it with socks to make it look like she had boobs. It was painful against the fresh scars, but it was only for a little while. Her prosthetic breasts would be coming in sometime next week, and until then she would make do. She was wearing a cropped jacket over the ensemble, a mix of sexy and professional that she sort of liked. Except the skirt was really short. She caught herself tugging at it and had to force herself to stop; it only drew attention to the fact it was so short.

&
nbsp; At thirty-four, Miriam was so far out of the club-scene that she hadn’t worn anything remotely sexy in years. She didn’t think she’d ever dressed for the sole purpose of getting a man’s attention. With Vince, it had been like walking a tightrope—trying to dress in a way he found appealing, yet not something that would turn other heads and engage his jealousy. That had been exhausting, to say the least, and she was so out of practice with the sex-kitten get-up that she felt completely out of her league. But she would give it a shot.

  The bar was a dump—a place regulars went to after work and twenty-somethings went to get smashed, nothing more. The owner definitely wasn’t spending money on appearances. It was a relatively small space, long and narrow, with the bar along one side and a line of tables along the other. It smelled of stale beer and even staler cigarette smoke, despite the fact that smoking in public had been banned for years. And underlying odor of something even fouler assaulted her nose, and Miriam made an unconscious vow to get rid of that smell if she got the job.

  A female bartender and a waitress worked to serve the handful of patrons, and Miriam cautiously made her way to the bar.

  “Hi, I’m looking for Mr. Calahan? I have an appointment,” Miriam forced conviction she didn’t feel into her voice. The earlier excitement she’d had about being ‘undercover’ had faded into a distinct sense of unease. What if she couldn’t pull it off? Miriam caught herself tugging at her skirt again and mentally admonished herself. Sticking out her chest, she pasted on a fake smile of confidence and looked the girl straight in the eye.

  The bartender looked her up and down before nodding to the back. Miriam assumed that was an invitation, and she made her way to where she had sort of been directed.