Undercover Engagement by Samanthe Beck
Chapter Twenty
“Hey, Eden. Nice to see you again. Missed you yesterday for ladies’ night.”
Eden smiled at Jeb Rawley from her side of the bar and held up her splinted wrist. “I took an unexpected detour to Dr. Longfoot’s office.”
Jeb nodded. “Heard about that. Girl versus truck.” He gestured at her wrist. “Bet it hurts.”
“I’m fine.” She wiggled her fingers for him. “This girl is tougher than she looks.”
“Guess so.” He glanced around, then aimed a very toothy smile at her. “’Cause you look damn fine, girl, but you don’t look one bit tough. Are you on your own tonight? If so, sit yourself down on that barstool and keep me company. First two drinks are on me—one to welcome you to town, one to make up for nearly getting flattened by a truck.”
“Uh. Thanks, but I’ve got to grab a table. Swain’s right behind me. He got waylaid in the parking lot talking trucks with another guy. I’m scouting for the table, plus Kenny and Dobie.”
Jeb frowned a little at that, then shrugged. “My loss. I haven’t seen those boys tonight, but Roxy’s playing, so I expect they’ll be along. What can I get you while you wait?”
The tightness in her nervous stomach made the very thought of a drink unappealing, but before she could decline, an arm settled around her shoulders, and she found herself hugged possessively to Swain’s side. “Two bourbons, neat.”
“Brand?” Jeb’s question came out like a challenge.
“Yippee Ki-Yay…motherfucker,” Swain muttered under his breath when Jeb turned away to grab the bottle from the top shelf of liquor on display behind the bar.
“Hey, now.” She shot him a warning look. “Don’t pick a fight with the bartender. I’m keyed up enough already.”
Swain pulled her in close and kissed her cheek. “That’s what the bourbon’s for.” He twisted his neck to work kinks out, and she heard his facet joints crack. Knowing he shared her tension didn’t help.
“There’s a lot riding on tonight. I need to stay sharp.”
“Choux, we get any sharper, we’re going to accidentally cut pieces off each other. Let’s try it the other way. You get a little drunk, or pretend to, at least. We’ll talk at the table—put on the same basic act we put on in Whelan’s office this afternoon—then I’ll peel Kenny off to play pool. You dance with Dobie. Cry on his shoulder. Literally, if you can manage. Just get us in there, Eden. I know you can do it.”
Jeb plunked down two short glasses filled with amber liquid and smiled at her. “On the house.”
“Thank you,” she said as the dark-haired bartender turned to wait on another customer. Swain handed her a glass and clinked his to hers. “To us.”
“To us,” she repeated and swallowed liquid fire, barely noticing the burn for wondering if he’d really meant that or if he’d actually meant “To the op” or “To succeeding tonight.” To getting one crucial step closer to completing their assignment. Before she could think of a way to ask, a group of newcomers entered Rawley’s. “There they are,” she whispered.
Swain placed his empty glass on the bar with a quick, attention-grabbing slam. When Jeb turned, he said, “Four more,” tossed twenties down, and called the guys over.
“Hey,” Dobie said when they’d threaded their way through the crowd. “Oh, thanks man,” he added when Swain handed him a glass.
“What’s the occasion?” Kenny wondered aloud as Swain passed him the other glass.
“This is how we roll,” Swain said, quoting the lyrics of the song playing over the noise of the busy pub. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” they said, raised their glasses, and downed the shots.
“Smooth,” Kenny coughed, pounding his concave chest with his fist.
She was starting to feel smooth, with the second shot warming her blood. “Oh, there’s a table. C’mon.” Grabbing Dobie by the hand, she pulled him down the steps into the main room and over to the recently vacated four-top a dark-haired waitress worked to clear. Roxy approached the front of the room, perched on the barstool set up there, positioned her guitar on her lap, and then leaned into the microphone and introduced herself. Over the welcoming applause, Swain handed the waitress more bills and spoke close to her ear as he ordered another round. All Eden heard were his instructions to “keep the change” before he, too, sat.
The brunette gave him a smile and a “Be right back, sugar,” then strode off with a hip-swaying walk.
“So, seriously,” Kenny asked as he sat, “what are we celebrating?”
“I’m made of money, didn’t you know?” Swain pitched his reply over the opening notes of Roxy’s acoustic version of “Back to December.”
The reply replaced Kenny’s smile with a look of confusion. “Uh, no…” He glanced at Dobie and Eden.
“Well, Kenny, you’re in good company there. I know I’m not made of money. Dobie knows. Don’t you, Dob?”
Dobie nodded in response to Swain’s question. “Sure. Sure, man.”
Swain leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his neck. “Turns out, it’s only my lovely fiancée here who can’t seem to wrap her head around that fact.”
Eden looked away and let out an impatient breath. “You’re such a bastard, sometimes. Such a cheap fucking bastard.”
“Love you, too, choux.”
“Did you guys meet with my mom today?” Kenny asked, displaying a rare flash of insight.
Swain leaned forward and propped his arms on the table. “Oh, yeah. We sure as hell did.” He sat back and smiled as the waitress arrived with their round. She placed a glass in front of each of them and accepted another tip from Swain. After she left, he held up his glass. “To bankruptcy, ’cause that’s what we’ll be filing if I let Eden plan the wedding she wants.”
Now she leaned forward and stared at him across the table. “You know what, Swain?” She downed her drink in a fast gulp and, gratefully, detected water more than bourbon this time. “You can save your precious money. How ’bout we call off the wedding and you can save every last penny?”
Their fight might be staged, but after two bourbon shots plus whatever the last amounted to, her need to walk it off was real. Luckily, Roxy had transitioned from Taylor Swift to a soulful rendition of “Fade Into You.” She pushed her chair away from the table with a shrill shriek of wood on wood and stood. “Dobie, dance with me?”
He hopped to his feet and cast a nervous glance at Swain, who communicated his I-don’t-give-a fuck with a flick of his hand. He turned his attention to Kenny. “I’ve got twenty bucks says I can beat you at pool.”
Eden grabbed Dobie’s hand, turned on her heel, and cut a path through the couples swaying together on the dance floor until she reached the center. Other couples filled in the space around them. She turned, draped her arms from Dobie’s shoulders, and lowered her head to rest it on her arm, bringing her face close to his chin. “Thanks for dancing with me. I really need a friend right now.”
“I’m your friend,” he quickly assured her. “All I want is to be your friend, Eden. You’re just, like, the prettiest, coolest, most awesome chick…uh…girl. Shoot. Woman. I mean woman.”
His bald sincerity shot prickly little darts of guilt into her. This poor kid. She gave him a quick hug. “I’m your friend, too, Dobie. No matter what happens, I hope you’ll remember that.”
“Always,” he said and offered her a sweet smile.
She took the guilt his trust stirred up in her and turned it to misery. Lifting her head, she blinked rapidly at him. “Oh, Dobie. What am I going to do?”
“Hey, don’t worry.” He spoke fast and patted her shoulder a little awkwardly, like a man who didn’t know what the hell he was going to do if he got stuck in the middle of the dance floor with a bawling woman. “I know things with you and Swain are kinda strained right now—you guys not seeing eye to eye on the wedding—but he’s not going to let you slip through his fingers. He knows he’s the luckiest guy in this place.”
“I’m demanding,” she said and let her voice break.
“No…no.” He looked her in the eye. “A wedding is a big deal. You wanna, like, do it once, do it right, and…uh…treasure the memories for the rest of your life.”
She nodded and mustered up a wavering smile. “That’s it, exactly. I knew you’d understand. The thing is…” She blinked again and swallowed, suddenly battling real emotions. “Swain’s right. I’m spinning dreams he can’t make real.”
She was spinning dreams. Not dreams of an expensive wedding but of the happily ever after. Something probably equally out of reach when it came to Marc Swain. “It’s not his fault.” She choked the words out, took a deep breath, and told herself to get it together. This wasn’t about her and Swain and what became of them after they concluded their assignment. She had definitely consumed too much bourbon. It made her sentimental and weepy.
Lowering her head to her arm again, she went on. “I know he’s not deliberately trying to let me down. I know he’d move mountains if it would make a difference. But it won’t. We need a real solution. A real way to get the money.”
“If I had any money, Eden, I’d give it to you as a wedding gift. In a heartbeat.”
She hugged him again. “’Cause you’re my friend?”
“Absolutely.”
“I couldn’t take your money, Dobie, even if you had any. Swain is stubborn about stuff like that. It means a lot to him, to be the one taking care of me. Providing for us. He told me he’d even considered selling weed as a side hustle. I guess he did it off and on, down in New Orleans, and said it’s easy money, but he doesn’t know anyone around here.” Now she straightened and looked him square in the eyes, letting tears flow. “Are you my friend, Dobie? Are you truly my friend?”
“Yes. Swear to God. Please don’t cry.”
“I’m s-s-sorry. I’m just so stressed. This wedding that’s supposed to be the h—h-happiest day of my life has turned into a n-n-nightmare. But I think you could help make it all better, if you could do me one little favor?”
“Anything, Eden. I’ll do anything for you.”
Oh, God. Here we go.Over Dobie’s shoulder, across the crowded room, her eyes locked with Swain’s. He held her gaze for a long moment. Finally, he turned back to the pool table to take his shot. And it was time to take hers. “Would you introduce us to your dealer? I know you and Kenny wouldn’t buy from anyone mean or shady, so I wouldn’t worry about Swain picking up a little business from your guy.”
The eagerness in his expression faded until he looked more like a kid who’d been called to the front of the class to give a report he wasn’t prepared to give. His eyes shifted left, then right, and then he leaned close. “Kenny and I buy directly from the dude who grows it. He’s got a handful of dealers for other areas, but I don’t know if he’s looking to take on a local dealer.”
“Could you find out? Please, Dobie. Just ask and see what he says. What’s the harm in asking?”
Dobie thought that through for a minute. “Maybe none,” he conceded.
“Could you do it, then? For me? Your friend.”
Now Dobie stared over her shoulder toward the front of the pub. She had a sudden, burning desire to know who he looked at, because it wasn’t Kenny or Swain, but she didn’t want to shatter the moment by turning away from him. She held her breath and watched his eyes refocus on her.
“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll ask him tomorrow and let you know.”
She pulled him into a tight hug and offered him a heartfelt thank-you.
“It’s no problem.”
“It’s huge, Dobie. I’ll never forget this. I owe you a favor—a big one—no matter what your guy says.”
Roxy finished a song. Over applause, Dobie said, “Just don’t get your hopes too high, okay?” He backed up to put some space between them. “I’ll try to talk it up, but, like I said, I don’t know if he’s down to take on another dealer.”
“I know. But still…” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. He turned red as an apple. With their faces close, she whispered, “I really appreciate you doing this.”
“Aw, shucks, ma’am. It’s nothin’,” he drawled, then took a step back. “Can you do me a favor, Eden?”
“I’ll try my best. What do you need?”
“Could you go over and make up with Swain now, before he kicks my ass?”
She laughed, then turned to follow Dobie’s line of sight and saw Swain cutting through the crowd toward them, looking ominous as an F5 tornado approaching a mobile-home park. The intensity of his frustration and jealousy felt so real it sent a reckless shiver of excitement through her.
“I’ll get right on that,” she assured Dobie and made a beeline for her partner.
…
He watched Eden approach, searching her face for clues of how the conversation went. For once, her expression gave nothing away, but he was so fucking attuned to her, he read success in the unhurried pace of her black cowboy boots across the boards and the relaxed movement of her body under her short, red sundress. Or maybe what he picked up on came directly from her brainwaves, like some unique ESP they shared between them. Whatever the source, he knew the answer without her uttering a word. When she got within arm’s reach, he simply reeled her in, sank his hand into her hair, and kissed her. Not a kiss of triumph, although he did share the flush of her success. He felt other things, too—desperation, unwarranted jealousy—and those came out in full force, turning the kiss into the fierce, conflicted gesture of a man trying to stake his claim and bend her will while also pushing for make-up sex.
When he relinquished her lips, she clung to him and snuggled her face against his neck. “Take me home now,” she whispered.
His body reacted to the brush of her lips against his skin with a quick shiver. “Ah, choux, I would like nothing better, but I can’t drive yet.”
She eased away and blinked up at him. He detected a little tipsy in her heavy-lidded eyes. “Yeah. Two shots plus whatever the last drink amounted to pretty much hit my limit.”
He turned her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and steered them toward the front entrance. “One and a half shots for me—I didn’t finish the second,” he explained at her confused look. “After the toast, we headed to the table. I left it half empty on the bar.”
“Sneaky.” She elbowed his side. “Wish I’d thought to do that.”
“You’re not driving, and you needed to stay loose. Our third drinks were two fingers of water and a splash of bourbon for color.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Told the waitress I wanted to get laid tonight so we had to go easy. Anyway”—he held the door for her and followed her out onto the covered porch that stretched along the front of the pub—“give me a half hour more, and then I’m good to go.”
A few groups of people loitered here and there in the parking lot, but they had the porch to themselves. He backed up to lean against a corner of the railing, away from the neon glare of the front windows, and pulled Eden into his arms. “How’re you feeling?”
“I don’t know. Half happy. Half guilty. Half drunk.”
He laughed and tucked her head under his chin. “Better check your math, choux. That’s three halves. Lemme see if I can get rid of one for you. The guilt needs to go.” A cluster of women came up the steps. He recognized Ginny Buchanan, Lou Ann, Dr. Ellie Longfoot, her office manager, Melody, and the polished strawberry blonde who ran DeShay’s diner in town. Eagle-eyed Ginny spotted them in their shadowy corner.
“Hey, Swain. Hey, Eden,” she called. “How’re you doin’, girl?”
Eden turned to face the ladies, extended her splinted wrist, and gave them a thumbs-up. “Good. Thanks for asking.”
The doc came closer. Eden met her halfway. Light from a window cast their shadows long across the porch. “No swelling? No sharp pain?”
“None.” Eden held her wrist out and submitted to a brief exam. “It feels like it’s healing fine.”
“Looks it, too, I’m pleased to say.”
“I just heard what happened tonight, or I would have called y’all to check in,” Lou Ann said. “Eden, honey, you are one brave woman. Thank God you were there to be a guardian angel to little Gracie Stevens.”
Melody laughed. “Jeez, Lou Ann, don’t put that title on her.” To Eden, she said, “If you’re Gracie’s guardian angel, you’ve got yourself a full-time job.”
“One that ought to come with hazard pay,” the other woman interjected, then held out her left hand to Eden. “I’m Addy DeShay, by the way.”
“Eden Braxton.” She turned to him, so he stepped over. “This is my fiancé, Michael Swain.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. DeShay.”
“It’s Addy,” she corrected. “Congratulations on your engagement. Have y’all set a date?”
The conversation turned to weddings, and he happily transitioned from participant to observer. As he watched Eden show off her ring and talk about plans, a strange mood came over him. He should have felt optimistic, based on the outcome of Eden’s conversation with Dobie, and, certainly, proud of what they’d accomplished tonight. It took a minute to identify the prickly emotion as his very own dose of the guilt he’d told Eden was unwarranted. Now he stood corrected, because he saw that they weren’t just deceiving Dobie and Kenny. They were also deceiving perfectly decent, completely innocent people who were unknowingly investing their kindness and friendliness in a lie.
The bourbon turned bitter in his gut. A desire to get away from living lies accounted for a large part of why he’d left the Marines. He’d wanted community. He’d wanted real interactions with regular people. He’d grown tired of the manipulation, the isolation. And yet, here he was, neck deep in another cover. The difference being when this assignment ended, he wouldn’t be uprooted and planted somewhere else, with a new cover and a different mission. And neither would Eden.
No, they’d have to stick, survive some amount of notoriety, as perfectly decent, completely innocent people realized they’d been deceived, and slowly work to earn back trust. Could he do it? Up ’til now, life had been about executing the con and moving on. Was he even equipped to con his way out of the con?
The question made his head hurt. So yeah, the unfamiliar teeth of guilt gnawed at him, and loneliness, too, because although Ginny knew the score, as well as a handful of people in the PD and the Sheriff’s Department, the only person in the entire town who really understood the pitfalls of this assignment was Eden. She wasn’t just his partner but his link with reality. She’d become his safe zone. His constant in a life that heretofore hadn’t had many constants. The one person truly with him now who would still be with him on the other side of this op.
He hoped so, at any rate, because all these things he felt for her weren’t going to disappear at the end of their assignment. They felt permanent. They felt…not that he had any experience with it, whatsoever, but they felt like…love.