heard the truck start up in the back driveway with a powerful throb.
Then the tears fell. And she swore she would never cry for him again. Just as she had the last time.
Chapter 7
HE WAS DOWN, BUT SHE wasn't beaten. Morganna dressed carefully for the night, beginning late in the afternoon to prepare to make her own stand. She couldn't have Clint and she knew it now, but she would die and go to hell before she obeyed him. She had a job to do, and she was determined to finish it.
She wasn't officially off this assignment until her commander gave the order. She had begun working with Joe Merino's team first as a watcher. That was something Morganna had always been good at. She knew how to watch, how to pay attention to body language and pinpoint the women who were acting out of character.
She was well-known in the club scene, so she wasn't a suspected agent. Despite the arrest last week, her cover was still solid. No one knew who had witnessed the three men drugging that woman. And Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
despite the attempted hit the night before, Morganna wasn't convinced her cover was blown. And if it was, then it could work more in the team's favor than against it.
But until she was told differently, she was still an agent here, and her job was still to show up and watch the action playing out.
Drugs worked differently from person to person, as did alcohol. She had been a part of the club scene since she was twenty-one, five years ago. Boredom, disinterest in a permanent relationship with anyone but Clint, and her own curiosity about people in general had drawn her to the pseudo-bondage atmosphere she found at these particular clubs.
They weren't true bondage clubs. At least not the upstairs portions. She had never been invited into the lower rooms.
She remembered the hue and cry, though, when Drage Masters opened his first club seven years ago.
It had been raided monthly when it first opened, the owner arrested just as often, but the club had never lost its license.
The Roundtable catered to alternative lifestyles and was as far removed from the honky-tonks and bars as one could get. It drew in the Goth crowd, the techno, and the extreme sensualists.
And that was the reason the drug was being tested here, the DEA believed. Here the easy camaraderie and familiarity of the honky-tonks weren't present. The crowd could change from night to night, from club to club, with only a few of the regulars remaining at any given hour.
Morganna stared around the interior of the Roundtable now, and she knew why Masters clubs had survived the outcry. The governor's son was a regular there, as were several city and state officials. The private rooms in the back afforded them a certain anonymity in their sexual excesses. If the bar area was raided, for some reason, the police never bothered with the back rooms. And never, at any time, had the basement portion of the club been invaded.
Not that one of the clubs had been raided in years. The influx of differing lifestyles and cultures into Atlanta, and the metropolis atmosphere, had eased the controversy over them. There were more extreme bondage clubs in the area, but Drage's ability to provide a club for the more extreme as well as those wanting to play along the periphery had drawn in all types.
Now the three clubs, Diva's, the Roundtable, and Merlin's, could be some of the most popular clubs in the state.
She moved through the Saturday night crowd slowly, feeling the hard pulse of the music thrumming around her as her gaze probed the crowd.
The slow, sensual beat of Gavin Froome's "Plane Jane" met her, but Morganna knew the house mix could swing just as quickly into, the Cure, Depeche Mode, or any of the hard Goth, techno, or tribal beats.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
It raged from current to classic at the drop of a hat and filled her blood with the need to dance. She
Then the tears fell. And she swore she would never cry for him again. Just as she had the last time.
Chapter 7
HE WAS DOWN, BUT SHE wasn't beaten. Morganna dressed carefully for the night, beginning late in the afternoon to prepare to make her own stand. She couldn't have Clint and she knew it now, but she would die and go to hell before she obeyed him. She had a job to do, and she was determined to finish it.
She wasn't officially off this assignment until her commander gave the order. She had begun working with Joe Merino's team first as a watcher. That was something Morganna had always been good at. She knew how to watch, how to pay attention to body language and pinpoint the women who were acting out of character.
She was well-known in the club scene, so she wasn't a suspected agent. Despite the arrest last week, her cover was still solid. No one knew who had witnessed the three men drugging that woman. And Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
despite the attempted hit the night before, Morganna wasn't convinced her cover was blown. And if it was, then it could work more in the team's favor than against it.
But until she was told differently, she was still an agent here, and her job was still to show up and watch the action playing out.
Drugs worked differently from person to person, as did alcohol. She had been a part of the club scene since she was twenty-one, five years ago. Boredom, disinterest in a permanent relationship with anyone but Clint, and her own curiosity about people in general had drawn her to the pseudo-bondage atmosphere she found at these particular clubs.
They weren't true bondage clubs. At least not the upstairs portions. She had never been invited into the lower rooms.
She remembered the hue and cry, though, when Drage Masters opened his first club seven years ago.
It had been raided monthly when it first opened, the owner arrested just as often, but the club had never lost its license.
The Roundtable catered to alternative lifestyles and was as far removed from the honky-tonks and bars as one could get. It drew in the Goth crowd, the techno, and the extreme sensualists.
And that was the reason the drug was being tested here, the DEA believed. Here the easy camaraderie and familiarity of the honky-tonks weren't present. The crowd could change from night to night, from club to club, with only a few of the regulars remaining at any given hour.
Morganna stared around the interior of the Roundtable now, and she knew why Masters clubs had survived the outcry. The governor's son was a regular there, as were several city and state officials. The private rooms in the back afforded them a certain anonymity in their sexual excesses. If the bar area was raided, for some reason, the police never bothered with the back rooms. And never, at any time, had the basement portion of the club been invaded.
Not that one of the clubs had been raided in years. The influx of differing lifestyles and cultures into Atlanta, and the metropolis atmosphere, had eased the controversy over them. There were more extreme bondage clubs in the area, but Drage's ability to provide a club for the more extreme as well as those wanting to play along the periphery had drawn in all types.
Now the three clubs, Diva's, the Roundtable, and Merlin's, could be some of the most popular clubs in the state.
She moved through the Saturday night crowd slowly, feeling the hard pulse of the music thrumming around her as her gaze probed the crowd.
The slow, sensual beat of Gavin Froome's "Plane Jane" met her, but Morganna knew the house mix could swing just as quickly into, the Cure, Depeche Mode, or any of the hard Goth, techno, or tribal beats.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
It raged from current to classic at the drop of a hat and filled her blood with the need to dance. She
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