Hound Dog Blues by Virginia Brown Page A

Was he on the job or off the clock? It was hard to tell with undercover guys. She’d heard Bobby say on more than one occasion that some of them were pretty crazy. On the edge a lot, getting so far into their roles as one of the bad guys that it was hard to separate the two. She figured this cop had it down pat about being a bad guy. It was the good guy part that made her hesitate.
    Still . . . .
    Grabbing her beer, she shouldered her backpack to saunter over to the booth.
    “Well, well, what a nice surprise,” she said, and ignored Jett’s uninviting stare as she added, “Mind if I sit down? Thanks.”
    “I’m expecting company,” he said shortly, but she smiled.
    “Of course you are.” She slid into the seat and tossed her backpack to the floor under the window, leaning over the table a little to say, “So, Bruno or whatever your name is, whazzup?”
    “Obviously, not you. That’s an old catch-phrase.” His eyes narrowed at her.
    “Really?” Annoyed, she slid her beer onto the table and some of it sloshed onto her hand. “Since you’re so up on trends why don’t you tell me what’s new in jewelry these days? Rings? Necklaces? Do I place an order, or just wait to see what you drag in—Officer?”
    It was sort of like throwing out a fishing line to see what bit, and he bit quick and hard.
    Before she could sit back to watch his reaction, he reacted.
    Jeez, she didn’t know any guy could move that fast, but he was up and out of his seat in a heartbeat, his hand clamping down on her right wrist and pulling her up with him, her arm bent behind her back at an odd angle as he escorted her across the crowded bar toward the restrooms at the rear. There was a narrow opening between the end of the bar and the wall, ending in two doors, one for the men, and one for the women, marked with those cutesy little stick figures.
    It happened so fast she couldn’t form a proper protest, only made some kind of squeaking sound like a baby chick. Witnesses . . . why weren’t people paying attention?
    Shoving open the door to the Ladies room, Jett pushed her inside and went with her, the door slamming shut behind them. The lock clicked ominously. Only large enough for one stall, a sink, and a metal trash receptacle, she was forced into such close proximity she could feel the heat of anger coming off him.
    “Management probably won’t appreciate you terrorizing a paying customer in their bathroom,” she pointed out for lack of anything better to say.
    “I don’t,” he said softly, “give a damn. Are you following me?”
    “You sure do think a lot of yourself.” He loomed over her like Bigfoot, too big, too angry, too . . . male . Waves of testosterone hit her, and she did her best to hold her ground. It was more difficult than she’d anticipated.
    Pushing her up against the wall between the vending machines dispensing condoms and fake designer perfumes, he held her there for a moment, staring at her with those ice-blue eyes that made her nervous. Her stomach plummeted to her toes and she shivered. None of which made him back off.
    “Just why the hell did you call me ‘officer?’”
    Might as well go for broke. “Aren’t you? I heard that Bruno Jett’s in Federal custody. Yet here you are, plain as day. So—you’re a cop.”
    The heels of his hands dug harder into her shoulders. “I don’t like snoops. Know what happens to snoops? Curious little girls who stick their noses where they don’t belong? It’s not a happy ending. Tell me who’s been giving you information, and why you’re so damned curious about me.”
    “No one has to give me information. I know how to get it on my own.” At his look of disbelief, she said, “What? You don’t think I’m smart enough? I can be quite resourceful, Mister Jett, or whoever you are, believe me.”
    “Yeah, I can see you think you are.” He gave her a narrow look, easing back some on her shoulders. “If you know that Bruno Jett’s in custody,