The Edge of Courage (Red Team) by Elaine Levine Page A

finger with the thick needle and swallowed an oath. “Not unless my life depends on it.”
    She leaned restlessly against one of the porch supports, her hands behind her, a knee bent as she braced a foot against the wood. “Do you think you could make an exception tonight? I thought we could go into town and meet my friend, Ivy, at Winchester’s. They do line dancing there. It’ll be fun.”
    About as much fun as standing in a field of rattlers in mating season. The thought of a crowd of people made him break out in a cold sweat. A person couldn’t move through a barroom thick with people without touching some of them. What if he had one of his freak-outs in the middle of Winchester’s? That would be a grand start to the work she was doing here, just top off his little performance earlier in the week. People would avoid her riding center for fear of running into him.
    “That ain’t my thing.” He shoved the needle through the next hole, playing for time as he flicked a glance at the smooth, pale expanse of her thighs. “You goin’ out dressed like that?”
    “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Mandy asked, looking down at herself. She smoothed a hand over her denim skirt, pressing the short hem of it against her raised thigh.
    He locked his eyes with hers. “Your legs are showing.”
    She laughed, spilling that tinkling, joyful sound across the porch. Goosebumps rose on his arms. “What century are you from?” she teased him.
    He dropped his gaze to the leather strap he held. He’d been in Afghanistan too long, most of the past eight years—seven of them deep undercover. He was used to much more conservative behavior from women. He stabbed the needle between the two sides of leather he was sewing and tossed it on the table. “Then I guess I better go with you. Make sure no one mistreats you.”
    She grinned. “Yes, you’d better.”
    * * *
    Rocco backed his old Ford into one of the last parking spots in the section farthest from the bar entrance. Neon signs listed their draft beers and made a wagon wheel appear to be turning. He regretted his decision to come as soon as they walked through the small crowd of people who milled around the entrance. He opened the door for Mandy even as he cast a glower over the crowd, daring any of the men to look at her.
    He stared at her back as they walked through the long entranceway, focusing on her as if she were a lifeline. They passed the coat checkroom, restrooms, offices, and kitchen entrance. The place was low ceilinged, paneled in pine, lined with posters, prints and sculptures. Benches made of halved logs sat along the hallway. As the entranceway opened to the main bar area, the crowd thickened.
    Mandy seemed to know where she was going. He followed her, his gaze focused ahead of them, making eye contact with the men, claiming her in an ancient way of silent communication between men, one that worked in any culture, anytime. It was brief, subtle, and harmless unless ignored—wholly effective in opening the crowd so that they could pass.
    Long rows of tables bordered the dance floor. Large booths lined the walls on three sides, forming a horseshoe around the band and dance floor. Mandy drew Rocco to a corner booth with a circular seat where a woman was sitting between Officer Jerry and another man Rocco had not yet met.
    Instantly, Rocco wanted to get Mandy out of there. There was only room for one of them at either end of the half-circle table—he wasn’t going to be able to sit next to her. If he made an issue of it and asked them to scoot around, he’d still have to let Mandy sit next to one of the men. And if he didn’t, she’d be open to approach from men outside their group.
    The woman between the two men noticed the situation and quickly pushed against Jerry to get him to move down so that they could both squeeze in beside the other man. Rocco let Mandy get in first, choosing the lesser of the two evils. When they were settled, Mandy performed