She perched in one of the dingy booths, trying to watch the room without making eye contact with the sailors and
construction types straddling the stools at the bar.
Or maybe not.
Certainly no one would question if she and Gideon helped one slurring, stumbling patron out to their car later that night.
Over the bottles, a TV flickered, competing with the glow of the neon signs. Miller. Bud. Pabst Blue Ribbon. The air stank
of bodies and beer, a trace of heavy cologne, a whiff from the men‟s room down the hall. She folded her hands in her lap, her
untouched diet Coke leaving another ring on the cloudy table.
“Is it hot in here, or is it you?”
She looked up to find two sailors flanking her table. “Excuse me?”
The larger sailor shifted closer, trapping her into the booth. “You‟re too pretty to be sitting here alone. Mind if we join
you?”
She wasn‟t alone. Gideon watched from an ill-lit corner, his attention divided between her and the door.
She straightened on the sticky vinyl seat. “I‟m waiting for someone.”
“I don‟t see anybody.” The sailor—hovering drunkenly between cheerful and offensive—nudged his companion. “You see
anybody, T.J.?”
T.J.‟s blurred gaze remained focused on Lara‟s breasts. “Nope.”
“Let me buy you a drink,” the first guy said.
“No, thanks,” Lara said firmly.
“There you are.” A male voice, deep and smooth, broke through the noise of the bar and the wail of the jukebox. Somehow
the sailors shifted, and there he was, tall and lean and attractively unshaven, looking perfectly at ease among the Galaxy‟s
rough clientele.
It was him. Her quarry from the boat.
Her heart, her breath, her whole body reacted. Her fingertips tingled. Well, they would. She was attuned to him, to his
energy.
He grinned at her. “Miss me?”
“You‟re late,” she said.
Twelve minutes. Not enough to abandon her mission, but enough to pinch her ego.
“Come on, baby, don‟t be mad. You know I had to work.” The newcomer‟s eyes danced, and she realized abruptly he was
acting, playing a part for the sailors who still hemmed her into the booth. He lowered his voice confidingly. “Thanks for
keeping an eye on her. She gets . . . restless if I leave her alone too long. If you know what I mean.”
Lara kept her mouth shut with an effort. The shorter sailor guffawed. His companion shifted his weight like a bull,
hunching his shoulders.
“I should spot you back,” the newcomer continued easily. Man-to-man, she thought, making them like him, make them
side with him, diffusing the tension. He moved again, angling his body so smoothly she almost didn‟t see him slide his wallet
from his front pocket.
Feet shuffled. Something passed hands. The sailors nodded to her and then ambled back to the bar.
Lara narrowed her eyes. “Did you just give them money?”
“I bought them a round.” His grin flashed. “Why not?”
“You paid them to go away,” she said, torn between outrage and admiration. She couldn‟t imagine Gideon—or Zayin or
any of the Guardians—dispatching an opponent by buying him a drink.
“Think of it as supporting our troops.” He met her gaze, his own wickedly amused. “Unless you‟d rather we pound each
other for the privilege of plying you with alcohol.”
“Of course not. Anyway, I already have a drink, thank you.”
He eyed her glass and shook his head. “Place like this, you order beer. In a bottle. Unless you want to wake up with
something a hell of a lot worse than a headache.”
He turned to signal the waitress.
Lara appreciated his concern. But his caution would make her task more difficult. Her fingers curled around the handle of
her bag on the seat beside her. Maybe it wouldn‟t be necessary to drug his drink, she thought. Explanations were out of the
question. He wouldn‟t believe her, and they might be overheard. But surely she could rouse something in him, a response, a