Chapter 23

Joe looked around the packed bar and sighed. It was going to be a long shift, and she was so over this assignment.

Not only had Lester, her dick-head DEA boss, not responded with info and ID on the two perps she'd now profiled for him, but he was ignoring her calls for a strategy to see this operation to an end. He'd basically left her flapping in the breeze, so screw him. Since he hadn't had Joe's back on taking down this fentanyl/xylazine ring, she'd made a decision. She no longer felt obligated to play by his rules.

During a break in her and Mike's sexual escapades the other night, she'd shared a lot with him, due to Lester's apathy.

A lot.Including access to her surveillance apps.

Just in case.

What could Lester do? Fire her? Fine. She was so over him and his douchebag ways. He'd made her job a misery. It was past time to find another gig. But one thing was certain. It wouldn't be serving cocktails and beer in a bar. Props to those who could handle this job night after night. It wasn't her idea of fun.

Joe gazed around the room and thanked God she wasn't the only server on the schedule tonight. Because it meant she didn't have to cover Melanie and Cameron's table where they sat smooching in the corner. She rolled her eyes. They were putting on the PDA, most likely for her benefit, letting her know they weren't in the least bit affected by the fact that she and Mike were seeing each other.

Joe called bullshit. She'd seen the jealousy and haughty disdain in Mel's eyes when she'd sniffed her perfect button nose over her ex-husband dating a server. Which meant Joe couldn't wait until this op was over, so she could "out" herself as a DEA agent and let bitchy little Mellie know that Mike was actually punching at his own weight class. For once.

On a positive note, Benji and Chuck were present in Joe's section tonight, and they'd chosen to sit at a four-top, which—please baby Jesus—meant they might be expecting company? Hell, yes. She'd be all over it if Mr. Nugget made an appearance. His vehicle would be bagged and tagged the first time she had a free moment.

And speaking of the unethical devils, the seated pair beckoned her over for the seventh time in a little under an hour.

"Two more, here," Chuck ordered. His words weren't slurred, but he was looking a little flushed with the amount of alcohol he'd already consumed. And Joe hadn't missed, that in his semi-inebriated state, he'd been eyeballing her with some kind of dickish gleam in his eyes.

Nothing new there. Joe had been fighting off a lot of alcohol-motivated, roaming-patron-hands tonight, which sweetly—thank you Mike—didn't include the bartender's. Wendel had been on his best behavior for the entire evening, and had even attempted a few friendly quips as he filled her orders.

Freaky.

Just as she was getting ready to ask her boss if she could take a break, Joe looked toward the door that was just opening, and did an internal fist pump. A lucky horseshoe had finally fallen into her lap. Mr. Nugget himself had walked in, accompanied by a big goon of a guy. The pair joined Benji and Chuck.

Joe wasted no time, but went right to their table. She laid out two new cocktail napkins and gave them her brightest smile. "What can I get y'all tonight?"

Mr. Nugget's cold eyes turned toward her. "Water." He clipped the single word.

The goon didn't even speak. He just shook his head.

"Okay, hon," she said agreeably. "Any more for you two?" she asked Benji and Chuck.

"No."

It was Mr. Nugget who spoke, but her two patrons who'd been tossing frosties back like near-beer, didn't argue at being cut off.

Joe went to the bar and poured a large glass of water, snagged a couple baskets of pretzels, then brought them back to the suspects' table. "Here you are," she said with a smile. "If y'all need anything else, my name is Elle."

That chore taken care of; Joe went back to the bar.

"It's break time for me," she informed Wendel, taking out and waving around a cigarette.

"Don't be too long," he advised her. "It looks like everyone's settling in and orders will be piling up."

It was the exact time of night where beer and money flowed as people got buzzed and became comfortable.

"I'll only be two shakes, boss," she replied happily, and he gave her an agreeable nod.

Joe liked this new side of Wendel; not being a dick. If Joe had known that bringing in a boyfriend would be the solution to her boss's hand problems, she would have conjured a man way sooner. Not that anybody would beat Mike in the bad-ass department, and Wendel had been smart to see that.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Joe reached into her apron and palmed the tracker she'd put there. She didn't have to light her cigarette for show, since there was no one around, while her gaze wandered the full parking lot. She noted that two of the lot-lights in the rear were currently out—which she'd tell Wendel—but she was still able to identify the sedan that Mr. Nugget had previously been driving, parked in a dark, back corner.

Yes.She'd been afraid the man might have brought different wheels tonight, but he hadn't disappointed.

Joe casually meandered through the plethora of vehicles, headed toward her target, looking around every now and then to make sure no one was lurking. Indeed, the entire population of the little town had to be inside the establishment enjoying their alcohol, because there wasn't a soul outside that she could see.

Her mind wandered as she strolled, going back to the previous evening with Mike. He'd blown her mind with how he'd made her feel. And not just physically. Oh, he'd pushed all the right buttons again and again—she snickered at those actual buttons—but it was his gruff, caring demeanor that had her tied up in knots. She was quickly becoming addicted to the man, and where would that leave her once this op was over?

Joe sighed as she walked up to the car in question, and was just about to squat to tag it when?—

What the fuck?

Someone hit her from behind

Joe fell forward, her hands slamming against the white chassis saving her from a face-plant, but…

Serendipitous.Quickly, before she turned to battle the soon-to-be-dead-man behind her, she managed to reach down and place her small tracker in the wheel-well.

That done, Joe focused her attention on whatever cocksucker was now pawing her hips with the intent to drag her body toward his.

"Cut the shit, asshole," she growled, kicking up and back with one heel. She didn't bother employing her southern accent to hiss at the guy. By the time she got finished with this prick, his bell would be rung so hard, he wouldn't remember anything.

Dammit. Her blow landed on the man's thigh. That's not where she'd been aiming, and, predictably, it did nothing to deter her assaulter. She tried again, this time centering herself before striking, and was satisfied when she got a pained grunt, and the hands clutching her hips loosened.

Dick-strike!

While the man clutched his junk, Joelle twisted to the right, thrusting back an elbow before sweeping her foot around to topple the man off his pins.

He went down hard, eating a mouthful of gravel, but before she could kick him in the head, he grabbed her ankle and held on with a determined grip.

Seriously? He was tenacious. She'd give him that. But was a piece of ass worth all that effort?

Joe wanted to get a good look at the creep, but in the dim light, she couldn't make an ID. His large physique, however… Crap. She had her suspicions that perhaps he was the large muscle-man who'd been accompanying Mr. Nugget, and if that were the case…

He lifted his head and snarled at her.

Oh, yeah. That was him alright.

Joe's blood ran cold. This wasn't good. It meant the attack wasn't random. It meant her perps had found her out somehow, and her ass was in serious trouble. She needed to get away from this prick's clutches for a hot minute and call Mike for backup.

With her free foot, she stomped on the guy's wrist, and his fingers lost their grip. She took off, weaving between cars, but before she was even five vehicles away, the cocksucker was behind her again, grabbing her by the hair. She gasped as he pulled her head back, then slammed it into the side of someone's truck.

Fuck!

She saw stars, and in her momentary muddle, her assailant wrenched her arms behind her back, holding her immobile.

Or so he thought.

Joe didn't put up an immediate fight, letting the jerk-off believe he had the upper hand while she sorted and reorganized her rattled brains.

Was he waiting for something? Someone? Joe finally felt steady enough, and wouldn't give him any additional time to gather reinforcements.

One, two, three…

Joe let her body go completely lax before ducking and spinning to the left, under the guy's elbow to break his hold before coming up behind him. In seconds, she had her left hand wrapped around his wrist and without hesitation, had his arm up against his spine, wrenching it to the point of dislocation.

He howled his dissatisfaction, and Joe gave a nasty grin as he struggled. "If you don't stop moving, we're going to pop this baby out of its socket," she told him, turning his body toward the bar. "Now we're going to walk this way, go inside, and call a friend of mine to come get you, understand?"

"An unlikely scenario," said a voice from behind her. Joe started to turn, but before she could, there was a sharp jab to her exposed skin, followed by a warmth that swiftly flowed through the veins of her neck.

"What the fuck?" she snarled, but her numbing hands were already dropping their hold on the perp she'd bested.

She turned, woozy, to see Mr. Nugget behind her, holding a syringe. A nearly empty syringe with a small amount of milky liquid still in the barrel.

"Propofol," Joe hissed.

Acutely groggy now, she realized she was losing the battle against the fast-acting drug.

"Smart," the man chuckled evilly. "But not smart enough, Miss Pikens."

Miss Pikens?

Fuck.

Nugget knew her name.

She was screwed.

Wendel sunk backinto the shadows.

Goddammit.He'd seen the four men watching with more than idle interest as Elle left the bar, and knew they were up to no good when three of them got up to follow. Wendel had called over another bartender and quickly shadowed the three outside, keeping his distance to see what would occur.

He observed as two men kept their distance, and the third, the large guy, approached Elle from the rear. He'd tackled her around the waist which sent her hands smashing into a white car, which had almost made Wendel intervene, but… What he hadn't expected was the way Elle had turned the tables on the big asshole, kicking him, then reaching back with one leg to sweep him to the ground where he hit, hard.

Wendel thought that might be the end of it; that she'd get away. But the gargantuan was quick on his feet, and was up and following her like a man who hadn't just eaten dirt.

When the thug grabbed Elle's ponytail and smashed her head into the truck, Wendel had almost stepped forward again, but before he could make a move, Elle had. He'd watched in awe as she did some fancy ducking maneuver that put her in charge and ended with her yanking the man's arm up behind his back, to the point of breaking.

Wendel winced as she turned the guy, almost feeling sorry for him. But that was when he realized things weren't going to end well for his waitress. One of the two remaining men who'd held back, snuck up behind her and jabbed a needle into her neck while she struggled ineffectually.

It might have been twenty seconds or maybe thirty before she went limp. The big guy caught her as she fell, lifted her up over his shoulder, and carried her to a white sedan, dumping her into the trunk the other guy had popped open, before slamming it shut. Then all three men got into the car and started backing out of their spot.

Shit, shit, shit!

This was beyond crazy and way over his paygrade. And it had become clear during the five-minute encounter that Elle was not as advertised. If Wendel had a guess, he'd say—especially after meeting her boyfriend—that she was some kind of undercover cop. He'd almost stepped in to help, but when things had gone to hell with the drugs being injected, Wendel backed off. Taking on one guy in a normal fight? He wouldn't have flinched. But fighting three? Getting involved with who knows what? Human traffickers? Substance smugglers?

Not happening.

What he needed to do was get an ID on the car as it drove out of the lot, then call Elle's boyfriend. But…

As Wendel took down the pertinent details of the bad-guys' car, he knew he couldn't just call the Bangor PD and ask for a lieutenant named Mike. Whoever answered the phone would want details. Then they'd send squad cars, and possibly fuck everything up since this looked like some, covert, undercover bust kind of thing Elle was running.

He needed to find this Mike dude a different way, and he knew exactly how.

Hustling back in, he first noted that the fourth man at the table was still nursing his beer, watching the door. That was something he could take care of.

He approached a table of men with whom he'd grown up. A rough crew, several of whom now logged for a living.

"Able, Chet," he greeted as he sidled up to their table. "I have a favor to ask."

"Name it Wendel, but if we agree, the next round is on you," Able laughed, then must have noticed the dead-serious look on Wendel's face, because his became equally as grave. "What?"

"You see that guy by himself at that table?" He tipped his head in the direction of the remaining man. "Can you detain him for me until the cops get here?"

"Sure."

These guys were damned good friends. They didn't hesitate, didn't ask questions. They simply got up as one, approached the probable criminal's table, and sat their asses down, making it immediately known that the man was not to move.

Wendel sighed in partial relief. One task down.

His eyes went next to the table where he knew Mike's ex-wife sat. The pair had made enough noise about their past relationship the previous night, and had even mentioned some kids, so there was no doubt the brunette would know how to get in touch with her one-time-hubby.

"Do you—" Wendel was cut off as he approached the table.

"Nope. Thanks anyway. We don't need another round," the woman replied.

"Good. Because I need some information." Wendel wasted no time. "I need to call your ex-husband and I don't have his number."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why would you want to call Mike?"

Wendel wasn't stupid. He'd seen her reaction to Elle. If he told her it was because the woman was in trouble, he doubted he'd get the information from her.

Instead, he crooked his head to the table where his buddies were surrounding the fourth suspect. "You see that man?" He pointed to the one in question. "He's wanted by the police; and your husband will be interested he's been caught. Very interested." That was no lie.

The lady's eyes got wide. "Is there a reward?"

"I wouldn't know that," Wendel huffed, incredulous.

Dammit.He understood that his grasp of human decency was sometimes skewed, but this bitch was an outright opportunist. Still, he kept his demeanor calm. "You'll have to ask your ex. When he gets here."

The woman didn't hesitate after that, but rattled off the pertinent digits.

Thank fuck.Wendel walked away and dialed.