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Only Sinners

Tory Palmer
 Copyright © 2021 Tory Palmer

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real
persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Location details have
been changed and do not reflect the city where this takes place.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,
without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456

Cover design by: Matt Rice

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
 Contents

Title Page
Copyright
About this Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
ASHES TO ASHES
Jessica
Ryder
Tommy
 About this Book
My final night in New Orleans becomes an extended trip
with three sexy former soldiers. Too bad it’s the dead girl we
found in my best friend’s bed, and not my three new lovers,
that’s keeping me in town...

It’s my last night in the city, and a spilled drink leads to dinner and
dancing with James and Griff, two former soldiers turned security
consultants. James, with his dark blond hair and pale blue eyes that
are to die for. And Griff, with his permanently tanned skin and easy
smile.

Hard-bodied, hard-eyed, and deadly as sin, these two men are

almost too much for one woman to handle. They show me one of
the wildest nights any woman has ever known, and leave me
wondering how much I’ve missed out on over the years.

Things turn dark the next morning, though, when I take James with
me to a brunch date with my friend Veronica, a sorority sister I
haven’t seen in years. Because instead of finding Veronica asleep in
her bed, we find a dead girl. And, between the girl’s dark wig and
slinky lingerie, and her having enough drugs in her to put down an
alligator, it’s pretty easy to guess what she does for a living.

Along comes Dallas, the complete a-hole of a boss for Trinity

Security Solutions’ New Orleans office. His attitude and the way he
barks orders makes me want to tear my hair out, even as his dark
green eyes and chiseled jaw makes me secretly wish he’d tear my
clothes off!
Dallas can see it as plain as we can that this isn’t any normal dead
girl, which is probably why he won’t touch my case with a ten-foot
pole. Especially when we find out that the “spa” both the dead girl
and my sorority sister work at is actually a Russian mob owned
brothel!

Now, I’m in a desperate race to track down Veronica before her

Russian employers can, and I’ll need all the help I can get if I want
to find her first. James and I convince his boss to let Trinity ride to
my rescue, but there’s one concession he and Griff have to make
before Dallas agrees to take the contract: “no sleeping with the
newest client.”

But, as we dig deeper and deeper into the case, we realize that
Veronica is gone, and in danger, for even bigger reasons than any of
us ever could have imagined.

On top of that, Dallas and I both soon realize that not even the boss
of Trinity Security can obey his own orders!

Can we save Veronica? Can we pull her from the fate of her own
decisions?

Or will we all have to pay the price for her mistakes?

Because, New Orleans might be the place where the saints go

marching in. But, as far as the men of Trinity Security and I are
concerned, this sinking city on the Big Muddy is a city of only
sinners.
 Chapter One
Angela

There I was, watching the readout on the elevator as it displayed

the bright-red digital floor numbers in reverse order.
Nine, eight, seven…
Know what’s the only thing worse than nearly five days of
commercial real estate lectures and keynote speakers?
It wasn’t the over-priced, under-seasoned, dry food. Or the
constant exchange of business cards.
…six, five, four…
Hell, it wasn’t even the real estate developers who kept hitting
on me while wearing their clearly visible wedding rings. Or the way
they stared at my breasts, even though I didn’t really even show off
any skin. Or how there was, despite my having left the land of the
bottled blonde and returning to my natural hair color a long time
ago, a hint of recognition in their eyes as their gaze finally reached
mine.
They’d seen me before, they realized. But where?
Then, another flash, and I knew it had dawned on them exactly
where they’d seen me.
And it wasn’t how that revelation just made things worse, made
their eyes seem to linger for even longer as their smiles widened. As
if I owed them something, just because they saw me one time in a
movie.
…three...
Even now, with that life entirely behind me, a revolted tremor
goes through me whenever I think about those guys. With the way
some of them inevitably leered at me, you’d have thought I was
topless in my scene, and not just eating an ice cream cone.
And, no, it definitely wasn’t the cheap booze at every vendor
booth.
If anything, the margarita machines and liberal champagne
pours approached being an upside. And I say even that with a bit of
recalcitrance.
After all, is something really an upside when it’s actually
necessary? It’s almost like when your cold medication makes you
loopy.
…two…
No, none of that was the worst. Not by a long shot.
The worst part of it all was where this convention was being
held.
Not Atlanta, not Dallas, not Houston. Not some city relatively
boring, sedate.
Lame.
Because that? That I might have been able to handle. After all,
it’s not like I’d be missing anything by being stuck at the convention.
…one…
But no.
No, the convention location had to be a city known for its
architecture, its history, its food, its booze, its music, its culture, and
so many other things I was probably forgetting.
Bing!
New Orleans.
And there I was. Hitching my purse higher on my shoulder,
stepping through the elevator’s lobby doors at the Hilton Riverside
on my last night. I was so completely over it all that I was actually
looking forward to my flight back home to Des Moines.
To my empty apartment. My lack of a love life. My tedium.
True, I did get to see Veronica, one of my oldest girlfriends. But
that wasn’t till brunch the next day. After that?
Nothing but flying the friendly skies.
Do you know how bad a convention has to be for someone to
look forward to a business class flight back to the middle of
nowhere? Do you have any concept of how grueling an event needs
to be, that people are actually looking forward to being bored? To
flying back to the normal expanse of grey that is their painfully
mundane adult life?
Hell, even my boss had bailed on me at the last minute! And I
thought misery loved company!
I made a beeline for the bar. Because, what else was I going to
do? I’d been bored to tears for the last few days, and I was infected
with that bone-deep exhaustion that somehow also made you
restless and anxious. It had probably been being cooped up in either
the convention center or the hotel, running back and forth like a rat
in a lab experiment.
The hotel lounge was quiet. Smooth, even. Soft piano music
played somewhere, and the lights were low and dimmed. Booths
crowded with men and women in business attire dotted the
surrounding edges.
More of the same.
Two tables, both only large enough for an intimate couple, were
unoccupied.
Perfect. Who cared that I was only one half of that couple?
“Lagavulin,” I said to the bartender as I squeezed between two
different groups at the bar. “Neat. Water on the side.”
From the way their eyebrows went up, my order got the
attention of two guys off to my right. They looked like your standard
real estate developer bros. Same haircuts, nearly the same outfits.
Just the type I’d been trying to avoid this entire convention.
I had to resist the urge to drum my acrylics on the granite bar
top as their eyes turned towards me.
“Scotch, huh?” asked one bro, leaning back to look me over.
From the sound of his voice, he liked what he saw, despite the black,
knee-length skirt I was wearing. “My kind of woman.”
Not that I cared.
“Yep,” I replied in a sweetly sarcastic voice as I rolled my eyes,
tried to ignore both him and the feel of my skin trying to crawl off
me. “Because that’s all it takes to be someone’s type.”
His friend snickered.
 Maybe the bartender sensed my anxiousness, or perhaps he
was just prompt and good at his job, but he had my drink in front of
me in record time. I gave him my room number and grabbed my two
glasses before the bro, or his brosef, could say anything else in reply.
Glasses in front of me, I backed out of the small gap and spun
on one toe, made a perfectly smooth and graceful exit.
Until I didn’t.
“Jesus!” the man said in surprise as my glass of distilled, peaty
deliciousness went splashing across the front of his dark blue dress
shirt, luckily missing his charcoal suit coat.
“Oh my God!” I said, mouth open as I looked down at my now-
empty glass. I looked to the still-full water glass in my other hand,
then back to him, and to the top of his dark-blond head.
He was looking down at his shirt in shock, his hand brushing
away at the wet spot I’d suddenly left. “Dammit,” he said, again
brushed his hand over the offending wetness.
Frantic, mortified, and flushing with embarrassment, I turned
back to the bar and set my glasses aside, returned with a measly
couple of cocktails napkins to try and dab away the liquor. I must
have been in shock from the whole thing, because, before I even
knew what I was doing, I was already brushing his hands out of the
way as my purse bounced and jounced against my side.
“I am so sorry!” I said, dabbing at his shirt’s damp front, despite
the fact that I was pretty sure I wasn’t doing any good. At first, the
only thing I could think of was how lucky I was that he wasn’t
wearing a tie! That would have just made this worse!
“So, so sorry!”
But, wow! Shocked, or not, it was impossible not to notice how
broad and firm his chest was. I found myself swallowing hard as I
realized he could probably, in a pinch, use his own abs to wash his
shirt if he didn’t have a clean one back upstairs in his room.
“Hey, hey,” he said, his voice more calm and soothing than it
should have been, “don’t worry. Seriously, it’s fine.”
I glanced up as he spoke, met his heavy-lidded, faded-blue eyes
with my own.
 And the frantic pace of the world around me seemed to stop.
Or, at least, to pause, to take a deep breath and hold it within
burning, yearning lungs.
His eyes were the kind of blue I’d seen out at the horizon when
I’d glanced out my hotel window. Where the sky met the gulf and
seemed to blend into the great expanse of the sea.
But it wasn’t just the gorgeousness of the color that made his
eyes standout. No, there was something intense about them. A kind
of world weariness and distance, but mixed with a desire to grab life
by the reins.
Absolutely nothing like those two real estate bros behind me, or
anywhere else in this convention. Or back in Des Moines. Or even in
LA, where I’d grown up. Sure, there were plenty of handsome guys
out there, and I’m sure more than a few had that same kind of
confident intensity.
With them, though, I just knew it was unearned.
Even worse, there was more to him than just his eyes and
muscular body. No, there were high cheekbones, full lips, and a jaw
that could crush coal into diamonds.
I realized I was biting my lower lip as my eyes remained locked
on his, and the world continued to creep by like it was frozen in tar.
Then his eyes narrowed and he wrinkled his nose.
“Scotch?”
My eyes went up in surprise.
“Lagavulin,” I said with a wince. “Sorry.”
“No, no.” He chuckled, shook his head. The corner of his full
mouth curled up in that sexy smile some guys can pull off. “I think I
should be apologizing to you, then. It’s not like I’m the designated
driver, anyways.”
“Apologize for what?”
“Getting in the way. Feel like I owe you a drink, especially when
the one you spilled was that pricey.”
Still biting my lower lip, I smiled up at him. “You really don’t
have to do that,” I said. “I can just fudge my expense reports. You’re
the one who’s going to have to pay for dry cleaning.”
“True. Plus, I’m going to have to go to the car to change shirts.”
 “Not back to your room?” I blinked in surprise. “You’re a local,
then?”
“I know,” he replied. “Odd to find one of us hanging out in a
hotel bar, isn’t it?”
“A little,” I said with a chuckle.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you buy my second drink, and we’ll
call it even?”
“Not your first?”
“Where’s the fun in just having one?” He nodded past me to the
bartender. “Hey, Mike, two bourbons, neat.” He stepped into the gap
I’d occupied moments before. Where I’d squeezed between the two
parties, though, for him they parted as if they were the Red Sea and
his name started with the letter “M.”
I must have looked shocked when he glanced back at me,
because he quickly clarified with a shake of his head: “They’re not
both for me. I swear.”
The bartender, Mike apparently, was already pouring the drinks.
Two bourbons, and, to my surprise, another Lagavulin. “On the
house,” Mike said, sliding my replacement towards me, then taking
cash from the stranger.
“Oh,” I said, blinking in surprise as I took the offered drink from
the stranger.
Our fingers brushed, and I again realized I was biting my lip as I
glanced up to meet those dreamy, faded-blue eyes and cocky curl of
a smile.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing both glasses of whiskey before
brushing past me. “My buddy and I are over here in one of the
booths.”
And, just like that, I was swallowing hard as I followed after this
handsome stranger. Gliding through the dim light and across the
thick carpet, I was amazed that only moments before I’d been
craving a quiet drink by myself.
Oh, how trajectories change!
He didn’t glance back to see if I was following him. Or maybe
he did. Who knows? Now, a few feet distant, I could actually take
him all in, and I was so focused on his well-built backside and tree
trunk legs that I would have missed a hurricane blowing through
and ruining the lounge’s murmuring quiet.
My handsome stranger slid into a circular booth, revealing
another man as he stopped filling my field of view. A couple years
older, maybe, and wearing the same neutral business clothes as his
friend, the other man was already looking my way with light, honey-
brown eyes. At his feet beneath the table rested a soft briefcase
made of black leather.
At a glance, they looked like a complete odd couple, despite
their similar dress. Where the stranger I was following was blond
and longer haired, this new one’s dark, nearly black hair was short
and better manicured.
“Griff,” the stranger began, “meet…” Trailing off, he stopped
half-way down the booth bench, looked back to me with a laugh.
“Damn. I was so busy getting your drink spilled on me I didn’t even
catch your name.”
“It’s okay,” I said, smiling as I slid in right after him, met Griff’s
honey-brown eyes for a split second before returning to my still
unnamed stranger’s. “Angela.” I put my purse down on the bench
seat, between me and the stranger. “Angela Dawson.”
That was my given name, but not the one so much of the world
knew me under. All those guys who leered upon recognizing me?
They knew me as Angela Deaver, my stage name. Not that they
remembered my name all that often. I was just, “That one girl,
right? With the ice cream cone?”
“James Coronado,” the first stranger said, that curl intensifying
as he nodded to his friend without breaking eye contact. “And, of
course, Griff.”
“A pleasure,” Griff said in a deep, purring voice as he raised his
whiskey glass to his lips. His skin was more weathered, and his
complexion nearly matched the tawny whiskey he lifted to his
mouth. The tan across his face and neck was deep and full, though,
more natural than even someone who laid out to get theirs. If he
weren’t wearing a suit coat, I’d almost have guessed he was a ranch
hand in a previous life, or some kind of tradesman that spent all day
working out under the baking sun.
 Griff set the whiskey glass back on the table, and his hands and
fingers looked rough and practiced. Definitely not the hands of some
office drone.
“You in town for the convention, Angela?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Kind of a waste, if you ask me,” Griff continued. “They let you
guys out of your pen to free-roam, or were you stuck down here the
whole time?”
“I was actually thinking the same thing,” I said with a chuckle,
glass part of the way to my lips, “but only that we were rats in a lab
experiment.”
Griff smiled. It was a broader smile than James’s, and I caught
a flash of even, white teeth. “I guess that’s a ‘no,’” he replied.
“That’s a damn shame,” James said.
I shrugged. “It is what it is. I mean, this is a work trip, after all.”
“True,” Griff said. “But even work needs to have a dash of
pleasure.”
I lifted the scotch. “Does this count?”
Both men chuckled, exchanged glances.
“It is pretty good scotch,” James said, his body shifting ever so
slightly beneath the table. He hadn’t moved all the way down, or
even to the middle, and I imagined I could feel his legs and knees
crowding nearer to mine.
Which, believe me, I did not mind! Every inch closer he came,
the tension seemed to ratchet up higher and higher.
“When do you fly out?” he asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
“So there’s still time,” he said, that curled smile still at the
corner of his full lips, taunting me.
“Still time? For what?”
“To see the city. Go wandering. Try to soak up some of the
culture.”
I tilted my head from side-to-side, weighing his words with the
physical gesture. “True,” I said. “I guess there still is. I mean, I’m
meeting up with one of my girlfriends that lives here.”
 “I’m going to assume from your lack of a drinking companion
that meeting isn’t tonight, though.”
“No, tomorrow morning.” I smiled. “Or, well, around noon. The
brunching hour.”
“Is that like the witching hour, but for white girls who like
mimosas?”
“So, white girls?” I asked with a laugh. “Yeah, something like
that. But, far as I know, it extends into our thirties.”
“That’s a shame,” Griff said, leaning back in the booth. “Miss out
on the night life like that.”
“Well, she had plans,” I said with a shrug. “Part of growing up, I
guess.”
“Well, we don’t,” James said. “Have plans that is.”
“Even with your being all dressed up?”
“Just meeting a client, that’s all,” Griff said with a chuckle. “And,
no, that part of work is done and put to bed.”
“Well, it is a hotel, after all.” I paused and, a split second later,
glanced to both of them as I remembered where exactly I was–a
real estate convention.
Oh no. Good looking, or not, locals, or not, the last thing I
wanted was to end up talking shop with a couple real estate guys all
night. I didn’t care how handsome they were.
“Wait,” I said, laying both hands flat to either side of my scotch
as I looked back and forth between. “You guys aren’t meeting some
real estate developer here, are you?”
Both men exchanged wide-eyed looks, shook their heads. “God
no,” James said, glanced again to his friend. “What about you, Griff?
You didn’t get your real estate license when I wasn’t looking, did
you? You moonlighting on us?”
Chuckling as he took another sip of his whiskey, he simply
shook his head. “If I am, it’s news even to me.”
“Oh, thank God,” I said with a long sigh. “Seriously.”
“That bad?”
I glanced around the bar before leaning in close, almost
conspiratorially. When I spoke, my voice was lower than before: “I’m
just so over it. You have no idea.”
 “I think I do,” Griff said. “We might not be real estate
developers, but we still have conventions to attend.”
“Well, I don’t,” James said, that curling smile looking so enticing
as he leaned in closer to me before continuing. “They leave me at
home.”
“That’s because you’re barely presentable most of the time,”
Griff replied.
“I dunno,” I said, glancing over to James. “He looks presentable
enough to me.”
“Oh, he cleans up well enough. But his language. He cusses like
a sailor on shore leave when his annoyance levels kick in.”
“Not my fault half our prospective clients are fucking idiots.”
There was something about the two of them. It wasn’t like they
were just professional colleagues, whatever their profession might
have been. No, they were more like old friends who had gone into
business together. Clearly, their history and rapport ran deep, and I
found myself grinning as I glanced from one man to the next,
following their quick barbs.
“See what I mean? Can’t take him anywhere.”
“Only because my Aunt Jane taught me not to suffer fools.”
“Still doesn’t explain why you get to make me suffer with your
foolishness.”
“Ever thought you fell into that category?”
“Even if I did, God still loves me.”
“He loves drunks, too.”
“That’s a good point. You should order another round.”
“Shouldn’t we eat, first? Been a long day.”
“Yeah,” Griff said with a nod as he checked his watch. “Good
point.” It was a simple, black leather band, but he wore it so that the
face was on the inside of his arm and he had to flip up his wrist to
see the time. It wasn’t necessarily something you saw every day,
that was for sure. “Getting late.”
My stomach rumbled, almost on cue. A polite rumbling, to be
sure. But still a rumble, nonetheless. “Oh,” I said, glancing back to
the bar. “I guess we should grab some menus, then...”
 James’s snort caused me to pause and look back to him,
eyebrow raised. “What?”
“You’re seriously in New Orleans,” he began, “and just got
finished talking about how you feel like a rat in a maze—”
“A lab rat,” Griff interjected. “She said lab rat.”
James rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I was close.” He fixed me
with those gorgeous eyes of his, and I could see them flashing in the
dimness of the bar. “You going to tell me you want to eat here at the
hotel? Come on, Angela, you can do better than that.”
“I...” I looked to Griff as I trailed off, noticed that he was only a
few sips away from finishing his bourbon.
Here it was. The opportunity to break out of my rut. To find the
local culture I’d been craving, had been bemoaning missing out on.
And with not just one handsome escort… but two?
“How about this?” Griff asked, shifting to reach into his back
pocket. He pulled out a small business card holder, slipped out a
little piece of linen card stock and placed it flat on the table. He took
a pen from his breast pocket, wrote something on the back before
sliding it part of the way towards me.
“Why don’t you catch an Uber and meet us there, if you’re
interested?”
I took the card from him, dragged it over in front of me.
Griffin Masters.
Trinity Security Solutions.
Executive Protection Consultant.
I flipped it over, saw the name of the restaurant he’d printed, all
in tight caps.
“Executive protection?” I asked, glancing up at him, then over
to James. Both men were finishing their whiskeys, going to rise.
“What are you guys? Bodyguards?”
Because I had a body they could guard, and I didn’t care which
one did the guarding…
“Sometimes,” Griff said as he stood up from the booth, giving
me my first full view of him. He was tall as James, but even stockier.
“But general security is our wheelhouse.” He nodded to the card in
front of me. “If you’re interested, that’s where we’ll be.”
 “Have a feeling we’ll see you there,” James added as he slid
around to Griff’s side of the bench seat and went to stand.
“Oh?” I asked, glancing up at him. “What gives you that
impression?”
“You still owe me a drink,” he replied with a wink and that cocky
curl of a smile.
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I instead ended up biting my lip
again as I glanced from him to his friend, and back again. Going out
with two guys tonight? Both of them handsome and smooth? In a
strange town? I bit my lip harder, swallowed as I looked back to him.
“You’re really going to hold me to that, aren’t you?”
“What do you think?” James grinned, touched two fingers to his
brow in a kind of mock salute. “Hopefully, you always pay your
debts.” Both men were turning and leaving before the words had
even finished leaving his mouth.
Suddenly, I was sitting there. All alone.
Fake laughter filled the air, undercutting the serenity of the soft
piano music.
No one but me, the business card in front of me, and a bar full
of real estate bros I couldn’t stand.
I looked around the table, to the empty seats. Then, back to
Mike at the bar.
All I had if I stayed here was another glass of scotch to look
forward to, and maybe a long night of fending off advances from
guys I’d rather beat with a stick than actually let touch me.
But if I took that ride share? If I actually met them at the
restaurant?
Who knows what could happen… Who knew what kind of
adventure I could get into.
I bit my lower lip again as I looked down at my phone, which I
hadn’t even realized I’d grabbed from my purse. I was already
unlocking it as I clutched it in my hands.
Which was it going to be? An early night, then maybe brunch
tomorrow with Veronica?
Or adventure?
I took a deep breath as I began to pull up the Lyft app.
Adventure.
Definitely adventure.
Oh, how trajectories change!
Now, the only choice I had to make was which guy I liked more.
James?
Or Griff?
Decisions, decisions.
 Chapter Two
James

The three of us laughed our way through dinner, even if we looked

as out of place in the small hole-in-a-wall restaurant as thumbs on a
chicken.
The food was perfect. Spicy crawfish étouffée, thick gumbo,
blackened redfish, red beans and rice despite it not being a Monday.
All of it washed down with frosty mugs of Abita.
Which was great. Otherwise, it would have been a Katrina-sized
disappointment for Angela, especially with the way Griff and I had
been talking about the New Orleans nightlife that she was missing
out on. The ambiance was perfect, too. Far from the tourist trap
places, it was mostly locals, both new and old.
The only thing that made the ambiance better?
Angela.
Goddamn, she was beautiful. That long, dark, wavy hair. Those
gorgeous hazel eyes that seemed to twinkle like the few stars
hanging over the nighttime city. That waist that looked perfect for
my hands.
Disappointing her was the last thing I wanted. Not with a smile
or laugh like that. Or gorgeous, full lips like hers. No, she had a
classic beauty you hardly saw. So classic, in fact, I could have sworn
I’d seen her before.
But, no. A woman as gorgeous as Angela would stick out in my
memory.
I’d always considered myself lucky. Luckier than most, even with
the string of disappointments, setbacks, and poor decisions I’d made
in my past. But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so lucky
to have a scotch spilled on me.
“How long have you guys been coming here?” Angela asked
between bites, bringing me back to reality.
“Uh, since I hit town again,” I said. “I grew up around here, but
spent some time overseas.”
“We both did,” Griff said. “Spent time overseas, I mean.”
“Doing what?”
“Military,” I said. I nodded to Griff. “Army, to be precise. Both of
us.”
“Oh.” She looked between us, as if she were unsure of what her
reaction should be. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever really met
anyone who served.” She paused, twisted her mouth to the side.
“If you’re wondering if you should thank us for our service,”
Griff began.
“Don’t,” I said, finishing for him. “Please don’t.”
“Really?”
“It was a job,” Griff said. “Same as any other. Sure, it was awful
sometimes, but we knew what we were signing up for.”
“Yeah,” I continued. “Trust me, we got plenty of it when they
forced us to fly somewhere wearing our ACUs.”
“I’ll hold off, then,” she said with a smile, and another of those
adorable bites of her lower lip. She cleared her throat, glanced
between us again. “So, did you two serve together, or something? Is
that how you know each other?”
Griff laughed. “No, not exactly. I would’ve drummed his ass out
of the service in a heartbeat, if it was up to me.”
“Oh really?” I asked, even as Angela laughed. “You ain’t got a
problem with me, now. What makes you think you would have when
I was serving?”
“Who says I don’t have a problem with you now?” he asked
right back, his smile telling me he was only half-joking.
We could have gone back and forth like this for hours. When
you’re stuck at sea, or on a FOB, or in the barracks, banter is what
you have. Bullshitting. It’s that, cards, and video games. And I was
never really a big fan of games.
 Besides, Griff was the best wingman I’d ever had. In a tourist
city like New Orleans, where people come from all over the country
to let their hair down for the weekend, or week, you catch plenty of
women who are looking for a wild night of fun. And he and I were
both more than happy to oblige. Either separate, or together.
After all, when you’re stuck at sea, or on a FOB, or in the
barracks, you learn to share. And Griff and I had, on more than one
occasion, figured out how much fun sharing could really be.
“Hold on, hold on,” Angela said before Griff could respond. “You
guys are getting off topic already.”
“We were on a topic?” I asked with a sly smile.
“Yes!” Angela said with a laugh, her hazel eyes bright and
glimmering. “How did you two meet?”
“Oh! Right!” Griff said. “Know anything about Somalia?”
“It’s in Africa?”
“Well, Somali pirates, more specifically,” I added.
“Like that movie Captain Phillips?” she asked, glancing between
us.
I nodded. “Exactly like that.”
“Something tells me you two weren’t pirates.”
I grinned. “No. No rum or pillaging for us.” Or booty, I silently
added. Not on those long voyages, that was for damned sure. Like I
said, though, we’d had our fair share since my returning home to the
Big Easy.
“Well, we were the guys eventually stationed on those container
ships to stop the pirates,” Griff said. “Private military contractors
hired by the freight companies to make sure their cargo got safely
around the Horn of Africa. James and the LT and I all did it for a few
years.”
“So, is that how you know the owner?” Angela asked, looking
back and forth between us. “Did he work with you guys, too?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, never really worked with
him. Just know him from growing up, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” Griff said, grinning. “They go way back. Didn’t you two
boost—” A sharp swear cut off his words as he reached beneath the
table for his shin.
 I’d kicked him without even bothering to look his way.
Angela laughed, looked back to me. “You two did what exactly?”
Her eyes were twinkling and sparkling as if she’d found a new toy.
“Come on, you can tell me.”
I sighed, shook my head. “It’s really not important. Trust me.
It’s my past, that’s all.”
“Well, we’ve all got a past we’re not exactly proud of,” she
replied, still smiling.
“Oh?” I asked. “You say that with some semblance of authority.”
She shrugged. “We all make bad decisions when we’re younger,
that’s all I mean. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Yeah,” Griff said, still wincing as he rubbed at his shin. “Listen
to the woman, James. And stop kicking people for stating facts.”
I sighed again. “If you really want to know, Cedric and I used to
boost cars.” I glanced towards Griff. “Happy?”
“Boost cars?” she asked, looking between us. “You mean like
stealing them?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Mostly just to take them on joy rides, or to get
around town.” I grinned. “This was before Uber.”
“Guess I was wrong. Maybe you were one of those pirates?” she
asked with a chuckle. “Is that why you ended up joining the Army?
Running from your crimes, or something?”
“Kind of? Judge gave me a choice between the service or
Angola—”
“Prison,” Griff helpfully added with a smile.
Rather than delivering another kick beneath the table, I shot
him a look. He lifted his hands in apology. I looked back to Angela.
“He acted like he was doing me a favor,” I said, “but it wasn’t
like it was much of a choice. He made it sound like they’d teach me
some kind of discipline, or how to be an upstanding citizen.”
“Spoiler,” Griff said between bites. “It didn’t.”
Angela laughed.
“Griff’s lying.”
“Well, it did teach you not to steal cop cars anymore.”
“It was one time,” I said.
“One time you got caught,” he replied.
 “I hardly ever break the law,” I said, looking back to Angela and
giving her a wink.
“Unless a client’s paying,” Griff added, pushing his plate away
from him. He’d packed it away, same as I had. With the amount we
worked out, even with our basic calisthenics, we had a pretty big
caloric deficit to meet.
I rolled my eyes from him to the ceiling, settled them back on
the gorgeous, dark-haired beauty in front of me. “He’s acting like
he’s completely un-besmirched and innocent in that regard.”
“Seriously,” she said, looking from me to Griff, and back again,
“what am I going to do with you two? You’re horrible.”
From beneath raised eyebrows, I glanced to Griff. “Well, you
could go out and have a drink with us? There’s a spot just up the
way that’s got some live music.”
“Jazz,” Griff said.
“Oh? I can’t just buy your second drink here?”
“No, no, no,” I said, shaking my head. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because Griff’s already paying for dinner.”
Now, it was Angela’s turn to raise her eyebrows and look
towards him. “Oh? Is that so?”
Griff grumbled, nodded. “Unfortunately.”
“And to what do we owe that pleasure?”
“Because he bet me you wouldn’t show up.” Smiling, I glanced
towards my buddy. “Oh ye of little faith.”
“What can I say?” Griff replied as Angela laughed and shook her
head. “I’m a pessimist at heart.”
“See? That’s what always thinking the glass is half empty will
get you. The tab.”
“Better than Dallas,” he said. He looked towards Angela. “Dallas
is our boss.”
“Oh? What’s wrong with him?”
“Well, whereas I’m a glass half full kind of guy,” I said. “And
Griff is a glass half empty kind of guy…”
“Dallas thinks the water in the glass is probably piss.”
 Angela snorted. “Well, guys, he’s probably been right at least
once or twice in his lifetime.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” I replied. “We’ll never hear
the end of it.”
“Now I’m just thinking of Dallas drinking piss,” Griff said, shifting
to get his money from his back pocket. He flagged down the
waitress, got our check. A few minutes later, I was shouting my
goodbyes and thanks to Cedric, and we were heading down the
block towards the Blue Danube Balcony Club with me on the street-
side of the sidewalk and Angela sandwiched between us.
The area we’d brought Angela to was technically Marigny, just
down the river from the French Quarter. It still had a similar
architectural feel to a place like Bourbon Street, but here we could
dodge the crowds that paralyzed the tourist part of town.
But, even if we weren’t in the Quarter, you still got the regular
types.
“Hey, man, bet I know where you got them shoes at,” said one
guy to me, trying to stop us as we were about to cross the road. He
had a couple friends with him, all lanky looking guys who looked like
they’d be perfectly capable of intimidating a tourist or two.
“Wait, what?” Angela asked, hauling herself up short.
“Know exactly where I got ‘em at, man,” I said, grinning at the
guy as I put my hand on her arm, kept guiding her along our path.
“Right on my feet.”
His face fell as Griff and his friends all laughed.
“I don’t get it,” Angela said, looking back and forth between me
and my friend, a confused look on her face.
“It’s a tourist tax,” Griff said, leaning in close from her other
side. “Tourists think it’s an easy bet, thinking he means he knows
where they bought their shoes, and then his buddies lean on the
rube to pay when he tells them where they actually are.”
“It’s like when some guys come down here or Bourbon,” I said,
glancing down at her. “They come running up when you’re parking,
tell you it’s ten bucks for the spot. It’s all bullshit. Think Three-card
Monte.”
 “It’s all part of the hustle,” Griff said as Angela looked back to
him. “City runs on tourists.”
“But not everybody’s got a shop, restaurant, or band.”
“So,” he followed up, “tourist tax.”
“I’m amazed. Free dinner, and street tips?” Angela asked,
hooking her arms through both of ours as we continued down the
sidewalk. “Talk about a two-for-one.”
Laughing and smiling, Griff and I exchanged looks over the top
of Angela’s head.
Two-for-one? Maybe if all three of us were lucky.
Still telling her about the city, and exchanging plenty of jokes,
we dodged the flower sellers and other street hustlers as we made
our way down the last block. More deep than wide, Blue Danube
was a two-story building. The first floor was nothing but walls and
sealed off windows with concert bills pasted and pinned across the
front. A wide balcony fronted the second floor, like many of the bars
and clubs in this part of the city, and there were a handful of patrons
dotting the railing as they smoked cigarettes and downed drinks.
Griff knew the door guy, and he let us pass with nothing more
than a wave and a fist bump.
“My God!” Angela shouted over the music as we stopped at the
coat check. “It’s loud!”
“That’s why we’re going upstairs,” I replied, finger pointed to
the ceiling.
Belongings checked in, we made our way through the crowd
and loud music, headed to a back stairwell. Even with the door open
behind us, leaving the main room halved the volume. Stepping from
the bass and heat of the crowd was like emerging from a pool of
warm water. Griff led the way up the wrapping stairs, and I brought
up the rear behind Angela as we climbed to the more intimate
balcony club.
I won’t lie. I’d been hard pressed to keep my eyes off Angela
since the moment I saw her. But, now, to have her climbing the
steps in front of me? It was all I could do to keep a groan from
climbing out of my throat.
 Even worse, Angela’s conservative business skirt and heels left
just enough to the imagination to make me want more. Throw on
top of that the impression that she was swinging her hips a little
more than normal, just to make me suffer?
She glanced back as we rounded the first stretch of stairs.
There was no way she hadn’t caught me following the pendulous
sway of her backside, but all she had on her face was a smile as my
eyes traveled to hers. Eyebrow raised, she seemed to ask without
any words:
“Like what you see?”
Hopefully, my curled smile was enough nonverbal answer for
her.
The upstairs club was smaller, more intimate. Barely a fraction
of a fraction of downstairs, it was little more than a bar, a stage,
booths around the edges, and a dance floor. The jazz band was
working it, playing softer and lower than their friends downstairs,
and a few of the couples up here were out on the floor. The rest
were sequestered away in the side booths, curled beneath the dim
red and yellow lights as if we were in an opium den.
Downstairs was more of the singles mixer meat market and,
most of the times I’d been to Blue Danube with Griff, we’d stayed
down there. Just more of our scene, mainly because we were
looking for unattached women.
Soon as we were through the door, Griff disappeared to the
restroom, leaving me alone with Angela for a moment.
“You’re not going to keep putting off letting me buy you that
drink, are you?” she asked as we reached the bar. Her flank was
nearly pressed against mine, and I could practically taste her smile
as she looked up at me.
This part of the bar was intimate, but not nearly so much that
we had to be this close together.
“No,” I said. “Unless you’re enjoying the tease.”
She bit her lower lip again, turned her attention to the
bartender as he approached. “Two bourbons,” she said. “Neat.”
“What about you?” I asked, mildly surprised.
 “What about me?” she replied with a touch of her melodic
laughter. “Griff’s driving, remember? This one’s mine.”
“Good point,” I said, grabbing the drink as the bartender slid it
across. I leaned in closer to her as she brought the glass to her lips.
“Shame we ordered our drinks already. I was going to ask you to
dance.”
Glass still at her lips, she paused. “Dance to jazz?” she asked.
“People really do that?”
“We do here,” I said, nodding past her to the couples on the
dance floor.
She smiled around the glass’s lip as she tipped it back, surprised
me as she took a bigger swallow that I’d assumed she would.
I was so surprised, in fact, I left my own glass of bourbon
sitting there on the bar, untouched.
She nodded to the glass in front of me as she set hers down.
“Well?” she asked. “What’re you waiting for, handsome?”
I smiled as I realized I needed to remember that–to not
underestimate her. I grabbed the glass, downed it in one go. The
liquor was all burning warmth, liquid heat, and languid pepperiness
on the front and back end as it swam down my throat. The warmth
spread like oil over water through my body, and I took a deep breath
as I offered the crook of my arm to her.
“Shall we?”
“Only if you hold my phone and wallet.”
We moved out onto the small dance floor. The band was a
quintet. Sax, trumpet, piano, drums, and an upright bass. They were
already a few bars into something that sounded like a riff on “Stomp
Look and Listen” by the time my hands held hers. An instrumental, it
was a faster number you could really move to.
“I’m kind of surprised,” Angela said as she came back in from a
spin.
“At what?”
“That you can dance!”
I laughed. “I grew up dancing. Not like this, but with the second
lines coming through the neighborhood. Lots of stomping, clapping,
moving to the music.”
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