Rebecca Zanetti: Sweet Revenge

“No mention of a problem on any police forces or news outlets.” Shane sighed. “They covered up the scene quickly.”

Which meant the commander had new resources in the government. Terrific. “Are you sure the woman is here?” Matt asked.

“Yes. We finally traced her to Charmed, but we don’t know who she is. I’ve narrowed it down to a family practitioner, a veterinarian’s assistant, or the coroner.” Shane clicked more keys. “My money is on the coroner.”

The woman they hunted had been a top-rated surgeon and biochemist before disappearing and hiding. Chances were she was still cutting into people. Most surgeons couldn’t let go of playing God. “I’ll boot up my laptop tonight and have you send me the files.” Matt’s gaze caught on a HELP WANTED, PAY PLUS BOARD sign in the window. “I may have found my cover while in town.”

“Good. She went by the name of Doctor Peters while working for the organization, but I haven’t discovered her real name yet. When she went to work for the commander, they wiped her past.”

Yeah. The commander was a master at making reality disappear. “Keep on it,” Matt said.

“I will. Stay in touch, Mattie.” The line went dead.

Matt rubbed his chin, his gaze on Laney. Pouring a glass of water, he maneuvered over to her. Now all he had to do was get her to hire him.

Laney slowly opened her eyes and tried to ignore the bar swirling around her. What in the world?

A man stood over her, and her memories crashed back.

She shot up, her hand going to her aching head. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

The low rumble of his voice matched his battle-scarred chest. A tattoo of some type of symbol gracefully decorated the area above his heart. Even with two pristine bandages, old wounds lived among the hard ridges and ripped muscles. And the guy was ripped .

A warning flutter rippled through her abdomen. She kept a line of sight on the exits. This is what happened when her routine was interfered with, damn it. Her bouncer and main waitress had eloped the previous week, leaving her high and dry… and on deck to close the bar at night.

A pounding set up in her temples at even thinking of the next two weeks. She and Smitty, the bartender, would never survive the rush of bikers riding through town. Desperation swirled through her brain.

Her visitor cleared his throat. “You’re drifting off, sweetheart,” he said.

Her gaze swung back to the injured soldier. Actually, she was heading for a full-on panic attack at the stressful nights still coming her way. “Um, I’m fine.” Though being alone with the muscled stranger might negate that assurance.

As if he’d read her mind, he set a glass of water on the pool table and took several steps back. Giving her space.

“Drink,” he said.

Not a man of many words, was he? She took the glass and sipped, allowing the water to cool her heated throat. The pool table was surprisingly comfortable, the gaze studying her, not so much. She knew better than to let strangers into her business when she was there alone late at night. “Who are you?”

“Matt Dean.” He rubbed a hand through his shaggy hair.

He still had dried blood on his impressive abs, and she shoved down the panic rising inside her. The mere sight of blood made her pass out within seconds. She shook her head and tried to focus. The man didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt her. If he had, her passing out would have been a prime opportunity. Even so, she eyed him for possible weapons. “Why are you in town?”

He shrugged. “After the marines, I decided to tour the country for a while. I find nice places to visit, work for a bit, and move on afterward.”

Sad. The guy was obviously running from old horrors. “Is it working? I mean, the traveling?” Maybe she should take off and just run.

“Yes.”

The blood disappeared as his physique took center stage. Wow. Strong, broad, and naturally cut, his body defined male . Intriguing gray eyes studied her with a knowing intelligence. The new warmth drifting through her veins had nothing to do with caution. Tension emanated around him with the promise of fire and passion.

The kind of guy who’d burn a girl, but it’d be worth it.

He gestured toward the sign in the window. “You need help?”

Always, and right now from her own libido. “Um, no.” Hell yes, she needed help. But from a wounded soldier who veiled his expression so well? She had enough problems. “Thanks, though.”

He grinned, and the air somehow thickened. “You have a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know you.” Even though he was half-naked.

“Hmmm.” His expression shifted into wounded. “Don’t like hiring soldiers, huh?”

Her back straightened, and she studied the battered planes of his strong face. Was he for real? “My brother was a soldier,” she reminded him quietly.

“Then why?” he asked softly.

She swallowed. The truth wouldn’t do, and she couldn’t think of a good lie. “This bar is my life, and I have to be careful with it.” In fact, the business was all she had. Of course, if she didn’t find help for the next two weeks, she’d never make it. Talk about being in a difficult, crappy spot.

He grimaced and leaned back against a table.

Her heart fluttered. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” He paled. “Just a bit of pain.”

She bit her lip and glanced around at the clean bar. The man had kept her from hitting the floor and then given her space to get control of herself. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he would’ve already done it. Plus, she was beyond desperate, and this was just temporary. “You need money?”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No. I’m fine.”

Crap. She’d embarrassed him. The guy was probably a war hero, and now she’d made him feel bad. Her throat thickened with the need to make things right. “Have you heard of the Rally in the Mountains?” she asked.

He frowned. “The motorcycle rally in southern Oregon? Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”

She took a deep breath. The least she could do was temporarily help the soldier. The guy had neither taken nor hurt her while she’d been defenseless, so that wasn’t his goal. “Well, the rally is in two weeks, and many of the bikers from the east drive through town. We’re incredibly busy for those two weeks.” She eyed him. At several inches above six feet and broad, he’d be a deterrent to any problems. He’d seen war—the guy was definitely wounded.

And tough. He’d be able to handle any disputes. In fact, with that hard gray gaze taking in the room, the bikers wouldn’t mess around. Of course, with Matt’s thick black hair and strong-boned face, he’d draw in the women. The face of a fallen angel and eyes that had seen hell were an intriguing combination. As an amateur photographer, she itched to take his picture. To capture those shadows on film.

The man needed help, and she needed a tough guy in her corner. Plus, he’d served his country and was one of the good guys in a scary world. “I need a bartender/bouncer for two weeks.”

He smiled, revealing strong teeth.

She swallowed again. Wounded and scowling, the guy was handsome. Smiling and charming, he was downright devastating. Her heart rate picked up again.

His smile widened. Why? It wasn’t like he could hear her heart.

Frowning, she scooted to the edge of the pool table. Strong hands instantly banded around her waist to lift.

She gasped, not having seen him move. “You move fast.”

He settled her on her feet and waited until she regained her balance.

She tilted her head back—way back—to glance at his face. This close, a masculine shadow covered his jaw.