Susan Andersen - Coming Undone

Swell. The Semper Fi Agency ought to look real good in her label's eyes when he informed them that not only would he not be accompanying their hot new talent as agreed, but that because of him she was dumping them, as well. Nothing like setting the gold standard in the investigational/security world. "Don't you think you should have a little dialogue with Wild Wind before you just walk away?"

"Why?" Stepping close, she got in his face. "Did they have so much as one conversation with me? No, sir. They sicced you on me without bothering to discover that Mama has a great big ax to grind."

Double-damn hell. He recognized that look. Telling the old P.J. what to do had always merely entrenched her in her position, and to hell with whether it was a defensible one or not. So he pasted a bored look on his face and shrugged. "Hey, you want to tank your career, that's fine with me. It probably didn't mean that much to you in the first place, so what the hey. Easy come, easy go, right?"

"No, that's not right!" She drilled him in the chest with a blunt fingertip. "You don't know diddly about how hard I worked to get here."

People in the lobby were turning to look at her, and Jared had to admit she was something to behold when she was all fired up. Somehow, though, he doubted telling her she was hot when she was angry would earn him any points. Wrapping his fist around her finger, he removed it from his pec. "Then use your head. You don't just toss aside something you've worked years to attain because you're hacked off. Just what did your mother do, anyhow?" The question was partly to divert her attention before she imploded, but mostly because he really wanted to know what it had taken for P.J. to finally see her mother for what she was.

A shield slammed shut in her eyes. "None of your damn business." She jerked her finger free. "You're not my friend anymore. You're Wild Wind's lackey."

Stung, he straightened to his full height. "I'm nobody's lackey, baby. I'm my own man."

"So you say. I'll have to take your word for that, but either way you have no authority over me, so get out of my way. I've got places to go, people to see." She pushed around him and headed for the exit to the parking garage.

He fell into step beside her, his long legs easily matching the brisk stride of her shorter ones. "Where we going?"

She stopped. Glared up at him.

Then sighed.

"You're not going to leave me be, are you?"

"Nope."

"Fine." She started for the garage once again. "Do what you gotta do-I can't keep you out of public places. But don't get any ideas that I'm just going to roll over to make your job easy for you. And don't even think you're riding with me."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I'll follow in my own car."

"If you can keep up."

He could, but only because he'd found a spot in the garage not far from where she'd parked. He'd barely turned over the engine in his rented SUV when she peeled out of the garage like a bullet from a .45, and he had to remain alert just to keep her in sight as she headed out of town. In between driving like Dale Earnhardt Jr. in order to stay on her tail, he spent time on his cell phone finessing arrangements with the hotel they'd just left.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the graveled lot of a huge clapboard tavern with the name Guitars and Hot Cars spelled out in flaming red neon across the roof. P.J. had hopped out of her pickup and was striding toward the honky-tonk's massive double doors before he'd found a spot to park in the acre-wide lot.

The joint was jumping when Jared let himself in a few minutes later. The lights were dim, the music loud and the dance floor packed. There were a lot of women wearing straw Stetsons and skintight jeans. He was beginning to think P.J. had given him the slip out the back when he spotted her sitting at the bar talking ninety miles an hour to a bartender with no neck, tattoos on his massive biceps and a blue bandana tied around his bullet-shaped shaved head. For all his tough appearance, the man had a stunned look in his close-set eyes as he divided his attention between pouring a shot from a bottle of Wild Turkey and staring at her. Jared could identify, knowing from experience that P.J. could talk the balls off a brass monkey.

"The band's about to break. I'll go get Burt," the bartender was saying as Jared walked up. "He's gonna flip that you actually showed up." Placing the shot glass in front of her, he gave the bar a meaty slap and laughed.

"Thanks, Wayne."

"Are you kidding me? He thought you was playin' games with him for sure. He's gonna be so jazzed." Shaking his head, Wayne pulled the towel from his shoulder, wiped a drop of bourbon off the countertop, then called someone over to relieve him. Surprisingly agile for a man his size, he hopped the bar as soon as his replacement arrived and disappeared down the back hallway.

Jared took the vacant stool next to her. "Got a hot date?"

He thought she was going to ignore him, but after a second of silence she hitched the shoulder nearest him. "You bet." She tossed back the shot, shuddered a little, then turned to look him in the eye. "I'm primed. I'm pumped. Raring to go. Me and Burt are gonna do the bed boogie till we burn down the house."

To his surprise, he discovered that the thought ground at something deep in his gut. He could barely wrap his mind around P.J. as a woman, much less a sexual woman who sat in bars tossing back shots and talking about doing a stranger. But that was his problem, so he merely gave her a cool-eyed gaze. "Obviously you've had a change of heart about sex since the last time I saw you."

Swiveling her stool in his direction, she gave his forehead a light rap with her knuckles. "Hello! I was thirteen years old the last time we discussed sex. Of course I've had a change of heart."

"Well:good, then. Fine. That's real healthy."

Her clear amber eyes looked into his as if she could read his soul and her mouth quirked up in a knowing smile. "Isn't it just?"

An older, heavyset man bustled up just then, and, treating Jared as if he were suddenly invisible, P.J. twisted her stool around an additional quarter turn to face the new arrival. Her face lit up in a million-watt smile. "You must be Burt." She thrust her hand out.

The man grasped it and pumped enthusiastically. "Oh, man. It really is you. I thought for sure Wayne was shittin', er, that is, foolin' me."

"No, sir. As I told you on the phone, I'd really like an opportunity to perform with the band, if they don't mind."

"Oh, man," he said again. "They're gonna go ape. Why don'tcha come with me and I'll introduce you."

"That would be great." She turned to Jared. "And here you thought I'd come to have sex with the man."

Burt looked aghast. "What? Why would anyone think such a thing?"

"Darned if I know," she said sorrowfully. "There are some people in the world who are just sick puppies."

The older man shot him a look of disgust and cupped a protective hand around P.J.'s elbow.

Jared watched them walk away. "What a card," he said through tight teeth as they disappeared into the crowd. Ignoring the pretty blonde in the leopard-print cowgirl hat who offered him an inviting smile as she slid onto P.J.'s vacated stool, he reached for the bowl of peanuts on the bar. This had been the longest goddamn day.

And apparently it wasn't over yet.

P.J. FINISHED STRATEGIZING with the band over the order of the playlist and walked up to one of the two mics, adjusting it to her shorter height. "Hell-o, Pocatello! My name is Priscilla Jayne and Cold Creek has kindly agreed to let me play with them this evening. I hope you don't mind my horning in."

The audience roared its approval and she grinned, flooded with pleasure. God, she loved this. Singing was the only thing she'd ever had that was hers alone and when she performed, all the crap in her life just disappeared for a while. Her glance went to Jared at the bar, but immediately she brought her attention back where it belonged-with her audience.

"You probably already know Cold Creek's lead singer, Ron Taber. He and I have never sung together before-but if you won't hold the occasional screw-up against us, we promise to give you the best show we possibly can. Now, we know you came here to dance, so let's hear those boots out on the floor, because we're starting out tonight with Shania Twain's 'I Ain't No Quitter.'" Leaning into the microphone, she sang,He drinks:

The drummer and steel guitarist jumped in with a two-note counterpoint.

He smokes:

As the band repeated the counterpoint, Ron Taber leaned into his mic, made a half turn to look at her, and joined in.

He curses, swears and he tells bad jokes:

The bar patrons poured onto the dance floor and P.J. and the band kept them there by playing everything from "Billy's Got His Beer Goggles On" to "Hick-town" to her own "Let the Party Begin." Not until the dancers nearest the stage looked good and sweaty did P.J. say, "We're gonna slow things down now with a little number called 'Mama's Girl.'"

Some of the dancers snickered, and she acknowledged them with a crooked smile. "I know, I know-it's an ironic choice, given the headlines in the rags these days." Her gaze involuntarily sought out Jared. Then she snapped her attention back where it belonged. "But do me a favor and don't believe everything you read, okay?" She turned to the band. "Hit it, boys."