Page 53 of The Devil's Viking

“It’s the complete opposite, and –”

“You’vetotallygiven your ice-cold heart to some lucky lady. So –”

“Which is it?”

Ice stared at the twins’ faces: they were wearing their standard matching expressions of avid interest, teasing, and an abiding love of shit-stirring.

“Stop talking,” he snapped. “And flip the fucking coin.”

“Weknewyou’d come around to doing it our way,” Dux told him. “You always do, even if you’re a real grouch beforehand.”

“Dux, I swear to God –”

“OK, OK.” He threw the coin into the air and slapped it onto the back of his hand. “Call it, Drake.”

“Heads.”

Dux looked. “Yep. You win.”

“Yay.” Drake grabbed his beer. “The shady lady cop is all mine.”

His brother raised his beer bottle in a toast. “Have fun. I know you’ll have more fun thanme, that’s for damn sure, seeing as you get to hit on the naughty cop with the handcuffs, and I get to stay here and talk to Ice.”

“Jesus,” Ice muttered. “Can we please just finish this job and go back to Denver? You two give me a headache.”

“Well, stop talking to me so I can go,” Drake told him. “You’re sochattytonight.”

“Drake –”

“I’m going!”

Drake slid out of the dark corner booth and walked to the other end of the room, where the cop was sitting on a stool. She seemed to be alone, so he slowed his walk a bit and gave her a thorough once-over.

The woman was a stunner and no doubt about that, which was extremely unfortunate. If what Iris said was true – and if Wolf believed her, then so did he and no question – this gorgeous exterior hid a twisted, ugly, deceitful interior. This woman willingly conspired with a cult leader who was a legitimate monster, so even though Drake had joked around with Dux about the hot cop, he was truly and deeply disgusted by her. She was an insult to every single person who’d ever worn a uniform – and Drake wasn’t about to forget that.

But he had a job to do here, as ordered by Wolf and ordained by the coin, and so he’d do it to the absolute best of his abilities. If that meant flirting her straight back to his hotel room so that Ice could Spanish Inquisition her, he’d do it.

Here we go. Stealth mode, man.

“Hi,” he said, dropping his already deep voice a bit lower. “How you doin’ tonight?”

She glanced up at him, her plump little lips already parted to give him an excuse or brush-off. When she saw Drake leaning up against the bar grinning at her, his blue eyes sparkling, his muscular upper body defined through his t-shirt, his large hand running through his salt-and-pepper hair, she shut her mouth. Drake watched those cool mint-green eyes widen, then spark with heat and interest.

Bingo, bitch.

“I’m OK,” she responded, in a surprisingly husky voice. “Yourself?”

“Oh, you know.” He shrugged and watched her watch his broad shoulders. “I’m just passing through town, heading up to Salt Lake City for business.”

“Oh, yeah? What kind of business?”

“Personal security.”

Those amazing eyes took him in, scanned the length and width of his frame. “Huh. User name checks out.”

“And you?” Drake asked. “What pays your bills?”

“I’m a personal assistant.”

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