Because she was bored. Bored and restless and damned pissed at herself for allowing it to happen. The combination of emotions was depressing, and Harmony didn't do depressed well. She needed just a little fun. Just enough to maybe liven the night a bit. Nothing too heavy. A drink, maybe a good fight.
Her eyes narrowed at the entrance to the bar. With any luck, her tail would decide to make his way inside to be certain she was there. If she didn't tag him, then she was going to have to go hunting. And she just didn't have time to go hunting right now. No, Harmony Lancaster, once known as Death, was going to have to toe the good-girl line for a six full months.
Which meant no going hunting. No unauthorized bloodshed. She grimaced at that, as she slung her tote over her shoulder and slammed the door to the Jeep closed. Death, a good girl. Now there was an oxymoron. The very thought of it was enough to leave a sour taste in her mouth. It was one of the reasons she was making her way into this seedy little bar rather than researching her upcoming opponent: the good sheriff of Broken Butte.
Pushing her way through the old, saloon-style doors, she paused at the entrance, her gaze going over the array of cowboys staring back at her.
As she slid onto an empty bar stool, Harmony let her eyes sweep over the dancers at the far end of the room.
"What can I do for ya, honey?" She turned to the bartender's booming voice. Tall, broad and bald, with a friendly smile, he reminded her of the bartender at her favorite biker bar in Chicago. Perhaps New Mexico wasn't as far from civilization as Jonas could possibly send her after all.
"Whiskey."
"Shot or glass?" he asked.
"Glass, no ice."
"You got it, honey." He nodded.
Picking up the drink, she turned her back to the bar and once again surveyed the room. What the hell had convinced her that she could return to the States? No matter how important the job.
Children were her weakness. The plea had come from a former client, to help a friend locate his kidnapped daughter. A little girl no more than five, with big brown eyes and a mischievous smile. Harmony had been insane to agree. She had known Jonas was stalking her for nearly six months now. She should have never returned. Because she knew what he wanted in the end, just as she knew he more than ex-pected her to fail at this chance he had given her to escape Breed Law.
She shook her head at the thought. Her brother had aged more than he should have in the last ten years. The bitterness and cold, hard purpose in his eyes had only grown. Like her, his French accent had totally evaporated since his escape from the labs, and his English was fluid and flawless. They had been trained to blend in, no matter where they were sent.
As she lifted her drink to her lips and ignored the frankly sexual glances she was receiving, she caught movement at the doorway from the corner of her eye. Turning her head, Harmony watched in appreciation as the thoroughly male form strode into the bar. Now, she very much doubted this was her tail, though she wouldn't have minded in the least being his. At least six feet, three inches of broad, muscular male moved with lazy, casual grace.
He was dressed in jeans and a dark blue denim shirt that emphasized the heavily tanned contours of his face. His features were rugged, with high cheekbones, a sensually full lower lip and eyes a deep, navy blue that gleamed with suppressed amusement as he met her gaze. He was taking stock of her as carefully as she was taking stock of him. And it was evident that, as she did, he liked what he saw. Had she ever so fully noticed a man before? Sexuality fairly screamed off this male, from the bulge in those snug jeans to the wide, muscular width of his shoulders. Shoulder-length, thick, straight black hair flowed around the arrogant features of his face and softened them just enough to make him seem approachable.
Harmony had admitted long ago she wasn't necessarily a sexual being, despite some of her more animal-like genetics. But this man, he made the feline inside her stand up and roar.
She could feel a strange receptivity flowing through her veins, peaking in her ni**les and the suddenly sensitive folds of her pu**y.
"Hey, Lance, buddy. 'Bout time you made it around to see us." Behind her, the bartender called out a greeting as the cowboy moved to the bar stool beside her.
"Beer?"
"Beer works good, Stan," Lance answered with a slow drawl that had a shiver working up Harmony's spine.
She loved that voice. It was as smooth and dark as her whiskey.
Turning on the bar stool, Harmony met the bartender's gaze as she slid her glass forward for a refill.
"I'll get the lady's too, Stan."
Harmony nearly missed the offer, her senses suddenly infused with the scent of midnight storms and dark desert nights. The scent of the male at her side. Strong. Pure. No, this wasn't her tail, but for just a moment she could imagine him behind her, his hands shaping her rear before sliding against her, nudging her thighs apart.
"Thank you." She breathed in deeply as she turned her head, keeping her smile light, hiding the sharp canines at the side of her mouth.
Hers were smaller than most Breeds', and rarely noticed for what they were, but flashing them wasn't something she did often.
"You're welcome." The slightly crooked smile he gave her did something to the pit of her stomach. It fluttered. Hell, she had never had anything either on or in her body flutter in her entire life.
"My name's Harmony." She stuck her hand out, tilting her head to get a better look at his face.
"Lance." He nodded, extending his hand, his large, calloused palm engulfing her fingers.
The feel of his flesh against hers startled her. She could feel her hand sensitizing, her fingers tingling. Heat, unlike anything she knew, flowed from a simple handshake, from his body to hers.