Pulled Under

2

HALF OF HARPER’S brain was mentally peeling this guy’s clothes off because, damn, he was gorgeous. The other half demanded she forgo the mental stripper scene and simply dress him down. No way was an attractive face going to derail her field investigation before it really began.

She clipped her government ID on her hip and glanced around the office. The place was nice if you ignored the layer of dust on the fake plants and the general disorganization of what she presumed was the receptionist’s desk. Generic office furniture appeared relatively new, the visible technology more so. MacBooks and color laser printers sat idle on several desktops while somewhere deeper in the office suite, a telephone rang. But the file cabinets were out of sight, and that’s where she wanted to start.

The weight of the man’s stare was both hot and cold, curious and furious when she shifted toward him. The way he considered her, so intense and controlled, dragged an involuntary shiver up her spine.

“Uncomfortable?”

“It’s eighty-three degrees outside. I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt because your weatherman forecasted early winter temperatures last night.”

“So, not physically cold.” He crossed his arms. “What’s the problem, then?”

Harper considered him, wondering how he could still be so inexplicably sexy in a simple pair of glasses and baggy sweats. And when he lost the glasses and donned the attitude? Things south of the belt went on alert. “I’m not the one with the problem...”

“Levi.”

“Levi what?”

“Levi Walsh.”

Her eyes snapped to his face before she could stop the reaction. Interesting. So she’d nabbed the newest owner right out of the box. Lucky her.

She considered how to play this. She could tell him straight out that she knew he was the club’s newest co-owner. But he’d likely shut down and wait for the troops before talking to her. Not productive.

The other option was to go along with his game, pretend ignorance and see how much he volunteered. He might play nice if he didn’t feel cornered. Yet not owning up to the fact that she recognized him was a lie of omission, and she didn’t know if she could accept that kind of near deceit.

He watched her, widening his stance. Not quite combative but not friendly, either. “So what’s the protocol?”

“What are you, ex-military? ‘Protocol,’” she said on a snort, mind racing to another option than the lie.

He whipped off his glasses, pale blue eyes alight with irritation. “You can be as much of a smart-ass as you’d like, Ms. Banks, but don’t lord your authority over me like I’m some two-bit chump here to take your beating.”

“Quite the speech.” She tugged at her sleeves, ensuring her wrists were covered. “Beaux Hommes is being investigated—”

“Based on what? Anonymous tip? Filing discrepancies? What was the red flag that sent you haring across the country to make my life hell?”

Drawing a deep breath, she forced the clenched muscles in her jaw to relax. “If you’ll let me finish?”

He dipped his chin once.

“Gracious of you. Thanks.” Even in her heels, this guy topped her by an easy two inches, making her have to stand up straighter and lift her chin in order to meet his gaze. “Everything is outlined in the letter I handed you, but I’ll summarize.”

“Gracious of you,” he parroted, his sarcasm as thick as cold syrup and just as distasteful.

“The IRS lives to serve.” Hands resting below her belly button, she gripped her opposite wrist. “Beaux Hommes had a variety of red flags—a radical drop in revenue, excessive expenses in relation to that annual revenue, a significant increase in employees disparate to the drop in revenue and tip reporting discrepancies on official documents.”

She paused, gauging his reaction. The guy actually appeared surprised by her list, but she’d seen too much over the past few years to buy a ticket to that particular show. Still, the expression on his face wasn’t the deer-in-the-headlights, oh-man-I’m-so-busted look most audit recipients sported. He seemed concerned but curious, and that curiosity threw her for a loop. She hated loops.

“Seems like an awful lot of suspicion for a single year’s return.”

Smart, she mused. Or it had been a lucky guess. “As I said, the letter explains everything.”

His eyes roved over her and she had the distinct impression he was using the borderline rude action to buy time to formulate his response. Too bad she didn’t feel like accommodating him.

Releasing her hands so they hung by her side, she blinked slowly. “This conversation has been great, but I have to speak to the manager on duty. Now.”

“I manage the dancers, and I’m the only one here. You’ll have to make do with me.”

His lie decided her course of action. He’d implied he was nothing more than a midlevel manager. She needed access to the files as soon as possible if she was going to close this case, so they’d play it his way. “Your day just gets worse and worse, doesn’t it? First, I’d like to see the operating ledgers, as well as P&L statements for the last three years. Digital or paper copies will be fine. Current and past employee files would be helpful, too.”

“I don’t actually work in this department.”

And there it is. The first blatant, outright lie. She’d learned that the guilty regularly manipulated the truth into something they thought would offer them the most hope of escape. Knowing this firsthand didn’t squelch the sting of disappointment that he’d followed the pattern, though. She had...what? Hoped he might be honorable?

“Get over yourself,” she muttered softly enough he didn’t hear her.

He looked over his shoulder at the large wall clock. “I’m guessing everyone has gone to lunch. If you want to come back in an hour or so, I can get you in touch with the general manager, Kevin Metcalf. He’ll be able to help you with whatever you need.”

“I’m not leaving until I see those files. I have my own computer, but I’ll need access to a dedicated printer and copier.” He looked at her blankly, and she sighed. “Do you have any idea where the P&Ls or ledgers might be?”

He sighed. “I’ll have to make a couple of calls.”

“Feel free, but I’m within my jurisdiction to begin my investigation even without your help. It’ll save both of us a lot of time if you’d point me in the right direction.”

He shifted to sit on the desk behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Should I obtain legal representation?”

Harper strolled to the desk opposite Levi and leaned a hip against it, considering him. “You’re free to do so, but retaining an attorney won’t stop me from looking over company files and copying relevant paperwork. Even a court-ordered injunction won’t be enough. The IRS has authority in this investigation, Mr. Walsh.”

His eyes flashed even as his lips thinned. “You’re making it very hard for me to want to comply.”

She lifted one shoulder in an approximation of a shrug meant to irritate. “Not my problem.” For some reason, needling him was entertaining. “My job is to uphold the law and execute the actions detailed in that letter.”

“Nice.” He ripped the envelope open, scanned the letter and made a very visible effort to keep himself from reacting. When he looked up, he’d mastered his emotions again. “I’m going to make those calls before I give you the proverbial keys to the kingdom. You can wait here or outside.” He shoved off the desk and stalked to a tiny room off the reception area, not waiting for her response before slamming the door behind him.

“I’ll be right here,” she murmured. He had an air about him, a subtle confidence she found inexplicably attractive.

Reminding herself what was at stake, she began mentally cataloging the office. Digging into her briefcase, she pulled out her iPad and began tapping in visible inventory and taking supporting pictures. Seven desks with one computer each, yet none of the desks had any paperwork on them, save for the very first desk, where the sole phone rested. There were four printers, only one of which was actually plugged in. The others had a faint covering of dust and a general air of disuse. Interesting.

Logging it all, she wandered through the desks, randomly opening drawers and searching for any signs of use. Again, only the first desk seemed occupied.

“Who sits here?” she called out.

Levi emerged from the small office, smartphone pinned between his ear and shoulder as he flipped through the letter. “Sure. That makes sense.” He paused, glancing at her as he spoke. “No, she’s not the most agreeable person I’ve ever met.” He laughed. “You’d think, but it appears she’s unaffected by my many charms.” Another laugh. “Yeah, well, some women are completely immune to men.”

Harper blinked slowly. “Are you implying I’m a lesbian simply because I’m not falling at your feet and begging you to take me?”

He stopped, his gaze heating as it roamed over her body. As he pulled the cell phone from his shoulder, one corner of his mouth kicked up in a roguish smile. “Nope, but I would say you let your professional ambitions ruin any fun you might have. Probably ever.”

Marcus had accused her of being too ambitious, too anxious to push the next project. He’d claimed she’d been domineering and that had driven him to seek true feminine solace with their company’s receptionist. That’s when she’d realized how stupid she’d been—made even more painfully obvious when she, Marcus and their other partner, Vigo, were arrested for embezzlement and fraud.

But she wasn’t that gullible kid anymore. Her successes were hers. A woman in a man’s world, she wasn’t about to apologize for her professional drive or explain to Levi that she had plenty of fun. She’d prove it to him.

She let one corner of her mouth curl up. “Tell me, Levi. If you don’t work in this particular department, where do you work?”

“I’m employed by the club.” His eyes tightened at the admission, revealing the very early markers of crow’s-feet. “Why?”

She crossed her arms under her breasts, and his gaze dropped to the glimpse of cleavage the button-up shirt exposed. “I’m wondering how Beaux Hommes most benefits from your particular brand of charm, unpolished as it is.” She blinked slowly. “I’d assume whatever you do doesn’t require much talking.”

Shifting his attention to somewhere over her shoulder, he snorted. “Forget it, Ms. Banks. I’m not stupid enough to bait this particular dragon. I’m just trying to supplement my income.”

“So is Beaux Hommes your regular source of income?”

He eyed her with open distrust. “Sort of.”

“Do you dance to earn that income?” she asked, coquettishly tipping her head to one side. “That would require mastery of seduction.”

Levi scowled at her and tugged his collar. “I’m actually...”

Harper held her breath. She’d opened the door for him, giving him an easy way to offer her the truth.

He dropped his hands to his waist and looked at the floor. “I am a dancer. The lead dancer, actually. I got into it to support my parents after...after they...” He stumbled to a conversational halt. “What I earn here helps them out.”

She shifted from foot to foot. Something about his answer, the way he tripped over it, bothered her. “What happened with your parents, Levi?”

Lifting his chin, he considered her before laughing again, decidedly softer this time. “I’m not interested in whatever angle you’re trying to work.” His face tightened. “As for my parents? Don’t go there. They’re off the table and off-limits. Period.”

“I’m an IRS agent. I don’t work angles,” she bit out, “and I go where I have to go.” His response only made her more curious, more concerned. But pitying this man or his parents wasn’t going to close the case.

Irritation rode her spine like a free-fall carnival ride, climbing one vertebra at a time only to careen down her back and haul her stomach with it. She was caught between wanting to prove him wrong and...what? Wanting to force him to understand that she was human, too?

Harper stilled. Where had that come from? She didn’t know him, wouldn’t ever see him again after this case closed, yet it mattered what he thought of her in that particular moment? “No,” she said softly, shaking her head, unaware she’d spoken aloud until he responded.

“No, what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, totally thrown off balance for the first time since taking this job.

Levi considered her, the look on his face both shrewd and calculating. “Suddenly not up to the verbal sparring? That means you forfeit this round, Ms. Banks. Can your ego take it?”

Her mouth opened and closed twice before she got her voice back. “You do not want to challenge me, Mr. Walsh. I’ll take you to the mat.”

“Yeah?” He pulled his glasses off and grinned. “What will you do with me then?”

Harper realized too late that he’d walked her right into the flirtatious byplay. Fighting the urge to snarl, she held out one hand and curled her fingers. “The ledger.”

“I was hoping you’d be more creative than that.”

Something suspiciously close to attraction curled around her ankles and made its way up her legs. “I’ll ask one last time, Mr. Walsh. What is it exactly that you do for Beaux Hommes?”

His eyes grew hooded. Tossing his glasses onto the desk behind him, he slowly pulled his sweatshirt off to reveal a wickedly cut torso, his obliques so defined they were like funnels for the eyes, drawing them straight to...whoa.

Harper lost her battle to subdue a heated blush. “I get the picture. If you’re a stripper, though, why are you working in the office?”

His face closed down. “They keep the Hooked on Phonics set in the closet for us to come by and use whenever we want.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she fumbled, beyond irritated that she’d so completely lost her footing. She’d known he was a stripper. She just hadn’t expected him to own it with such authority—or to demonstrate it.

“Yeah? Well, you’re a bright woman. Choose your words more carefully when you make snap judgments.”

“Right. Because I’m sure you were in there with the ledger, what, fixing it? I didn’t know LeapFrogs had Excel spreadsheet capabilities. My bad.”

His shoulders went rigid. “Stop assuming I’m stupid.”

“Then stop using your body as your primary asset!”

And that, right there, was the problem. She’d assumed he was harmless. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

* * *

LEVI’S MUSCLES LOCKED UP. From the bottom of his feet to the top of his scalp. She had pissed him off with that last allegation, that he used his body as his primary asset. Yes, he was a stripper, but he was more than that. He wasn’t a brainless body. If that’s what she thought, though? His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed.

She was also with the IRS. He had a personal history with that arm of the government, which made defying her way more satisfying.

“Enough with the evasive maneuvers. Give me the ledger, Mr. Walsh.” She tugged.

His hands fisted, the letter crinkling in protest. “I’ll get it for you.” At least the one I intend to show you. “But for doing so, I’d appreciate little show of good faith.” Show... “Why don’t you come to the show tonight?”

“I don’t... No,” she stammered. “That’s not my flavor of entertainment.”

“How can you be sure? Have you ever been to a male revue?” He leaned back and waited.

“Hand over the ledger, Mr. Walsh. And please put your clothes on again. It’s not appropriate for you to use your body as a deterrent to this investigation.”

“Couple of big words in there for such a simple mind as mine.” He stood and slowly untied the string of his sweatpants, working the material down to expose the skin of one hip. “I’d think something like this would qualify as more of a deterrent than a simple bare chest.”

“Cut it out, Levi,” she barked, twisting away from him. “I’m going to arrest you if you don’t cut the crap right now.”

“I’m not impeding anything. I’ve invited you to the show tonight. I’ll get the ledger from...the owner I just spoke to and make copies for you. Besides, don’t you want to see firsthand how the club operates?” Leaning on the desk, he left his sweats riding low and tightened his abs, sure she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from looking.

She spun further away, immediately proving him right.

Tightening his glutes made his hips shift forward. “Ms. Banks?”

Her eyes went to his groin right before a faint blush stole across her cheeks. “Stop it.”

“If you want to see how we handle cash income, you have to come to a show and document our practices.” He straightened, tugging his pants up as he went. “I’m right, and you know it.”

Harper shook her head. “What I know is that you’re pressing me to come watch you take your clothes off. What I don’t know is why. What do you hope to gain?”

A chance. The answer popped into Levi’s head unbidden. Yes, he needed the chance to fix the ledgers. But there was also something about this woman that made him want her to have a little fun, even if it went against her better judgment. He and the guys specialized in good times.

Considering her, he kept his gaze cool and detached. “I don’t expect to get anything out of it other than a fair chance to document the club’s business practices.” And to try to figure out what Kevin did to the damn ledger to make it look like a scratch pad for a first-year English major taking graduate-level accounting—before Harper gets to it.

A fine sheen of sweat popped out on Levi’s upper lip and along his hairline. His stomach pitched and rolled like a dinghy in a violent storm. If she got her hands on the ledger, she could shutter the business. Which meant he was out of a job.

While he didn’t count on stripping for his entire income, most of the money he made at the club went into his parents’ investment portfolio. He’d supported them since his dad, a third-generation farmer, had lost everything after four consecutive drought years. Then the corn subsidies dried up. His dad hadn’t been able to pay the taxes on the land, so the IRS had taken everything from him and auctioned it off to settle the debt. His dad, the man Levi had admired all his life, had been reduced to working at a fast-food restaurant while Levi’s mom had taken a job at a big-box store as a greeter.

It enraged Levi. Here he was working his ass off to make sure his parents were taken care of, and the IRS showed up again. It struck him as far too personal. He’d watched his parents go through this once before, and he’d be damned if he’d watch it happen again.

That meant he had to keep one IRS investigator otherwise occupied until he fixed Kevin’s daily accounts ledger. Levi was absolutely willing to flirt, even tease her a bit if it distracted Harper long enough. He wouldn’t seduce her, though. Even as much as he despised the IRS, there were some things a man just didn’t do, and using sex as a manipulative weapon was up there near the top of that list.

Of course, if the club was guilty of fraud, he could be facing asset seizure and jail time. Levi would lose everything. His parents would lose everything all over again. No cost was too high to stop that from happening.

“Mr. Walsh?” Harper asked, considering him. “You’re sweating. Did you spring an unexpected fever or is your conscience suddenly manifesting?”

“My conscience is fine.” He swallowed, feeling more off balance than he had since she’d nearly caved in his skull with the door. “It’s hot in here.”

“Considering you’re not wearing your shirt and the air-conditioning is running, I’m putting my money on conscience.” She tucked her hands in her skirt pockets. “What’s got you so worried?”

“Nothing. I know the reporting practices are sound.” The lie slipped out without a thought.

“If I come to the show tonight, you’ll bring me that ledger?”

Without batting an eye, Levi held out a hand. “Agreed.”

He watched the investigator from hell hesitate before reaching out and shaking his hand, her gaze both shrewd and wary. “That was a little too easy. If you’ve misled me in any way, I will discover it, Mr. Walsh. And when I do, I’ll prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law for impeding a federal officer in the execution of her duties. Are we clear?”

His stomach plummeted even as he slowly locked stares with the one woman capable of making him hate his life. “Do your worst.”

“Oh, I will,” she answered softly, picking up her briefcase and heading for the front door. “I will.”

Levi had absolutely no doubt that she, at least, wasn’t hedging the truth.

3

HARPER COULD ONLY imagine the razzing she was going to get from the men in the office when they found out she’d gone to a show at Beaux Hommes. After all, she’d been pretty insistent she’d rather audit God than deal with muscle-bound men clad in G-strings and slathered in testosterone. Galling as it was, though, Levi had been right. The best way to see the club’s practices in action was to get inside during operating hours. So here she stood, assessing her wardrobe for clubbing attire.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at irony’s sense of humor.

Not having brought anything really appropriate for a night out, she was stuck piecing together what she could from her suitcase. One pair of low-slung skinny jeans, one pair of black platform heels and a white dress shirt with French cuffs proved the best she could do on short notice.

She fully expected Levi to put his sensual talents to good use. The image of him pulling his shirt off and easing his pants down was seared in her brain, damn him.

But for every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction. Assuming Levi intended to attempt to seduce her, her reaction was hers to control. She could play a little suggestive cat and mouse with him. She’d never take it far enough to be accused of improper behavior. He wasn’t worth losing her job over. But she was willing to take things to the very edge of the gray zone in order to retain the upper hand and control the outcome—a successful closure of this case.

For a brief moment, she wondered what her dad would think of her willingness to manipulate someone to achieve her goal. He’d be disappointed she hadn’t chosen to be a better person than the opposition. But then, that was why he was poring over pictures of bikes in magazines instead of working on them himself.

She grabbed her keys and left her hotel room. It had been ages since she’d tried to flirt with someone. Her mouth was dry enough to be declared a federal disaster area. And one eye twitched. She pressed her fingers near the edge of her eye, trying not to mess up her makeup.

Tonight was going to be all about sex without touching, innuendo without crossing invisible lines and suggestions without follow-through. She’d be on Levi’s turf, so she’d have to up her game, insecurities and history be damned.