“That’s what I like to see. All my women in one place.”

Harold’s voice slid like cold oil down Chris’ spine. He reached Chris’ side and draped an arm over Chris’ shoulder.

Nina giggled at Chris’ eyeroll. She handed Harold the fifth glass.

Doreen winked at Chris.

You’ve got to be shitting me.

Harold dropped his arm and slapped Chris’ ass. Chris kept his irritation in check. This time. If the shit tried it again, he’d break his fucking wrist. His ass had a fucking reserved sign on it even if Vin didn’t collect on the invitation.

“The Garden Club has a new member,” Harold quipped. “We’re a dedicated group with connections, Christy. Our clientele grows stronger daily.” He snorted drunkenly. “Grows. Get it? The clientele grows, like weed?”

“Harold,” Doreen snapped.

“Hush up, woman. We’re all associates here. All friends. Isn’t that right, Christy?” he teetered against Chris, planting a wet sloppy kiss on his face.

“We meet on Wednesdays at the children’s library,” Carla said. “Second conference room. Great cover, don’t you agree?”

“Brilliant,” Chris agreed. Who’d suspect a meeting of drug dealers in the affluent suburban children’s library?

Harold leaned heavily on Chris’ shoulder, breathing flammable gases onto his neck.

“And the seedlings I need? I’ll require three different varieties of your best stock for the hybrid we need to boost production,” Chris said.

“That’s the beauty of it,” Doreen said. “It’s all right here. Beneath us, actually. Using solar conservers, our power usage is off the grid and excess stored, or would be if we were a simple family using average power.”

“But we aren’t. The amount of power we get and store, and buy from the power company takes care of the grow house consumption.” Carla added, excitedly.

“It’s here? In the basement?” Chris asked.

Nina giggled. “All our basements and soon yours.”

“Racks and racks of beautiful green weed,” Carla agreed. Her eyes glittered.

Chris thought of the infrared satellite images Vin had showed him. None of the houses showed up as hot-spots. “How do you hide the heat signatures?”

“That’s Harold’s doing. He’s not just our supplier, he’s the brilliant mind behind the high-tech, sensor laden insulation panels,” Doreen explained.

Carla downed the last of her champagne. “It actually absorbs the energy output we use and the plants put off, then converts it and insulates it into cool cells where the rest of our solar energy goes.”

“That kind of financial investment is huge,” Chris said. The idea showed incredible ingenuity and creativity. But how did it convert? How did Harold the drunk know to do it?

“My money. My company. My resources. My free pot.” Harold dragged his hand up and down Chris’ back, far more interested in sniffing than listening to the conversation. “Can’t make money without spending money.”

The implications loomed large. The sales would sky rocket in only a matter of time. With minimal direction and fewer shares to fewer growers-larger numbers would be unnecessary overhead with the income doubling, tripling with the new system for every grower-Harold and his ladies would corner the market.

They’d control drug flow and prices. With premium product and low costs, they’d choke out the other growers until they had the majority. From there the possibilities were endless. Withhold the premium stuff until users got desperate.

And there were users everywhere. Every school, every business, every branch of government.

Unchecked, they’d hold the power. No wonder they wanted what they thought Christy could offer. Organization, networking, resources to reach into several communities-hell yeah, they’d want Christy around. She provided them a shortcut to the top.

“Harold is a genius,” Nina murmured.

“And if Harold wants something. Harold gets it,” Doreen said.

“Ladies, why don’t you clear out and give me and Christy a chance to get to know each other better,” Harold suggested. His arm cinched Chris’ waist.

“Fuck, no.” Chris stiff-armed him.

Doreen’s face twisted, her drawn face and sneering lips classic signs of a reprimand in formation. All interrupted by the door swinging open and DEA agents waving guns.

“It’s about fucking time,” Chris said.

He ripped the wig off his head and tore open the top of his button down dress. His huge, practical white bra jutted out. Trailing beneath it from cleavage to navel, a black wire told the Garden Club all they needed to know.

“She’s a boy,” Harold exclaimed, falling on his ass in his effort to get away. “She’s a he!”

“Busted, so to speak.” Chris said with a wry grin.

Chris wadded up a dress and shoved it in the suitcase. “Go back and pack up your gear, Tarp. The cleaning crew will take care of the rest,” he repeated out loud. “Good, job, Tarp. Nice tits,” he said, repeating someone else. “You gonna celebrate? Get laid?”

All things guaranteed to grate on his nerves. He’d showered, scrubbing Christy into oblivion and donned Vin’s sweats. Then because he was pissy, he went to Vin’s room and took one of his shirts too. He fucking swam in that thing.

He tucked the front of the soft cotton shirt into his sweats and grabbed another skirt.

“You avoiding me, Vin? Afraid I’ll want a goodbye fuck and you aren’t feeling charitable?” he said, sneering on the words.

God, his heart ached.

Chris wadded up a pair of stupid hose. “Damn it.” Closing his eyes on fresh pain, he fought the truth, except now he knew he fought it. He was in love with Vin.

“I get tongue-tied,” Vin said, quietly.

Chris looked around, surprised. Well, Vin was back. But what did getting tongue-tied have to do with the case?

“I get tongue-tied,” Vin started again, then paused. “Around you. You make it hard for me to think straight.”

Chris faced him, giving Vin his complete attention. Hoping he heard what he thought he heard.

“I can’t slow down. I touch you and I don’t want to quit touching you.” Vin looked away for a moment, his eyes troubled. When he looked up again, he walked toward Chris. His white shirt opened to the waist with another of his thin cotton undershirt hiding his gorgeous chest from view.

“I thought you wanted women,” Chris said, thinking of the three Vin had flirted with just that afternoon.

“The woman I want-she’s got balls,” Vin said, grinning. “And most of the time, he doesn’t wear a dress. If I had it my way, he wouldn’t wear anything.”

A breathless laugh escaped Chris. Could it be possible? Vin wanted him?

“Do you know how dangerous you are for me?” Vin asked. He stroked the side of Chris’ face, traced his jaw before sliding his hands into his hair. “Not my job. That could get complicated, but I’d survive it. You, I’m not sure I could survive.”

Chris’ chest ached. More, he wanted to hear Vin say more. “You going to kiss me? Because it looks like you’re going to kiss me. Call it wishful thinking, if you want. You could wipe a man’s RAM with a pucker like yours.”

“Shut up,” Vin murmured against Chris’ lips.

“Shutting up.”

Vin covered Chris’ mouth with his own. He held the sweet pressure for a moment before releasing, before allowing some space between them again.

Vin had spoken more tonight than he had their entire acquaintance. And Chris didn’t want it to stop. He words held too much weight for Chris’ future, their future, hopefully.

“I could easily fall in love you. You say what you think and don’t give a damn who hears it. You’re an ass. A funny ass, and even wearing a ridiculous flower-print robe with your cock sticking out, you turn me on without trying. You can’t cook worth a damn. I lose my mind with lust until I have trouble speaking. So I don’t speak at the risk of telling you I want you only to hope you feel the same way. You aren’t afraid of going after what you want. You kiss me and I feel like I’m the only place you want to be, but still can’t get close enough. You leave me guessing, wanting, wishing.”