Dell looked up from his computer. "That sketchy area? Want backup?"
"Nah. Routine patrol. Call if anything comes up."
The Highway 81 corridor was my least favorite part of town—pawn shops, closed businesses, run-down apartments. The kind of area that needed regular law enforcement presence. I'd driven this route a hundred times. Working girls on the corner near the old gas station. Teenagers smoking behind a boarded-up convenience store who scattered when they spotted my cruiser. The faint smell of mesquite smoke drifting on the wind.
As I approached the Crosswell Pawn & Loan on the corner lot, its neon sign flickering against the darkening sky, I glanced up at the second-floor windows.
Light blazed out. Bright against the dusk.
I slowed the cruiser.
Through the window, I could see an open room. Chrome poles anchored floor to ceiling. Four women in athletic wear—three on the ground, one inverted on a pole with her legs extended in a perfect split, suspended upside-down.
Then she spun down, and I saw her face.
Lacey.
She was wearing a purple sports bra and black shorts that barely qualified as clothing. Every muscle in her arms and core was defined as she demonstrated something to her students, then gestured for one of them to try.
My foot slammed the brake.
A horn blared. A truck swerved around me, driver yelling. I drove forward on autopilot, turned into an empty lot two blocks down, and threw the cruiser in park.
Lacey taught pole fitness.
Here. Highway 81. The worst part of town.
At night.
I sat there gripping the steering wheel, pulse hammering in my ears.
That's why her shoulders were sore. Why I'd noticed calluses on her palms. Why her arms could lift a seventy-pound dog like it was nothing.
I checked my watch. Eight-fifteen.
I should've driven away.
I got out and walked back instead.
A closed hardware store across the street offered cover—metal overhang creaking in the wind. Temperature had dropped into the low thirties. My breath came out in white puffs.
From here, I had a clear view through those windows.
She was in her element. Demonstrated a spin, then stepped back while a brunette attempted it. When the woman's grip slipped, Lacey was there immediately, hands ready to spot her.When another student nailed a climb, Lacey's grin lit up her whole face.
Then she executed a move that had her horizontal to the pole—parallel to the ground, held by nothing but arm strength and core strength. Climbed hand over hand, legs extended behind her in a perfect line. Inverted and spun in a slow circle that showcased every toned muscle in her thighs, her abs, her shoulders.
Jesus Christ.
This was pure athleticism. Strength and control and technique that took hours of training to achieve. The kind of athletic ability that deserved respect.
And it was sexy as hell.
I made myself breathe. Made myself think like a sheriff. Not like a man who'd been obsessing over her for months.
The building's security was shit. From my position, I could see the main entrance—no visible cameras. The parking lot was gravel, poorly lit. The exterior metal fire escape was rusted, bolts loose. Anyone could climb up. No motion lights. No security signage.
My jaw locked.
