Sheila's Passion by Lora Leigh Page A

remembered what it felt like when she was nineteen and she learned the man she thought she loved had only been using her to get to her father. That it hadn’t been her he wanted, it had been a position that her father controlled. One that, once he’d acquired it, Douglas Rutledge couldn’t take from him.
    But, as her father had said, it wasn’t worth taking back. It had been worth it to know he’d wanted the job rather than the daughter. And better she’d known before Sheila had messed up her life and married the man.
    At the time, she hadn’t seen it that way. She understood the reason he had tested the relationship by assigning the position before the proposal, but the knowledge that she’d been wanted for anything more than what her father could provide still managed to hurt.
    She had never taken a love interest to meet her father since. Dates picked her up at her house, a small cottage a half mile from her father’s main house. She never told her father who she was seeing, or when she was seeing them.
    It was easier that way.
    If anyone mentioned wanting to meet her father, it spelled the end of whatever relationship they had.
    She never dated anyone her father knew.
    Until Casey.
    But, she excused herself, she wasn’t exactly dating Casey. She was only sleeping with him, wasn’t she?
    Still, she was breaking one of her own rules and she knew it.
    Then she had compounded that error by falling in love with him.
    Yes, she was in love with him, and she knew it.
    Sitting in her car outside the bar two nights later, she knew she had made that drastic mistake. A horrendous mistake. One guaranteed to break her heart in half.
    Breathing out roughly, she tested the feel of the boots she wore before opening the door of her small car and stepping out.
    The hollow heel still felt a little strange.
    Casey had brought her the boots the night before, claiming he felt the newly designed heel would be more secure than her purse for hiding the flash drives she carried to her father twice a week.
    The tiny chamber was waterproof and it would be impossible to detect the drive using any electronic means, he assured her.
    He’d acted positively protective, and for a second, just a second, she’d wondered if she had been wrong, if he felt something more for her than simply lust.
    “Can’t have those drives getting lost or stolen if some yahoo decides to grab your purse.” He’d shrugged then. “I hate wasting my time.”
    And her hopes had plummeted.
    Dammit.
    She’d thought by now he would have at least shown a few emotions besides worry over the damned flash drives.
    The information on them was imperative, she knew. The tracking of terrorists, both homeland and overseas was imperative. Drug and weapons runners and any other criminal element that walked through the doors of the bar was fair game.
    Every customer was photographed the second they entered and, using hidden remote cameras, additional pictures could be taken.
    Who they met with, who they danced with, what they did in the parking lot. Rumors, gossip, and drunken bragging were recorded, saved, and then placed on the flash drive to be given to the captain. He then delivered it to the homeland security team assigned to break down the information and investigate as needed.
    It was done quietly, effectively, and it had worked for eight years. Since the day Ethan Cooper had reopened the Broken Bar and brought the proposal to the captain, after he’d learned about the clientele he wouldn’t be able to keep out of it.
    Since that day, the bar had reigned as the only alcoholic establishment allowed within the county limits. The Broken Bar was a favorite among the locals as well as the criminal element. And Ethan Cooper ran the establishment with an iron hand.
    No dealing, drugs or otherwise, was the rule, though they’d recorded it happening often enough.
    The bouncers watched out for the women first, innocent men second, and they were all friends of Cooper’s. Tough,