Harley Myers can smell a shifter a mile away. And she could smell trouble, just as easily. And now both were wrapped up in the drifter that sat at the end of her bar. He wasn't one of her tigers, and she didn't know what he wanted, but he was sending out enough signals that he was interested in getting her attention. Was he worth getting involved with? Hell, yeah. No guy like him had come her way in a long time. She'd just have to be careful. Being the leader of a motorcycle club had taught her that. Jericho Steele was an assassin with time to kill. He'd found himself in this hole-in-the-wall pub, and thought there was no better way to kill time than with the sexy girl behind the bar. She had more curves than a switchback highway, and he thought she would be just the thing to keep him occupied until he found his target. He just needed to keep his shifter status a secret. The clubs here were close knit and even though he was a tiger, his stripes would stick out like that proverbial sore thumb. But when the leader of a rival club thinks Jericho double-crossed him, and Harley's brother is accused of a drug deal gone bad, both of them end up with targets on their backs. The only thing they can do now is stick together. And run like hell, until the smoke clears.