She had been blessed by her five feet ten inch height and walked tall in her camouflaged uniform. Beyond her intimidating size, which dwarfed most of the men she’d known, her MP shield and the chevrons on her collars had provided the rest of what she’d needed to make men talk to her. Obviously, those glory days were gone. St. Nick’s two sleazy step-brothers were all but drooling over her cleavage as she tried to carry on conversation with the morons. Despite the attention-getting Cleopatra eyes she had purposely drawn around her own, she doubted either of the jerks talking to her would be able to state her eye color if asked. Tonight was a job or she would have chosen her clothes more carefully. His stepbrothers were both acting like dweebs about the conservatively sexy outfit David had insisted would help her gain information. She decided to moniker them to better fit how they were acting. It gave her a focus from which she could study them. Dweeb 1—aka Lincoln—insisted on asking insensitive questions about her military service.
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