If she told Will her reason for being there, would he leave quietly and let her do her thing? Or would he make a fuss and drag her out of the place? Knowing the bossy, control-freak, straitlaced Will the way she did, she figured on an eighty percent chance of the latter.
She couldn't take that risk.
Lifting her chin, she cocked her hip and planted a hand on her red-satin-covered hipbone. "That just shows you don't know me as well as you think. I love to prance. Especially in tail feathers." She spun on her heel and hip-swayed her way across the floor as if it were a catwalk. Every eyeball in the place followed her. She knew it, she felt it, and she didn't care. The only thing she wanted to do was wipe that look off Will's judgmental face.
Will wanted to tear his gaze away from Merry's perky rear, but that would have required a complete brain transplant. God, was any woman ever more infuriating? She seemed to go out of her way to irritate him and get under his skin. He was trying to look out for her, for Chrissake.
No matter what she said, he'd bet his truck that she was here on a story. But what kind of story could the Rootin' Rooster possibly have to offer?
The place was a haven for lowlifes. They drank, they brawled, they left big tips, and sometimes they crossed the line. Assault and battery cases weren't uncommon. The owner was a complete sleazeball; some said he was mobbed up but no one had ever proved it. Will often heard rumors of drug deals taking place here…
And then it clicked. Goddamn it. Merry was here following up on the story she'd promised to put on pause. The link between the campfire arson and the flow of opioids into the area. She must think the Rootin' Rooster had something to do with it.
Nothing else made sense. If she wanted to do a story on the life of a cocktail waitress, she could find a place closer to home. To take a temporary job in the worst part of town, the story had to be worth her while. Only something big would fit that bill.
Stewing, he watched as she darted around the room, taking orders and delivering drinks. In typical Merry fashion, she moved fast and smart, so efficient, so on point. She had a good manner with the customers, too. Just friendly enough to earn her tips, but not so much as to encourage conversation.
Who was Merry Warren, anyway? He knew so little about her, he realized. All he knew was the outer layer—the quick-witted reporter who always had a comeback and who wrote clean, precise articles that actually got the facts right. The woman who never dated, as far as he knew, but had tons of friends. The woman who, after she'd woken up on his couch, had ghosted before they could discuss what had happened.
What else? Merry had no patience for bullshit. He'd seen her roll her eyes during press conferences when someone made a statement that didn't add up. Her car was a godawful mess. She liked to laugh. She worked hard. And damn, she really knew how to move in tights, a bustier and tail feathers.
Everyone else was noticing exactly the same thing. Goddamn, it wasn't safe for her here. What was she going to do, work past midnight, then drive back to town in her crappy, messy Corolla? What about all the drunken deadbeats who might follow her to her car?
He dug the heel of his hand into his forehead. A headache was developing, he was exhausted from traveling, and all he wanted to do was get home. But no way was he going to leave Merry here on her own. He'd have to stick around until closing.
When she sashayed over to deliver his Roosterburger, he told her as much. As predicted, she didn't take it well.
"You're insane. Do you know how many cocktail waitresses work here? Are you going to babysit every one of them?"
"Only if they have a knack for getting into trouble." Serenely, he ignored her protests and poured ketchup on his burger.
"I'm just doing my job."
He glanced up at her. She held the tray under her arm, the opposite hand planted on her hip. Her golden-brown eyes snapped with outrage.
"That's just it. Which job are you really doing?"
The flash of self-consciousness told him he'd hit the bull's-eye. She skimmed a glance across the nearby tables, probably making sure no one could hear them.
She lowered her voice. "Again, it's really none of your business. Isn't there some kind of rule about interfering in an investigation? You're always accusing me of that."
He burst out laughing. "Dream on, Lois Lane. There's no law against me interfering in your investigation, especially since you promised you'd let it rest."
"I said I wouldn't print anything. That doesn't mean I can't do my research."
"So you are researching. Damn it, Merry. That's a bad idea." He leaned closer and gripped a hand around her forearm. "Drug dealers are dangerous. You aren't trained to handle this kind of situation. Why don't you let the police take over?"
"I'm not getting in anyone's way." She jerked her arm away. "I'm just waiting tables. Jesus. Now eat your burger and go along home. We don't like customers hogging the tables."
"I already told you. I'm not leaving. If you make a fuss, I'll let the manager know he hired himself a fake waitress."
Her face tightened with anger. "You wouldn't."
"Try me. Face it, Merry, you're a magnet for trouble. You nearly got kidnapped off a hiking trail. Then you got shot with a tranquilizer dart. Now you're wearing that," he waved a hand at her outfit, “around fifty men who are quickly losing all their inhibitions. I'm not leaving here without you."
She stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head as if resigning herself to putting up with a watchdog. "Fine. If you're going to be so stubborn, the least I could do is bring you some sustenance. You like fries?"
"Very funny."
She screwed up her face at him. "Should have figured you wouldn't forget that comment. Let me ask you something, Deputy Annoying. Are you single?"
He stabbed a fork into his coleslaw. "Why do you ask that? I'm not trying to hit on you. I'm trying to keep you safe."
"The reason I ask is because you really ought to think about lightening up. I'm a grown woman. Did you ever think maybe you're scaring away all the good ones with your bossy attitude?"
"Is that an honest question?" He laid his fork down and held her gaze. She nodded, though his sudden intensity made her draw back a bit. "Honest answer, then. No, I've never considered the possibility that my bossiness scares women away. For most it's a turn-on, as a matter of fact. I've never heard a complaint from anyone except you, out of all the women in Jupiter Point. So I guess that means we won't be going to bed anytime soon."
Her pupils widened and he caught the subtle sound of her breath quickening.
Jesus. It was a damn good thing he was off duty. He'd never talk to her like this if he was on the job. He usually kept himself under better control.
"Some men are sensitive to a woman's feelings," Merry was saying. "They ask, instead of issuing orders. Maybe you should consider giving it a try sometime."
He snorted. "Let me guess, you have some fantasy about a New Age guy who plays the flute and rubs your feet and listens to all your problems."
She gaped at him.
Ha. He'd hit the nail on the head. "Maybe that's why you're still single. Those guys only exist in, I don't know, ads for a juice cleanse or something."
Her nostrils flared. She looked like she was about to bonk him on the head with her tray. Maybe he'd gone too far.
He softened his tone. "I'm just trying to keep you from getting hurt. It's part of the whole 'protect and serve' mentality. Are we on the same page here?"
"Put it this way," she said in a voice that shook ever so slightly. "I accept the fact that I'm not getting rid of you tonight. Likewise, I accept the fact that you are the last man in Jupiter Point that I will ever go to bed with. So I guess we are on the same page."
"Good." Emphatically, he lifted his burger and ripped a hunk of meat off it. Cold. Damn it.
As he savagely chewed his burger, he knew one thing for sure. If Merry had disliked him before, multiply that by a thousand now. Maybe a lawman and a reporter were doomed to be at odds f
orever.
Thank God for AnonyMs. At least with her, he could have a civil, adult conversation. Something that was clearly impossible with Merry Warren.
8
The fact that Will didn't trust her enough to let her do her job in peace made Merry furious. Out of the four cocktail waitresses at the Rootin' Rooster, she was the only one with her own tagalong rent-a-cop. He didn't watch her every move, but it felt like it. Sometimes she glanced over and saw him talking on his phone, or jotting down notes on a notepad.
Maybe he was actually picking up some clues while he was hanging around. Which would be helpful, since she hadn't gleaned anything since she'd started working here.
Not that he would share any clues with her. Of course not. He didn't respect her or what she did.
One bright side was that the other customers took note of his presence and left her alone more than usual. Since he'd taken his seat, all long-legged and quiet and forceful, not a single drunkard had put a hand on her ass.
As the night wore on, her anger drained away. She'd always been quick to react, but her temper usually cooled just as quickly.
Really, sticking around to protect her was a thoughtful gesture. Obviously Will was tired. The dark circles under his eyes made them a smokier color than usual. Grooves bracketed his mouth. His firm lips cut like stone into the dark grain of his scruff. He didn't have his usual stoic patience with an undercurrent of irritation. Tonight, that irritation came right out into the open. He seemed edgier, rougher, and face it—hotter.
She'd always considered him an attractive man, though she'd fought against it. But out of his uniform, in an open-necked shirt and worn jeans…Jesus take the wheel. He was really something.
And he was dedicating his night to watching over her. Solid, trustworthy, good Will Knight. Fighter of evil, defender of Jupiter Point.
Honestly, it was difficult to be too upset with him. Besides, she'd just have to nose around on her next shift. He couldn't stalk her every night.
At the end of her shift, she changed into her regular clothes in the staff bathroom. She carefully slipped her tail feather costume into a garment bag and hung it in the closet set aside for the waitstaff's uniforms. She stuffed her tips into her purse then slung it across her chest, messenger-bag style.
The other waitresses were hanging out at the bar for one last nightcap. Ordinarily, Merry would join them in case anyone dropped a tidbit she could follow up on. But not tonight. Not with Will waiting. Besides, she wanted her bed and her own apartment. It felt like weeks since she'd been there.
And because of that decision, she got the first break in her "investigation." As she was slipping out the side door, which was reserved for employees, she spotted a large, beefy man whose mass was large enough to seem gravitational. His manner, his posture, all reeked of "lord of all he surveys" arrogance. He was in the midst of approaching a dark sedan with tinted windows—a hired Town Car, she guessed. A driver waited inside, the engine idling. Another man stepped out as he approached and opened the back door for him.
He inserted his huge body inside and gave a signal to drive away.
A chill rippled through her. She had no doubt that man had something to do with whatever criminal activity was taking place at the Rootin' Rooster. Even though she hadn't seen much of him, she fixed the details of his appearance in her mind. Weight, close to three hundred pounds. Height, six feet. Coloring—who knew?
If only she'd left just a little bit earlier and had been sitting in her car. She would have had a crystal-clear view of him…
She glanced across the parking lot and caught sight of Will's Tacoma right next to her car.
In perfect position to see that man.
She waited until the sedan had completely disappeared from the lot, then dashed across to the Tacoma. Will rolled down the window as she approached.
"Did you see that man?" she asked him.
He maintained that implacable calm that always irritated her. "What man?"
"The one who just got into that sedan. I'll bet you anything he's involved in this thing. If you were paying any attention at all, you would have noticed him."
"Hm." He shrugged his broad shoulders. Her glance dropped to the seat next to him. His hand was tented over an object that looked suspiciously like a smartphone.
"Oh my God. You got a shot of him, didn't you?"
He lifted one eyebrow at her but refused to answer her question. "You're probably ready to get home. You must be tired. I'll wait until you drive away. I want to make sure you leave safely."
Merry felt as if the top of her head might blow off from sheer frustrated rage. "Are you seriously telling me that after my long night of slinging flat beer and poison fries, you got the best lead, and you aren't even going to share it with me?"
"I told you what I think. Investigators investigate. Reporters report. Now are you going home or do I have to get out and physically put you into your car so I can get some sleep?"
The nerve. The colossal, unmitigated, inexcusable nerve of the man. She hauled off and kicked his front tire. She was wearing her favorite half-boots, suede with a zipper up the side, so she didn't kick too hard. The gesture hurt her toe more than the tire, for sure.
Even so, it wiped that smirk off his face. "Seriously? You're going to assault a law enforcement officer?"
"No. Just his vehicle." She kicked again, the sharp toe of her boot slamming into the rubber of his tire with a satisfying thunk. "And you'd better keep a close watch on that phone too, because I'll snag it the first chance I get."
"You're going to rob an officer? You're really asking for trouble, aren't you?" Amusement threaded his voice.
"Don't laugh at me. I'm really mad at you."
"Yeah, I got that. My truck got that. My tire got that. I'm sorry you're mad that I can't just share police evidence with you until I know what it means."
"It's a photo. If you're so worried about my safety, you should show it to me so I can avoid that man. How am I supposed to recognize him if I never see his face?"
If that argument moved him, he didn't show it. "You should get home."
She threw up a hand. "We're done. Don't follow me. Don't talk to me." She took a few steps away from him, then whirled around again. "Did you ever wonder how I got to the age of twenty-six with no major injuries, a master's in journalism, and a portfolio full of award-winning press clippings? Did you ever think, 'Hm, maybe she's smart and knows what she's doing and doesn't take stupid chances? Maybe I should offer her a little respect instead of shutting her down? Hm, maybe that Merry Warren cares just as much about the well-being of Jupiter Point as I do?'" She shook her head, the frustration cracking around her like static. "This is why you can't trust a man. This is why us women are better off standing up for ourselves."
At least she got the last word. Will said nothing else as she stormed away from his truck. She marched to her car, which she'd parked under the brightest light in the lot. Despite what Will seemed to think, she knew how to keep herself safe. She had the power. She worked out, she'd taken self-defense training, she didn't put herself into dangerous situations. If she found herself in a sketchy spot, she knew how to de-escalate and squirm her way out of it.
Failing that, she knew how to dial nine-one-one. And ask for anyone except Deputy Will Knight.
Still fuming, she drove out of the lot, thoroughly aware of Will's close attention to her exit.
Back home, she was still so worked up that she changed into Tommy Hilfiger boxers and a ribbed T and danced around to her "power" playlist, which was a weird mixture of old school hip-hop and Brazilian afro-pop that her mother sent her. Her mom showed up in the mix too, though her songs were mostly jazz ballads.
Still vibrating with adrenaline, she sorted through her mail, then drank a tall glass of lemonade. She watered her plants, which she kept in her kitchen sink because the leaky faucet was their only source of water if she was on a deadline. She took a stab at cleaning up her living room. Mostly that
meant carting piles of books and papers from one place to another. She thought of her apartment as a nest, which meant everything was soft and cushiony. She'd chosen plush chocolate carpet, the most comfortable couch ever designed, and a color scheme of bronze and green that she found very easy on the eyes.
When she'd finally worked off all that energy, she pulled out her laptop. She could really use a sweet message from her favorite online mystery man. The best way to counteract an obnoxious man would be a chat with someone completely different. Honestly, sometimes she found it amazing that two members of the same gender could be so opposite.
In her email inbox, she found a message from Chase. Great article!! You killed it. Did you like my photos?
She answered with, Yes. Nice job. She had the sense she was patting a friendly dog on the head. He was so eager to please, and if he maintained respect for her boundaries, maybe they could start talking in a more genuine way.
She switched to the Flirt app and saw that a message had been waiting there since Friday. She'd been so busy with her weekend Rootin' Rooster shifts that she hadn't checked. She scanned through it quickly, her heart rate amping up all over again.
I don't want this thing between us to wither away from lack of oxygen. If we don't meet, that's what might happen. I'm willing to take the risk. Are you?
Oh my God. This was it. Decision time.
StarLord was right. If they never met in person, they'd eventually lose steam. On the other hand, if they did meet in person, who knew what would happen?
She thought about Will Knight and his infuriating behavior. Damn it, she wanted to meet StarLord just to spite Will. To prove that men could be sensitive and sweet.
Stalling for time, she clicked over to her email. A new message had come in about ten minutes ago, probably while she'd been dancing around in her underwear. It was from Will Knight's personal email account, which she'd never actually seen before.
The subject line read, "Friend of yours?"
The body of the email was nothing but an attachment. A photo of the man at the Rootin' Rooster. The photo had been snapped at the moment when he was getting into the sedan, so the interior dome light illuminated his features. She didn't recognize him, but he sure looked like a hard man.
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