Armed 'N' Ready

by Tee O'Fallon

  Saxon raised his head high and strutted slowly, deliberately around the female in a show-dog pose meant to advertise his assets. When the two dogs went nose-to-nose, Nick laughed. Even in the dog world, the signals between opposite sexes were the same as for humans. Unlike the dogs, he didn’t think Andi would be so quick to forget their encounter.

  This was a quasi-undercover plan he’d concocted. Technically, Eric was better suited for the job, having worked a lot of UC gigs for the ATF down south before transferring to the northeast. His friend had gone to a lengthy undercover school at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center, whereas Nick had no such training—unless he counted high school plays and college musicals. But he wanted this gig and wanted it badly. He had a score to settle with this gun dealer, and no way would he pass this job off to anyone else.

  He adjusted his chair and found Saxon and the golden-brown female lying a few feet from each other beneath one of several large shade trees, panting but seemingly content. Nick glimpsed Andi coming through the screen door carrying a tray loaded with silverware.

  Her blond hair was loose, hanging halfway down her back. Some of the golden strands curled softly at her temples. She headed to the opposite side of the deck from where he was sitting, greeting most customers by name. Smart. No better way to get repeat customers than to make them feel welcome. He watched the easy way she interacted with patrons and staff, pausing to chat briefly at each table.

  When she got to a table where a young couple was attending to a baby perched in a high chair, she set down the tray, and a beautiful smile lit her face. She stroked the back of the baby’s head with such gentle tenderness Nick couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  She went on to finish setting a table at the far end of the deck, then paused to look into the dog run. Her profile was to him, and he could see a smile forming on her lips, but it was short-lived. Slowly, she turned, searching the tables she hadn’t gotten to yet, and he understood what she was looking for. Him. Dogs like Saxon were distinctive in size and color. There was only one of him within at least a several-hundred-mile radius, and wherever Saxon was, Nick was.

  When she finally found him, her eyes narrowed to slits and her lips compressed into a thin line. With the tray still in her hand, she took a deep breath and headed straight to his table with long, determined strides.

  So much for their little truce yesterday afternoon. She had to know something was up.

  “Good morning,” he said when she came to stand beside his outstretched legs. From the irritated gleam in her eyes, he thought she might dump the tray over his head.

  She set it down, instead, and crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”

  A light breeze brought with it her scent, all flowery and pretty. No matter how much he wished otherwise, he couldn’t deny it. Something about her torqued every one of his senses.

  “Can’t a guy get some relaxation while he’s watching his dog play?” He locked his hands behind his head and looked up at her.

  “I have no doubt this is not a social call. For you or your partner.” She jerked her head to the dog run.

  “And you accused me of being overly suspicious?” He clucked his tongue. He was beginning to enjoy this. “Now who’s being suspicious?”

  Her lips compressed into an even thinner line. “I’m not stupid, Sgt. Houston.” She yanked out the chair next to his, then sat and leaned into his personal space. With her blue eyes and sun-kissed complexion, she was just as lovely as he remembered. “I know you want something. You said you don’t deal in bullshit, so how about doing me the courtesy of getting to the real reason you’re here.”

  “Fine.” He unlocked his hands from behind his head and leaned in until their faces were only inches apart. Bad idea. This close and his senses were more than going into overdrive—they were sparking with ignition.

  Her sweet scent was in his nose and lungs. Her warm breath fanned his face like a gentle caress.

  The job, he reminded himself.

  He hadn’t acted since college, but he could do it, and he wouldn’t fail.

  Showtime. Act I, scene I, starring Nick Houston.

  “Until Joe Myer shows up, I’m your new bartender.”

  …

  Andi must have misheard him. “You’re what?”

  “Your new bartender,” Nick repeated with a deadpan expression. “I’ve seen your want ad, and I’m your guy.”

  “You can’t be serious.” But the look on his face said otherwise, and in her gut, she knew he was. “No, no, no.” She shook her head slowly, deliberately, and repeatedly to ram home the point that there wasn’t a chance in Hades that she’d entertain such a bizarre proposition. “I have interviews this morning for a new bartender. I don’t need you.”

  “Cancel them,” he said in a harsh tone.

  “No.” She straightened then glanced at the nearest table, making sure no one could overhear their conversation. The one thing she had that was all hers was the café, and he was trying to force his way into it. Not. A. Chance. “You must be out of your mind if you think I’m going to allow you to work here. Besides, you already have a job.”

  “You said you’d do anything to show the extent of your cooperation. Don’t make a liar out of yourself,” he added.

  Damn the man for knowing just which of her buttons to push. Before she could respond, he reached behind him, the movement tightening the dove-gray T-shirt over his body, giving her an up close and personal view of just how well defined his chest and shoulder muscles were. Until now she’d only seen him in his stiff, starched uniform, protective vest, and so much equipment on his belt that she hadn’t realized how narrow his waist was.

  When he leaned slightly to the side, her eyes dipped to where the T-shirt was tucked into a pair of seriously faded jeans. A worn brown leather belt with a rectangular brass buckle snugged tight emphasized the fact that there wasn’t a single roll of fat on the man. “Here.”

  Huh? She tore her gaze from his perfect torso, embarrassed at the smile tugging at his lips. Crap. She’d so been caught ogling him, and he was eating it up.

  “Want your phone back?” He grinned openly now, those sensual lips a stark contrast to all the chiseled planes and angles of his normally serious, now incredibly handsome face.

  He was holding something out to her. Her pink cell phone. She automatically reached for it, but stopped, jerking her hand back. Suspicion prickled sharply in her brain. This was way too soon. Only yesterday Cox had informed her in no uncertain terms that it could be months before the phone was returned to her.

  She glared at him. “What’s the catch?”

  He set the phone on the table. “While your phone was in our custody, Joe called, but he wouldn’t talk to us. We had a female officer answer, but he knew it wasn’t you.”

  Now she understood why she was getting her phone back. “You want me to call him. I already tried that yesterday, and he wouldn’t answer. What makes you think he’ll answer if I call him now?”

  “He probably won’t. I think he’s savvy enough to power off the phone when he’s not using it, so he can’t be traced or tracked by the phone’s signal. But you two are obviously…close.” She could swear his jaw clenched. “He’s been trying to reach you, and I think he’ll do it again,” he continued. “You and this phone are our only link to him. Try calling him once. Assuming he doesn’t answer, leave another message reiterating the sense of urgency that he calls you back.”

  There didn’t seem to be any harm in that. “What if he does answer?”

  “Try to talk him in.”

  “Why?” She let out a sarcastic laugh. “You’ll arrest him if he turns himself in.”

  “That’s true.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I will arrest him, but I can’t do that if he’s dead, and dead is exactly what he’ll be if we don’t get to him first. Whoever Joe’s laundering money for put a hit out on him so he can’t be a witness against them.”

  Despite the rising heat, a ch
ill went through her. She covered her face with her hands, struggling to process what Nick had just told her. Large, warm fingers closed around her forearms, tugging her hands from her face. She looked into his eyes, frightened by their glittering intensity.

  “You said you didn’t authorize that wire transfer. If that’s true, then by talking him in, he can clear you and you’ll be saving his life. He can’t hide forever, from us or the gun dealer who wants to kill him. The difference between us and them is that when we get to him, we won’t put a bullet in his head. If he cooperates, there will probably still be prison time, but at least he’ll be alive to serve it.”

  Her stomach clenched as the heavy weight of his words sank in. Sure, she wanted her bank account released, but Joe really was in mortal danger, and she had no choice. Talking him in was the best thing she could do for both of them.

  “Okay,” she whispered, staring at her phone on the table.

  “You can do this. I know you can.” He released her wrists. “Here’s how this will go down. You’ll keep that phone with you at all times. I’ll be here with you most of the day and into the night, bartending inside. If he shows up, I’ll be here. He’ll probably call, rather than take the chance of showing his face with things being so hot. The minute he calls, you let me know, and you keep him on the phone. I’ll tell you what to say.”

  Nick Houston dictating what she said irked her on so many levels she couldn’t tally them fast enough. “What if he calls at night after we’ve closed down and you’re not here? You can’t be with me twenty-four seven.”

  “We checked your phone out. You have conference call capability. If I’m not here when he calls, you conference me in. I already programmed my number into your phone.”

  She picked up the phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found his entry. Nick. There was something so disturbingly personal about seeing his name in her phone contacts.

  “Call him now. When voicemail kicks in, leave the message we discussed. Don’t say anything else.”

  Swallowing her pride, she took a deep breath, then cued up Joe’s number. As Nick had predicted, it went straight to voicemail, and she left another urgent message to call her back. She ended the call and set the phone back on the table, noting that her fingers were trembling. I’m so not cut out for this stuff.

  “Good job.” He covered her hand with his, squeezing it.

  She knew the contact was merely a show of support, an atta girl for not screwing up her first assignment. But when his fingers closed around hers, the heat from his hand spread outward and upward, making her feel as if his entire body was wrapped around hers like a warm glove.

  He removed his hand. “Now let’s discuss the terms of my employment.”

  “Employment?” Her fingers still tingled from his touch, something that was short-circuiting her other senses. Oh, right. Bartending.

  She hated how she’d been forced into this deal. Worse, she despised how he could light up her body like a Roman candle. As if losing control of her restaurant to him wasn’t bad enough, now she’d lost command of her own body’s responses. Like it or not, she was stuck with him for a while.

  “Fine.” She sat back and crossed her arms. “I’ll let you work here, but these are my ground rules.” He arched a brow and smirked, which only needled her more. “You can keep your tips, but I won’t pay you a dime. Not only are you salaried by the state police, but with my bank account on ice I don’t know if I can pay my real employees. And”—she leaned forward—“you’ll have to sit through an interview just like everyone else. I need to know what your experience is. Have you ever bartended before?”

  “In college,” he answered.

  “College?” She barked out a laugh. “That’s a long time ago. You sure you remember how to do it?”

  “I’m not that old.” He cracked a lopsided smile that she found unexpectedly and irritatingly charming. “I think I remember how to pour a beer and mix a gin and tonic.”

  No, he wasn’t that old. Mid-thirties, she’d guess. “Perhaps, but there’s more to bartending than pouring a draft and mixing a drink. Social rapport is the most essential element of the job. A good bartender can bring in more customers. Conversely, a bad one can drive them right out the door and leave the DPC with a bad reputation, something I can’t afford, particularly since you’ve frozen my bank account.”

  He began rubbing his chin. “You don’t think I can do the job?”

  “It isn’t that.” Well, not exactly. She grimaced.

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll scare away all the customers.”

  He frowned. “How do you figure that?”

  “Well, you’re so…so…” She twisted her lips, struggling to find the right word. Annoying? Obnoxious? Controlling? As much as she wanted to say all those things, she couldn’t without worsening the situation.

  “I’m so what?”

  “Big,” she blurted out, settling on something not quite so insulting. “And intimidating. You’ve got cop written all over you, and frankly, I don’t think you know how to be social without sizing someone up for an orange jumpsuit and a prison cell.”

  He smiled, revealing a set of even, white teeth, then he pulled his chair closer to hers, the legs scraping on the deck. He rested a muscular forearm on the table, and she was hyperaware of his nearness. She held her breath, and when she finally inhaled, his citrusy scent invaded her lungs. He smelled too damned good.

  “You’d be surprised at the skills I possess.”

  While she processed his words, his gaze held hers captive with a potency that made her heartbeat thrum in her ears. She couldn’t tell if he was sending her a warning, boasting, or whether there was a double entendre tangled up there somewhere. In any case, there was definitely a challenging gleam in his eyes.

  “We’ll see about that.” She pushed back her chair and grabbed the tray as she stood. “We’re open for lunch and dinner. Lunch starts at eleven thirty. Don’t be late.”

  It took all her willpower not to glance over her shoulder as she walked away and pulled open the screen door. Once inside, she deposited the tray onto the bar and went directly to her office. She shut the door and fell into her desk chair. The stack of unpaid bills on her desk was getting higher.

  Irritation had her grinding her teeth. She’d been manipulated into making a deal with the devil. Unfortunately, Satan came in the form of one very hunky, incredibly sexy state trooper.

  Chapter Seven

  Nick grabbed two beer glasses from beneath the bar and flipped down the tap’s handle. He’d been working at the cafe for three days now, and things had been quiet. Other than Andi, only Tess knew who he really was and why he was there. Tess was due in shortly, and Andi was busy helping Kara and Zoe with the dining room.

  He glanced at the photo across the room on the Wall of Dog. It was a copy of the one that had been stolen from Myer’s house during the break-in. It shouldn’t, but for some reason the idea of Andi and Myer together annoyed him. More importantly, instinct and experience told him there was a bad reason why the photo was snatched. If unexpected shit went down, he’d be there front and center to stop it.

  And Myer still hadn’t called her.

  Unless she hasn’t told me.

  He served up drafts to the two men in business suits at the end of the bar. Michael Sullivan and Stan Barrow were tax attorneys in Springfield. Despite the twenty-minute drive, they stopped in every day for lunch at the same time and both ordered the green chili burger with cheddar and two beers.

  “Your burgers will be out in a few minutes,” he said as he cleared away dirty plates left by two female customers who’d just walked out the door.

  “Thanks, Nick.” Michael lifted his glass in mock salute. “Nothing better than a DPC burger. Just don’t tell the wife. She says if I don’t get my cholesterol under one-eighty, she’ll divorce me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He held back a laugh. Michael’s cholesterol might be
high, but he was about five-ten and couldn’t have weighed more than one-forty.

  “Care for a beer?” Stan asked before taking a sip. “It’s on us.”

  “Thanks, guys.” He began wiping down the bar with a dry cloth. “No can do. The boss would fire me for drinking on the job.”

  “Nah.” Stan waved a dismissive hand. “Andi’s a good woman. All her employees love her. Everyone loves her.”

  “I can see that.” And he had.

  Since the lunch crowd had begun trickling in an hour and a half ago, no fewer than half a dozen men had made a point of personally greeting her. From the way their hands had lingered at her waist as they hugged her or kissed her on the cheek, they all wanted to get into her pants. Don’t have to be a cop to see that.

  At first it was entertaining, watching her deftly maneuver and evade those who pushed too far. But seeing it day after day was beginning to irritate him. That pissed him off even more, and he didn’t understand why. Although, he had to admire the easygoing way she had with her customers, and her ability to make nice with those she clearly couldn’t stand.

  He’d already identified the regulars Andi actually liked versus the ones whose pawing and slobbering she tolerated solely to be a courteous hostess. Frank Feldman and Meera Devine were on her A-list.

  Frank had been hunkered down at the far end of the bar with Meera for the last twenty minutes. It was clear from the way he constantly leaned in that he was sweet on her.

  Meera had already confided that she worked as a secretary, but Frank hadn’t been so open about his occupation. He’d come around, they always did. Eventually, everyone bared their souls to a bartender.

  “Two more gimlets.” Frank raised his and Meera’s empty glasses.

  “You got it.” He quickly mixed together the gin and Rose’s lime syrup, then set the drinks on the bar in front of Meera and Frank.

  “You’re a welcome addition to the DPC,” Meera said, lifting her glass in a toast. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime.” He made his way to the other side of the bar to finish cleaning up after the two young women who’d just left, but Andi had already cleared things away.