by Anne Marsh
“Mack—”
“Right now’s not a good time to be talking,” he warned and she took in the glint in his eye. He was riled up good, intent on making a point, and she didn’t even know if this was about sex and his wanting her. From her point of view, he didn’t get to manhandle her, even if he was beautiful. Surely he wouldn’t actually fuck her on the bar, right? Plus, she still had all her clothes on. This had to be another game—and she was the best at games.
So she’d play.
“What’s the penalty for talking?” She leaned back on her elbows and smiled up at him, like he didn’t have her pinned and at his mercy. Oh, yeah… She had absolutely bone-melting, parts-tingling memories of just how little mercy Mack had once he got going in bed.
He grabbed the cocktail she’d made him earlier, fishing out the spear of bright red cherries and pineapple. She certainly hoped force-feeding her fruit wasn’t his idea of sexy revenge. Just in case, she’d give him some more food for thought.
“Boo—” The word came out more warning growl than endearment as she trailed her hand up over her stomach. She could have told him she didn’t like losing. In fact, she made a point of winning. She had no idea what he was up to, but the challenge in his eyes promised she was about to find out, fruit or no fruit.
He leaned down and kissed her, an open-mouthed, hard kiss that had his tongue stroking hers. Taking. Not a nice kiss, but damned hot. He felt so damned good and tasted even better, hot and sweet, although maybe that was just the cherries. She could feel his chest pressing into hers, muscled and ridged in all sorts of delicious places, so she wriggled a little closer. If he took her, she’d take him right back. That was how this game worked.
He played along, his hand tugging her shirt up and her bra cup down so his fingers could rub the soft curves he’d uncovered. She liked the way that felt, liked how his belt buckle dug sweetly into her heat. Oh, yeah. He gave her almost enough friction and pressure right there for her to finish their business and be done with him.
“You’re trouble,” he said roughly, breaking their kiss.
That was self-evident, so she didn’t bother responding. Except he wasn’t done with her, thank God. Instead, he traced her nipple with an impossibly red, out-of-this-world sweet maraschino cherry. She swallowed a groan, because he had to tell her how he felt first. That was how this game worked: the first to admit to the blazing heat was the loser and the other person held all the power.
“Nothing to say?” he drawled, and she shook her head, tightening her legs around his hips and rocking up against him. Oh, yeah. Right where he was hard and she was soft, a perfect combination like peanut butter and chocolate.
“If I’m trouble, I should plead the fifth.”
He grinned and didn’t disappoint her. He drew a swirling pattern over her boob with a rum-soaked finger. God, she’d never look at a drink the same way again. His mouth brushed her skin, licking and tasting.
“What kind of drink was that?” he asked.
“A good one?” Her own question was more breathy moan. She’d had no idea Mack could get so creative. Or that he could heat her up so fast. She wasn’t the trouble here—he was.
The best kind of trouble.
***
One minute Mack was kissing Mimi and then movement flickered in his peripheral vision and years of military training engaged. He scooped her up and took her to the floor. His instincts had saved his life more than once and being wrong beat being dead.
The front of the bar exploded in a shower of glass as the big plate glass window fronting the parking lot pushed in and shattered. The unmistakable smell of gasoline and smoke followed the sound of a car peeling rubber as the assailant beat feet. Shit. The bar’s main exit was to the right of the broken window, but there was a fire door to their left.
He looked over the counter, pressing down on Mimi’s head with his palm to keep her down. Broken glass from the window mingled with darker brown glass as flames chewed up a rag and sprayed over the dance floor. This was no accident.
“Keep down,” he barked, snagging her gun from underneath the counter. “And call Ben.” Although the side door remained an option, he didn’t want her going outside where there was the possibility of a trap or someone waiting for her. This was Strong—not an inner city ghetto—but he was almost certain that someone had just tossed a Molotov cocktail through Ma’s front window. She went nowhere without him.
Mimi snapped something he didn’t catch, but he was fairly certain the general gist was when hell freezes over. He didn’t have time to argue with her. Instead, he grabbed the fire extinguisher she kept next to the cash register and vaulted over the counter. Pulling the pin, he aimed the nozzle at the base of the fire and squeezed the lever on the can. Foam shot out, making for one hell of a clean up job. He swept the extinguisher from side to side.
“Get back down,” he roared. He didn’t have to look to know Mimi had popped up like a jack-in-the-box, determined to dive into the mess.
***
Mack had pinned her down, his body pressing hers to the floor. His big hand had curled around her neck, holding her effortlessly in place. Damn it. This was her bar. Whatever happened, she’d be a part of it. Once he’d let go, however, he was all warrior. Looking over the edge of the counter, she had no problem imagining him in the military at all. Since he’d commandeered the fire extinguisher, she settled for dialing the fire station (just in case they hadn’t noticed what was happening a hundred yards from their front door).
“We’re on our way,” Ben Cortez said, picking up after the first ring.
Sure enough, even as glass rained down around them, she heard the wail of the fire truck’s siren over the crackle of the flames. The smell of gasoline and char grew more powerful. Fuck staying put.
Grabbing a handful of bar towels, she ran out and started beating down the flames Mack hadn’t reached yet. Auntie Belle’s inheritance had been a lifeline. So, although she might not want to stay in Strong, she wasn’t losing this place. When she walked, it would be her choice.
Twenty minutes later, the fire was out, her bar was full of firefighters (again), and she was having yet another sit down with Sheriff Hernandez. The other woman had to be sick of her, although nothing about her face gave that away. She did an excellent job of keeping things professional.
The sheriff drummed her fingers on the bar. “You’re an epicenter of trouble.”
Mercedes Hernandez had dark hair, dark eyes, and a set of curves she’d bet the other woman loathed. It was hard to get the male population of Strong to take you seriously when you looked the way Mercedes did, although the gun helped. Of course, men were also stupid. Mimi had certainly learned that.
“This one wasn’t my fault,” she pointed out. Speeding tickets were absolutely not in the same league as fire bombs, even very small fire bombs.
“Probably not,” Mercedes agreed. She didn’t sound particularly convinced, however, which was undoubtedly Mimi’s fault. She did a quick mental count. She’d scored three speeding tickets in the last month, so the sheriff probably did have grounds for feeling overworked. “One of the volunteer firefighters spotted a dark blue sedan speeding down Main Street. The driver left tire tracks in your parking lot, so maybe we confirm his guess that this is our perpetrator.”
“Dark blue? Kind of beat up, with a dent in the driver-side door?”
Mack had plastered himself protectively by her side the moment the sheriff had made her appearance and Mimi was trying to work out how she felt about that. The look on his face, however, said that he’d just like to see someone try and toss another Molotov cocktail through her front window. Granted, it would be easier now since the window was just an empty frame. She’d have to call a glass company tomorrow and get them to send someone out. Hopefully, her insurance company would cover it.
And… she was babbling. To herself. It was definitely time to bring the night to a close.
Mercedes peered at her. “Yes, dark blue. Do you k
now who did this?”
“Not a clue.” Which was the truth. Guesses weren’t facts.
Beside her, Mack grunted. Not being an expert in male-ese, Mimi ignored him. He could use his words if he wanted to participate in their conversation.
“So there’s no one who has made any threats or who has a grudge against you and might have done this? And this dark blue sedan is completely unfamiliar to you?”
“No to the first question, or at least not that I’m aware of.”
Mack made a louder sound and elbowed her in the ribs.
Sheriff Hernandez looked at him. “Do you have something to contribute?”
“He absolutely doesn’t.” She’d kill him first.
Of course he ignored her. “Tell Sheriff Hernandez about the phone call from the Oakland D.A.”
Sheriff Hernandez leaned forward. Mimi cursed.
“It was a phone call, not a death threat.”
Two sets of eyes stared her down.
“Okay,” she sighed. “I got a phone call. I was involved in one of the district attorney’s cases a few years ago.”
“As the star witness,” Mack interjected.
“My testimony was critical in convicting several gang members of a convenience store shooting. Or so I was told.” The district attorney had been determined to take those men off the street. If she hadn’t come forward, she was certain he would have found another way to convict.
Sheriff Hernandez nodded slowly. “You testified. The defendants went to jail. And now?”
“And now one of them is out on parole. The district attorney gave me a call as a courtesy to let me know. The kingpin is still incarcerated—” and would be for the rest of his natural life—“but his associate is now out, about, and unaccounted for. The district attorney expressed some concern that the parolee might come looking for me.”
Sheriff Hernandez made some notes. “And do you share this concern?”
She wasn’t sure.
“Damn right she does,” Mack said in a low, fierce voice. His jaw was visibly tense, a small muscle hopping there. Apparently, he was upset. She actually hadn’t seen him mad before. Huh. She found it sexy, which just underscored once again how messed up she was.
Sheriff Hernandez nodded slowly, like she was adding two and two and coming up with a plausible answer. “Have there been any other incidents?”
“No—” said Mack at the same time Mimi said, “Maybe. I had a run in with a dark blue sedan yesterday.”
Mack spat out a curse and looked at her. “Maybe? What kind of an answer is that?”
“A truthful one.”
She outlined yesterday’s possible drive-by shooting quickly, emphasizing that she hadn’t been at all sure what she’d heard. Disbelief and anger radiated off the man beside her, which was too bad. After all, she was the one who’d almost been shot. Maybe. Possibly. At any rate, he had no business being upset. No one had aimed a gun at his head.
When she stopped talking, Sheriff Hernandez made another note. “Given what happened here tonight, I don’t want to underplay the possibility that you were shot at yesterday. I’ll cordon off the parking lot when we leave, and then I’ll go over it in the morning. It’s possible that any bullets are still there.”
Around them, the firefighters were wrapping things up. Thanks to Mack’s quick reaction, the damage was fairly minimal. She’d need some new flooring to take care of the scorch marks, and the bar definitely smelled like smoke. She also had a lifetime supply of foam all over the place, but at least the guys had refrained from blasting her place with the hoses. Probably because they didn’t want to put Strong’s only bar out of business, but she’d take what she could get.
Sheriff Hernandez handed her over to Ben Cortez, Strong’s fire chief, who walked her through the steps the firefighters had taken. While she appreciated his thoroughness (and his restraint in not reducing the bar’s floor to kindling to make sure that the fire was entirely out), she could feel herself swaying on her feet, the night catching up with her.
When she looked around, though, Mack was nowhere in sight.
Not that she wanted him here.
Not at all.
***
Mack slammed a hand against the wall. Not too hard, because breaking bones would be stupid but he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Someone had firebombed Mimi’s place—someone who held a very personal grudge against her. He followed up with a few choice words.
“Mimi okay?” Will Donegan, one of the Big Bear Rogue hotshots who moonlighted during the winter months as a part-time firefighter, stopped carting equipment and gear back out to the truck. Apparently, despite being maybe a hundred yards away, the guys had brought the truck over to Mimi’s parking lot. They’d also unrolled enough hoses to soak half of Strong. Mack approved of that. Better safe than sorry.
A sentiment that Mimi clearly didn’t subscribe to.
“Not for long,” he growled.
Will nodded. He was in full turnout gear but, as Mack watched, he pulled off his coat and slung it over his shoulder. With the fire (such as it was) out inside the bar, it was too hot for Nomex. He rubbed his forehead on his T-shirt while he stared at Mack. “Like that, is it?”
Damned if he didn’t glare at the other man. “Like what?”
Will suddenly looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. “You and Mimi. I didn’t realize the two of you were seeing each other.”
Yeah. Because they weren’t. Mack still intended to change that, but tonight’s little fire bomb had put a whole new spin on things.
“We’re not,” he said. “Yet.”
Will looked over his shoulder at Mack. “Good luck.”
He’d need it.
He headed back into the bar, ready to dive in and get some answers. Sheriff Hernandez was clearly on her way out, so he stopped her by shifting left into her path. Since he outweighed her by a good seventy pounds or so, she came to a halt. It was that or body slam him but she was clearly feeling nice tonight.
“Pushing your luck, Johnson,” she observed casually.
He didn’t care. “What’s the plan?”
“Excuse me?”
“For keeping Mimi safe. If someone tossed a Molotov cocktail in here, he could come back. Finish what he started.”
Sheriff Hernandez sighed. “Acts like this are usually intended to scare rather than kill and the damage to the bar is largely cosmetic.”
The anger he’d just choked down rose up again. “Usually doesn’t mean always. The district attorney was concerned enough to call her.”
“I’ll have a patrol car drive by every hour.”
“Not good enough.” He knew he was being unreasonable, but this was Mimi.
Sheriff Hernandez gave him a level look. “The sheriff’s office consists of myself and two part-time deputies. We can only be in so many places at once. I appreciate your concern, but I’m out of resources.”
“Fine,” he bit out. “I’ll do it.”
Sheriff Hernandez nodded. “I’d heard that.”
He didn’t have to ask what she’d meant. Or heard. Clearly, Strong’s grapevine was working just fine.
Christ. He’d known Mimi was nothing but trouble. Now she was in trouble and he was her self-appointed protector.
Chapter Six
“Twenty steps. I had that mastered by the time I was two.”
“Precocious,” Mack said around a mouthful of nails, more focused on the large sheet of plywood he was holding in place over her window than her. Hah. That would change. “And you’re still waiting for me to walk you up.”
Mack was all commands. Reaching over, she plucked a nail out of his mouth. Hammering appeared to be the best way to relieve her frustration, because it was damned certain she’d never look at the bar counter the same way again. Her fingers brushed his mouth, though, when she relieved him of several nails and that just sent another flush of heat through her body. Unacceptable. She did not want this growly, order-giving alpha male.
She drove the first nail into the plywood with a hard, fierce blow of the hammer. The smell of smoke drifted out of her bar, and she’d clearly sustained some damage to the floor, but it could be so much worse. Mack had jumped into action and saved the day. Once again, damn it. She probably owed him now. At the very least, she needed to say thank you. Instead, she pounded the second and third nails into place. Mack, not being stupid, moved his fingers clear of her hammering.
Behind them, the parking lot emptied out as Strong’s first responders went back to their stations or beds. By morning, the entire town would know what had happened, but for right now she and Mack were alone. She drove the final handful of nails into the board.
“That ought to hold us until morning.” Mack tested the security of the board, but the edges stayed put. Methodically, he tucked the tools back into his toolbox, packing up like this was just another job. Maybe it was for him. Maybe she was the only one wondering when they had become us.
It didn’t matter. She’d figure out this not-quite-a-relationship thing they had going on tomorrow. Or never. The yawn that overtook her was almost titanic in proportions. “Bedtime for me,” she decided.
She turned and started trudging up the stairs that led to the apartment over the bar. Ben had okayed her staying there—on a scale of one to ten, her fire had barely scraped a two—and she was ready for plenty of pillow time. If her place smelt like smoke, she didn’t care. Mack fell into step behind her, a warm, solid presence tracking her up the stairs. Fortunately, she didn’t have to admit it to him, but she did feel better having company.
When she reached the top, she unlocked the door, opened it with a hard bump of her hip because the door always stuck, and flipped on the light. It was time for Mack to go home. She turned to say her goodbyes and kick his ass to the curb, but he was too fast for her. He stuck his booted foot in the door and then followed up with his body. Checkmate.
