On a Tuesday night.
In the middle of nowhere.
Unbelievable.
Dee angled through the crowd to the bathroom. Business taken care of, she stood before a standard silver-framed mirror and stared at her pale reflection. The dark circles under her hazel eyes were beyond help, not that she had the energy to fool with make-up. But she needed to look like she fit in, like she belonged here rather than like someone on the run. Pulling a brush out of her purse, she dragged it through her limp hair and fastened it in a low ponytail. “Like that makes a big difference,” she said to the image as she angled her head side to side.
Squaring her shoulders, Dee stepped out of the bathroom and headed toward the only readily available seat—a stool on the far side of the bar.
The air-conditioning fought a losing battle against the crowd. It was as hot and humid in here as it was in the late summer night outside. Still she found herself relaxing. The rumble of conversation and laughter floating beneath the cover of loud music held a friendly, peaceful quality that was the exact opposite of the club she’d left behind in Ohio.
Dee had barely settled on the stool before a tall, lanky bartender appeared.
“What can I get you?”
Her sluggish mind flipped through choices. She desperately needed to unwind, but she had to stay clear-headed.
“You look like the wine sort. I have a respectable white….”
“No,” a deep, velvety voice beside her cut in. “She’s a cosmopolitan girl.”
Cosmopolitan girl? Dee glanced at her tired clothing. What was it about wrinkles and stains and not a single speck of make-up that suggested cosmopolitan?
Dee turned to look at the poor, deluded creature and found her gaze snared by the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes that were staring right into her, as if he could read the secrets of her soul.
Dee jerked her gaze away, her heart pounding, and stared blindly at the counter in front of her.
“Light on the vodka. We don’t want her to go face first on the bar,” he said.
Her fatigue-drugged senses jumped to defense. “Make it a double.”
“A single, watered down.”
Her gaze snapped back to him; she lifted a challenging brow.
“Your eyes look like road maps,” he said then leaned closer and sniffed loudly.
Dee pulled back, fighting the urge to smack that angular face.
“You don’t smell like smoke,” he continued, “of any kind. So you must be tired.”
His explanation only slightly mollified her. It was nothing short of the truth. And, she conceded to herself, she’d gladly accept anything wet that was set in front of her.
Now if he’d just go away and leave her alone.
“So are you new to the area?”
She rolled her eyes, heaving a loud sigh.
“Where are you from?”
“I’m just passing through,” she groused.
Amusement tugged at the bartender’s mouth. “She wants to be left alone.”
She lifted the glass set before her and tipped it toward him in salute before taking a sip of the cranberry drink. “Smart man.”
“Naw, he’s just a psychologist wannabe.”
“Aren’t they all?” Just that fast Dee found herself staring into those dark, mesmerizing eyes again, smiling into his easy grin.
He should have been a boy toy—fluff—with his too handsome face; his scruffy beard that was more an extension of his short-cropped, black hair; straight black brows that curved just over the outside corner of his eyes; his slim, straight nose; his chiseled lips. Even his teeth were perfect.
He should have been easy to ignore—another pretty face that masked an empty head and even emptier intentions. Born and raised near Hollywood before moving to Ohio, Dee had encountered plenty of them.
But there was a solid, unshakeable core to this man. An inner strength that radiated from him in warm waves. The ache between her shoulders grew more pronounced as her tension eased. Her caffeine-jangled nerves wanted to curl up next to him and rest beneath the shelter of that strength, lay her problems at his feet, and let him deal with the burden.
That made him dangerous.
Because murder was serious business. A murderer chasing you, his next intended victim, was deadly. She couldn’t afford to trust anybody. She didn’t dare endanger anyone else, especially a stranger, by involving them in her problems.
“We’re not exactly on the beaten path,” he said, propping his elbow on the bar. “Where are you headed?”
She opened her mouth, stopped, shook her head, and closed it again. It was impossible to speak when you didn’t know the answer. Thirty-six hours ago, her only thought was to run. To hide. She was just realizing she couldn’t run forever, that she had to have a plan.
“I’m Jared.” His fingers inched over the glossy counter toward hers, then stopped when she slid her hand away. His dark eyes followed the movement before doing a quick but thorough sweep over her face, her clothing.
He expected an answer, waited for her to give her name as he scrutinized the fatigue she knew lined her face, the ketchup stain still visible on the right thigh of her khaki shorts. A remnant of trying to eat fast food while driving a standard transmission.
She took a moment to return the favor. His eyes were rock steady, his expression intent. The fit of his black T-shirt suggested a sculpted chest; his snug black jeans defined muscled thighs. He was all male, all ready, and too much. At this moment, she had neither the mental energy nor stamina to hold her own against him.
“I’m leaving.” Dee shifted to stand.
“Stay.”
She curled her fingers over the rounded edge of the bar, ready to push away.
“What’s the rush? You haven’t even finished your drink,” he said.
His liquid, Southern accent poured over her like warm honey. What would it hurt to sit five more minutes?
He shifted his body until he crowded the outer limits of her personal space, his warm, spicy scent invading her air. His penetrating gaze probed her mind. The tiny row of lines around his eyes said he knew exactly what he was doing.
“You’re safe here.”
A shrill twitter of laughter escaped before she could cover her mouth. Embarrassed, she blinked back scalding tears.
Jared swiveled on his stool to more fully face her. Settling his back against the wall, he sipped from a bottle of water, his laser eyes on her. Her emotional lapse, which would have driven any normal man away, only seemed to increase his interest.
Dee swiveled toward the bar and took refuge in the cool, smooth angles of her glass.
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Your name is Darlene.”
He was doing it again. Trying to provoke a response. She could hear it in his voice. But she was prepared for him this time. Turning her back completely to him, Dee sipped her drink and studied the room.
“Doesn’t look like a Darlene,” the bartender chimed in.
The room was large. Golden, rough-hewn wood paneled the walls with tan string-cloth wallpaper below a chair rail. The dance floor, directly in front of her, was getting a lot of use tonight.
“Helga,” Jared said.
“You’re kidding me, right? She is not a ‘Helga.’”
A smile tugged at her lips as she tapped her foot to the rhythm of the country tune.
“I think she’s a Mary,” the bartender said.
“No way.” Jared’s voice was absolute.
“Debbie?”
A stage occupied about a half of the back wall. Interesting. Apparently this place, in the middle of nowhere, had live music.
“Too common.” Jared’s warm voice slid around her. “Sophia.”
“Cordelia.” She turned back to him, her mouth uttering words she’d meant to keep private. “Cordelia Quinn. Dee.”
Was it the sane normality of this place or the sense of safety he exuded? Somehow her fears had receded enough that she was simply being.
“Hello, Dee.” She didn’t take offense at the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. She was too stunned to object as he linked their hands for a brief squeeze.
“Jared.” She nodded her head and then lifted her brows as she looked at the bartender.
Jared performed the introductions. “This is Ray.”
“Pleased to meet you, Dee,” he said.
“So what brings you to Maystown?” Jared asked.
Dee blinked, twice. “The sign on the expressway said Lexington.”
Jared chuckled. “You turned left at the end of the ramp instead of right.”
“If you’d have stayed on the expressway another couple of exits, you’d have been in the heart of the city,” Ray explained. “We’re about ten miles northeast.”
Defeat threatened to crush her. How many mistakes could she afford to make? Dee glanced over the crowd and pulled in a steadying breath. “For being so far out, this place does a good business,” she murmured.
Ray rested his elbows on the gleaming counter. “It does all right most nights.”
Stronger, Dee swept a critical gaze over the room. Given its location, this crowd was indeed impressive. The bar had a comfortable, down-home feel to it. Nothing bawdy. Nothing that invited trouble. Just good, clean fun. A place to unwind. A place to meet friends.
Potential. The place screamed of potential.
A frisson of excitement warmed her, a sweet sensation after the past day and a half. She’d been training to recognize potential. Learning to maximize it. “It could be doing better than all right every night.”
Frowning, the bartender lowered the glass he was polishing. “How?”
She took a moment, really looked at the space. “First of all, with a better sign. Something you can see before you go over that last hill. It would help draw more people here.”
Jared snorted. “He’s pushing full right now. Where would he put more people?”
“On the deck.” The answer popped out of her mouth as an image took shape in her mind, her fatigue falling away like a too-heavy blanket.
Jared shook his head in tiny movements of denial, his lips thinning. “There isn’t a deck.”
“There should be. Wouldn’t it be wonderful on a hot summer night like tonight?” she enthused. “Dancing under the stars?”
A dome of silence settled around her, sucking any further words from her mouth. Her gaze slid to Jared. His stunned expression shouted, nut case.
“What,” Ray asked as he straightened from the bar, “do you do for a living?”
“I’m a graphic designer.” Close enough. All she had to do was finish her online classes this semester. The degree was supposed to be her ticket out of Columbus. Away from Carl. A ticket, she recognized in hindsight, she should have gotten sooner.
“Where do you work?” Jared asked.
“What kind of sign do you think I need?” Ray asked.
Dee rummaged through her purse. “Let me show you.”
“You can’t be serious.” The disbelief in Jared’s voice matched the look he sent the bartender.
Ray shrugged. “It can’t hurt to see what she has in mind.”
Dee’s fingers closed over a pen at the bottom of her purse. Spying a stack of white paper napkins, she grabbed a handful and started sketching. “You’ve got a great place here,” she said as the pen scratched over the paper. “It’s clean; it’s comfortable. And I bet when you have a band instead of that DJ, this place rocks.”
Ray beamed.
“So why would he want to change it?” Jared asked. “He’s already got the best place around.”
“Because it’s the same as it was when my father ran it,” Ray answered. “And I’ve always thought it could be better. Bigger.” He swiped a towel over the counter, his gaze scanning his patrons. “I’ve always wanted to grow the business and leave my mark,” he murmured.
Keeping a watch on the comings and goings at the door, Dee continued to sketch. The bartender’s sentiment touched her. The bar held a personal history. “I wonder how many people trying to find this place miss it?”
Jared shook his head. “It’s been around for a long time. Everyone knows where it is.”
“Even tourists?”
Jared scoffed. “Why would tourists want to come here?”
Dee flashed him a smug grin. Her heart beat a little stronger; her back stretched a little taller. This was what she needed, the perfect distraction from the constant fear that had eaten at her for days. “Because he’s got the best place around.”
Ray chuckled and walked away to take an order.
“And what about people new to the area?” She pressed Jared. “How are they supposed to find him?”
Jared shifted on the stool and swiped a hand down his face. “Fine. So he attracts lots of new customers. Where’s he going to put them? He can only use a deck for a limited part of the year.”
Dee lifted her pen, tilted her head and studied the sketch. Close. Very close. But not quite. Grabbing another napkin, she glanced at the door then spared Jared a brief look. “He’ll have to expand.”
Jared leaned back, laughing. “Do you always come into a place and take over?”
Tapping her pen against her lips as she studied her newest drawing, Dee shrugged. “I’m not taking over.” No, she was running. This was just a brief reprieve. A detour in her path to… somewhere. “What he does is up to him. He asked me about a sign, and”—she slid the napkin across the bar—“I’ve got the design right here.”
Jared fingered his lips as he studied the design. “Hey Ray, come look at this.”
Both men leaned over the napkin.
Using the tip of her pen as a pointer, Dee circled the word Just that looped over the flag of the numeral one. The base of the number contained the scripted word Moore. “We should take advantage of your name, Just One Moore. We can do so many things with it. You do still want to use it, don’t you?”
She was chattering, but she couldn’t help it. She felt like a huge sieve in a river of creativity. It was flowing around her, through her. Pushing her fears far, far away.
She wanted to laugh. She wanted to shout. She wanted…to stay here. In the brightness of this moment. In the safety of this place.
All that effervescent energy floated away, leaving her drained. Quiet.
Did she dare?
Rapping her fist against her thigh, she studied the two heads bent over her work. Her work. She wanted the opportunity to prove herself, her talent. Here was her first chance.
But would she be safe? Wasn’t she too close? Or would he be looking for her in California, near her family?
Jared nodded, his full lips turned down in impressed approval. “This is good.”
Her breath backed up into her lungs as their gazes tangled, held. And she could see her answer. She couldn’t take the risk. He was a stranger, but she could not take the chance that her presence would bring him danger. Or this place.
“I like it,” Ray agreed.
Her throat burned as she forced a smile and nodded. “Keep it.” She managed to get her purse open, drop the pen inside, and loop the strap over her shoulder. “I’ve got to go.”
Ray’s jaw dropped. “But….”
She tapped her finger on the napkin. “I’d do it in neon,” she said. “Green, pink, and yellow.” She longed to see it, her idea in bright lights.
The two men looked at each other with identical expressions of horror.
Laughter choked past her lips. “Those colors”—she took a steadying breath—“will really pop against the night sky. People will find you.”
But not her. Dee wobbled as she pushed away from the bar.
Hard but gentle fingers closed over her arm. Jared’s dark gaze snagged hers and held for a long second. “Dance with me.”
The idea of dancing with him, or anyone, was so foreign he may as well have been speaking another language. Couldn’t he see she had more pressing things to do? Like buy some new clothes? L
ike get some sleep? Like find a place to hide? “I’ve really got to go.” She glanced at the door.
He stood. “Just one dance. Then I’ll walk you to your car.”
Dee snorted her skepticism.
He held up his hand. “Walk only,” he promised, “as a matter of safety.”
Her inability to come up with a snappy reply was all the encouragement he needed. In one smooth move, he tugged her purse from her arm, shoved it in Ray’s hands, and herded her toward the dance floor.
“But….”
He lifted her hand and enfolded it against his chest. His other arm lay loose around her waist and guided her into the swaying rhythm of the slow music. For the first few seconds she was wooden, clumsy in her fatigue. But instincts took over, and she found herself relaxing into the tempo.
Standing so close, looking up at him, Dee noticed a series of spider web-thin scars fanning out from his chin and weaving through the scruff of his beard. Sympathy filled her as she wondered about the accident that marred such a rugged but fascinating face.
“You never said where you were going,” Jared murmured.
Her gaze slid over his chiseled lips, his sharp cheeks to his bottomless dark eyes. His face offered too many points to admire to waste time on the single flaw.
She closed her eyes and gave herself over the music. The small back-and-forth movements were hypnotic, soothing. Her head grew heavier with each sway until it rested against his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” His voice was like dark velvet. His cotton shirt pressed soft against her cheek as she nodded. She could almost believe he could protect her.
The room spun by in a slow twirl as he edged them across the floor. “Who are you, Cordelia Quinn?”
Dee shrugged, refusing to look at him. She couldn’t handle any more probing. She wanted to absorb his warmth, his kindness, his strength. “Nobody,” she said. “Just a woman passing through.”
They finished the dance in silence, and without quite meeting his eyes, Dee thanked him, then stopped at the bar to retrieve her purse.
At the door, Jared waited. Like an old-fashioned gentleman, he opened it, placed his hand at the small of her back, and ushered her into the dark parking lot.
Why had she never found a guy like him before? She could like him. In different times, under different circumstances, she could really like him.
Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set Page 232
