by Debra Kayn
The patch on the front of the man's jacket read AirChinook SAR. Her pulse raced. SAR? Search and Rescue? He was one of the men who worked finding missing persons. "I'll go get extra seating."
"We can help you," said the man.
She shook her head. "That's not nec—"
Wayne stood. "We got this, Clara. Point the way."
"I'll show you." She turned, caught Gracie's gaze, and raised her brows. Everything was coming together faster than they'd hoped. Notus, police, search and rescue, all sitting down at their bar.
She pushed through the kitchen door and led them out the back to the hallway, opening up the room beside the office. "The bases screw right into the table top, but it's easier to carry them out to the room before you put them together. There's more space, and you don't have to struggle through the doorway."
"One table will do." The man held out his hand. "I’m Frank."
"Clara." She shook. "I'll grab a couple chairs and come back and get more."
"Go ahead and go help everyone. We've got things covered." Wayne put his hand on her lower back.
She sucked in air at his touch and nodded, unable to argue with him as his hand took possession of her with Frank present.
"Great. I'll go get everyone's orders." She left the room sliding her hand along the wall in case her shaky legs failed her, and she fell flat on her ass. What were they going to do if she left them alone in the back? Steal tables and chairs, maybe a few napkin holders?
Out on the floor, she found Gracie talking to the large group. She scanned the room. Everyone appeared in conversation or concentrating on their dinner. Wayne and Frank carried out a stack of chairs and a table. She grabbed one of the pre-soaped towels and followed them. Once the table was set up, she wiped the surface down.
"There, you're all set." She smiled at Wayne. "Are you sure one more table wouldn't be more comfortable for everyone?"
"The officers won't be staying. They're on duty. The others can pull up a chair." Wayne lowered his voice. "Tables work better than booths."
"Point taken." She leaned closer, wanting to keep him talking. "Are they all regulars to the bar?"
"Pretty much, but not usually when they're on duty." He continued to stand by her because someone else had taken his seat in the booth.
"We thought the weekend crowd would enjoy a dance floor and made the extra room, but so far, everyone is more into relaxing and visiting with each other. Then, during the weekdays, the booths work out better for those who stop in for lunch and dinner, not so much drinking," she said, knowing she babbled and unable to stop. "Tonight's been the busiest we've been. I think we're going to have to rethink our plan and bring the tables back. Besides, I think I like the friendlier atmosphere where people are comfortable coming in and making themselves at home or just talking with their friends...like your friends came in here to see you."
He put his hand on her back again and led her to the middle of the room out of earshot of anyone else. Her breath caught with a mix of nerves and hot anticipation. Hoping he stayed unaware of her reaction to him, she leaned closer when he bent his head down near her ear.
"Two blocks down there's a little dive bar that has a live band every weekend. That's where people go if they want to dance," he said, his warm breath tickling her neck
"Ah." Clara sighed, covering the tremor in her throat. "The realtor and the previous owner failed to mention that when we talked about local competition. Of course, we noticed the bar, but there's a bar on every corner in St. John's. Each unique."
"I like what you've brought to Vavoom's." He slipped his finger under the waist of her apron and tugged. "The apron's a good look on you."
The pull brought her to his chest, and she planted a hand on his chest. "I'm glad you approve."
He growled low. "Oh, sweetheart. I more than approve."
A flutter hit her low and hard. She moistened her lips. He'd left her speechless. She had no reply, no flirty comeback, no way to tell him how much she liked his attention.
Wayne turned his head. She followed his gaze and found Gracie approaching. Her sister gave her a once over and bit back the smile. Clara stepped away from Wayne. "What's up?"
Gracie smiled at Wayne and then handed Clara three orders. "You handle the drinks. I'll handle the food. If more people come, we're going to have problems."
"The tables we put in storage go back on the floor in the morning before we open." At Gracie's frown, Clara leaned forward and talked over the music. "I'll tell you why later."
Gracie gave her a thumb up and hurried off. Clara reached out and squeezed Wayne's arm. "Thanks for interrupting your dinner to help me out. I'll knock some off your bill for the manual labor, and bring you your drinks."
He grabbed her wrist when she removed her hand from him. Wayne leaned down and put his lips on her ear. "Bring an extra bottle and shot glasses, sweetheart. Everyone in our group is going to need them. We've had a hell of a day."
She gazed up into his eyes and noted the pain dwelling behind the surface that she hadn't noticed before. Her chest tightened, and she swallowed the growing lump in her throat. The men with him had all searched for the little girl who'd been found dead.
"I'll bring everything to the table. Go relax," she said.
Wayne leaned closer again and said, "Thanks, sweetheart."
She hurried to first fill the bikers' drink order, then she filled the ones Gracie gave her for the other customers. A ball of anxious energy settled in her stomach, and she had no time to think about the feelings Wayne produced in her or why he'd singled her out.
There were other women here. Gracie was here, so if he was going for a certain type of woman, he had his choice with someone who looked exactly like her.
Over the next several hours, she served the bikers' booth more drinks. If she hadn't of been keeping an eye on Wayne, she never would've noticed that after his first coke and whiskey, he'd stopped drinking. She never would've noticed that the lines around his eyes and on his forehead had become more pronounced the more the others talked about everything but the child that was killed. She also never would've noticed that he stared at his hands, lost in his thoughts, the later in the night it became.
But, she'd noticed, and her heart hurt for the grief he went through because she'd been there. That hollow spot never filled. The guilt never left.
***
He paced in the alley behind Vavoom's Bar, counting his steps. Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps. Turn.
It'd been seven hours. Seven days. Seven months. Seven years. Seven girls. Seven deaths.
He stumbled and righted himself. No, it'd been longer. Time meant nothing because he was always searching for her.
Starting over, he counted his steps, looked up and found himself at the end of the alley. It'd been too long. He'd run out of years. So many women. Everything blended together.
He shook his arm and looked down at his watch. The hands wouldn't move because he'd taken the battery out. The constant reminder of how much time he'd wasted only irritated him. He'd spent all evening behind the bar. One of the women who looked like the other usually stepped outside with the man who wore the white apron. She never showed. Only the man came out.
His scalp crawled. He viciously scratched his head. The bikers were at fault. They were fucking up his plan. He'd noticed when they were around the bar, the women couldn't stay on schedule. They shouldn't be working at the bar, serving other men, smiling at them, talking to them.
Only he could keep them safe. He curled his fingers into his palm. Their smooth skin taunted him, and he walked straight to the door. He ran his hands over the door handle. They'd touched the knob.
He bent at the waist and licked clear around the metal. One day, he'd know how they tasted.
They'd learn what he was capable of.
He'd left them a sign. A sign they couldn't ignore.
The little girl he left in the field would show them what would happen if the two women continued ignoring him. H
e ran his finger over his tongue. His cock grew uncomfortable in his pants, and he slapped at his crotch. The twins would notice him now. The bikers would warn them.
He laughed. That's right. He got their attention when he left that little girl in the field.
Soon, he'd have the women.
Chapter 6
Traffic flowed steadily in front of Vavoom's early Saturday morning. Wayne leaned against the building with his hands in his vest and looked at his motorcycle parked at the curb. A charcoal gray, seventy-eight Harley Davidson shovelhead had been with him since he bought the bike at eighteen years old and sunk every dime he had into her.
The bike and his friends were the one constant in his life. He could take or leave his job at the port. What he wanted was to be able to stop children from dying, women from running, people from hurting. He wanted to bring Rich back to St. John's.
At least find out if the lost Notus member was alive. The cord in his neck tightened. He had too much going on in his life to be standing outside the bar, hoping for a few minutes with a woman he barely knew. His thoughts were all over the fucking place. He couldn't concentrate.
He'd set out to go riding that morning after having a sleepless night, hoping to relax enough to go back to bed, and instead found himself circling the block to find a light on inside the bar. Against his better judgment, he'd stopped. He was no good to anyone when he couldn't get his mind off of failing Annie Morgan.
Chuck, Glen, and Thad had the right idea last night to drink away the regrets, and he should've joined in to forget. But, someone needed to follow them home to make sure they arrived safely. Sober and alone, his thoughts had continually gone back to Clara and how he enjoyed being around her.
There was something about her that calmed him. An honesty that drew him to her. No games, no fakeness, no need to impress. It'd been a long time since he'd met a down to earth woman that looked at him as if she had all the time in the world to listen.
He pushed away from the wall and walked to the door of the bar. He rapped his knuckles against the glass, and the closed sign hanging from the handle inside swayed back and forth.
Gracie approached the door and peered through the glass. He could tell instantly which sister came to answer his knock. Gracie always looked at him with a bit of hesitation, while Clara gazed up at him openly. He'd studied them together and alone. With their backs toward him, he couldn't tell one from the other. The difference was in the way they reacted to him. In that way, they couldn't be more different. Gracie remained leery of him, while Clara grew closer.
It was Clara's trust that made him want to protect her, and not disappoint her.
Gracie turned halfway around so he couldn't see her face. Through the glass, he could make out her voice, but not her words.
Clara joined her sister, spotted him, and smiled, giving him a small wave before turning the lock and opening the door. "Hey, there."
"Hey." The pressure in his chest eased at seeing her. "I thought I'd stop by and help you move the tables out to the floor."
"Oh." Clara raised her brows and motioned him inside. "There's no need. We have until two o'clock to get everything set up, but thank you."
"That's not all I came over for," he said.
"Are you going to rob us?" said Gracie from the other side of the room.
"Ignore her. We ran out of coffee at home, and she's waiting for a cup to brew back in the kitchen." Clara reached out and placed her hand on his arm.
He looked down at her fingers. She always touched him, connecting with him. The way he'd watched her, he also knew she only showed him her interest, not other customers.
"Your sister is right. I am here to rob you." He chuckled when her mouth opened. "I'd like to help you this morning and then steal you away for a few hours if you can pull yourself away from the bar."
"Where are you going to take her?" Gracie walked up to them both. "If you're going to steal her, I should know the details in case you don't bring her back."
"Gracie," muttered Clara, throwing her hip out and bumping it against her sister's.
Fascinated at the ease the twins talked and acted together, he waited until Clara gave him an answer. When she looked hopeful at him, he realized she wanted him to answer Gracie's question first. She played it safe and gained more of his respect.
Women needed to take extra precautions and be street smart.
"I've got my bike and hoped you'd ride with me to my house. I've had a hell of a night, or I'd take you on a longer ride and offer you more than conversation." He pointed his finger at Gracie's phone in her hand. "Let me see your cell."
Gracie handed over her phone. He typed his name, address, phone number into her contacts. "That's where she'll be. If you need her, call, or you're free to come over."
Clara's sister took her phone back, looked at him, and shrugged. "Paxton dropped the tables and chairs in the alley and went back to the storage unit for a second load with his truck. You can haul those in for us."
He put his hand on Clara's lower back. "Looks like I've got your sister's approval. How about you?"
"Yeah. I'll go with you. Sounds fun." Clara grinned. "I guess you really are stealing me for a few hours."
"You have a helmet for her, don't you?" Gracie waited by the kitchen door with a coffee cup in her hand. "It's the law."
"Give her five minutes, and the caffeine will make her sweeter," whispered Clara.
"I'll take your word." He rubbed her back, unable to stop touching her. "I'll go get the tables so we can get out of here."
It took him fifteen minutes to haul in the tops, screw on the pedestals, and move the tables to where Clara and Gracie pointed. While he'd worked, the sisters cast looks at each other that he failed to read, but there was definitely some kind of silent communication going on that involved him, and he found himself wanting to know what Clara was saying.
Clara picked up her purse off the counter, put the strap over her head and pushed the bag hanging at her hip toward her back. "Ready?"
"Yeah." He waited for her to reach him and walked her to the door where he paused and turned around. "Gracie?"
Clara's sister raised her gaze. "Yeah?"
"Why don't you lock the door behind us." Knowing he stepped out of bounds on telling her what she should and shouldn't do, he said, "That way you don't get customers walking in before you open for the day."
Gracie nodded, accepting his reasons. "Good idea."
He led Clara out to the sidewalk where he parked his Harley and untied the extra helmet he carried on the back of the seat. "Have you ever rode before?"
"A dirt bike with my dad when I was younger." She put the helmet on and fastened the strap. "Will it feel the same?"
"Close enough." He sat the bike and flipped his helmet on his head. "Hold on to me. We're not going far."
She climbed onto the bike, placed her hands on his sides, and when he started the bike, she wrapped her arms around his waist. He pulled out on the street. The bar less than five minutes from his house and the top speed only thirty miles per hour through town, he enjoyed every minute of having her molded to his back.
He pulled into the driveway and shut off the motorcycle before he was ready to have her move away from him. Holding his hand at his shoulder, he helped her off the bike, and then lead her to the front door.
"Why bring me to your house?" she asked.
"It sounded like a good idea earlier." He used his key and swung open the door. "It's also ten o'clock in the morning, and I wanted to see you, away from the bar."
"You could've taken me to have breakfast." She stepped inside and peered around at the living room. "Or, just for a ride."
"I didn't want to be around others, and I'm beat. I slept like shit last night." He put his keys back in his pocket and led her to the couch. "Do you want a coffee?"
She sat down and put her purse on the floor. "Sure."
He walked down the hallway into the kitchen, aware she chose to follow him rather th
an wait in the other room. All he had to do was turn on the coffee maker. Earlier, he'd decided to ride before he could brew a pot.
"Oh, you've got a backyard." Clara moved to the window in the joining dining room. "That's nice. I bet you enjoy having a place to go outside where your neighbors can't see everything you do."
He leaned back against the counter and studied her, studying his house. "Only time I go out there is to mow the lawn or throw some steaks on the grill."
"If you haven't heard..." She glanced over at him. "The Sunshine is loaded with Vitamin D."
He chuckled. "I've heard that on commercials."
"We don't have a backyard at the townhouse." She walked over, stood opposite of him, and leaned against the island in the kitchen. "I miss being able to go outside and have privacy, though now that the bar is open, I'm not sure how much time I'll have to enjoy being outside. The front strip of grass where we're living gets mowed by the HOA manager, who lives a few units down from ours. It doesn't have the same feel as a secluded backyard."
"You must've moved into the Costople neighborhood," he said.
The townhouses were built two years ago. An almost gated community with rules and regulations. Where singles and young couples lived without the responsibilities of full-blown homeownership. No mowing, no broken pipes, no worry that the mail in your box wouldn't be there when you get home.
"Yeah, right smack in the middle." She looked up at him. "You have a nice house, Wayne. It's homey and special."
"I grew up here, bought it from my mom." He shrugged. "It's home. I know the neighbors, and what time the garbage man comes by."
The coffee maker gurgled. He poured two mugs of coffee and pointed behind her. "There's sugar in the canister and milk in the fridge if you like your coffee that way." He handed her a spoon out of the silverware drawer. She put a spoonful of sugar in her cup and stirred.
She pointed at the Death By Coffee slogan on the mug. "Motivation for those mornings you don't feel like getting out of bed?"
"Something like that." He chuckled.
"This is perfect." She sipped from the mug. "It's great that you have your mom...family."
