“What does it matter?”
“I need all the facts, Miss Dane. That’s the only way I can do my job.”
Katie felt terrible telling this stranger anything about Ryan, but the man had a point. She had to trust him, the way she had to tell her childhood pediatrician how often she brushed her teeth. She cupped her hand over the receiver so Ryan couldn’t possibly overhear, even through the closed office door.
“He took a leave of absence. Now he’s trying to get his job back. He’s been working here in the meantime, and he’s been a model employee.”
A significant silence followed. “Leave of absence, eh?”
“It wasn’t like that!” She didn’t actually know what it was like, but she hated that note of contempt in Carson’s voice.
“Sure. Well, this changes things. It’s more dangerous now. I can’t do what you ask with a fireman on the premises.”
“You’re backing out?” For a moment, Katie went dizzy with relief. The bar wouldn’t burn down. The Hair of the Dog would live. Too bad it would drag her family under and ruin her father’s retirement.
“Of course not.” He sounded mightily offended. “When I take on a job, I pursue it to the end.”
“Okay, sorry,” she muttered. She wondered if the man had some kind of personality disorder. It was hard to predict how he’d react to anything.
“But you have to make absolutely sure the Blake kid isn’t nearby.”
“Well, of course.”
“You’re not understanding me. I’ll need visual confirmation of his whereabouts.”
Katie stared blankly at the calculator, whose yellow digital readout still showed the amount of yesterday’s take, which was fifty dollars short of where it needed to be to break even for the week. “You want me to follow him?”
“Whatever it takes. I’ll try again on Saturday night. I’ll need to know where he is before I set foot on the premises.”
She didn’t like the way he kept using the word “premises.” It sounded so impersonal. “I’ll put LoJack on him, how’s that?”
“I’m not joking. That boy’s got a temper like a rocket. And a punch like a jackhammer. It was the only thing his father liked about him, as I recall.”
“I’ll make sure he’s not here.”
“Not anywhere nearby.”
“I’ll make sure he’s nowhere within a two-mile radius.”
Carson Smith still didn’t sound entirely happy. “And of course my fee will go up. You should have told me you had a fireman working for you.” He ended the call.
Katie threw her phone onto the desk and paced around the office, shaking herself to get rid of the icky feeling the conversation had provoked. The things he’d said about Ryan . . . blech. But she’d seen Ryan fight. He did have a punch like a hammer, at least to an outside observer.
So maybe he had been a troublemaker in his youth. But he’d changed, hadn’t he? She hadn’t seen him lose his temper once since he’d been working at the Hair of the Dog.
Not that it mattered. It’s not like they were dating or anything. Or ever would. If it turned out she’d hired a dangerous brawler to be her bartender, it would be one more in a string of bad decisions she’d made as manager. And even that wouldn’t matter, since the place was about to get burned down.
To that end, she had to figure out a way to keep an eye on Ryan Saturday night. She’d have to secretly follow him and maybe stake out his house. After she got April Chin’s party set up, she could skip out. If she got really lucky, she’d have a front-row seat for the Ryan and Logan show.
Katie borrowed Doug’s father’s Saab on Saturday. She felt ridiculous following Ryan home from work. But also ridiculously relieved. Because he actually went home. Alone.
At least she could stop imagining the horror of following him to Logan’s house and sitting outside in a car while Ryan had sex inside. Her other fear remained. What if he spotted her following him? She’d have to pretend she was stalking him instead of spying on him on behalf of an arsonist.
Ryan parked his truck out front, sauntered up his front path, stretched, yawned, and disappeared inside. She parked across the street. The Saab had tinted windows, so she hadn’t bothered with any kind of disguise. She waited for a while, in case he planned to change his clothes and head out barhopping or something.
Then she called Carson Smith.
“The swallow has returned to the nest.”
“This is not a joke.”
“I know. Sorry. He’s safe at home. Can I go now?”
“Call me in an hour. I want to make sure.”
Katie sat in the Saab for another hour. If only she’d brought something to read. She didn’t dare turn on the radio, in case that might draw attention. She scrunched down on the leather seat and tried not to fall asleep. It had been a long day, longer than usual. On most days, the pleasure of having Ryan around kept things moving. Today, after that phone call from Carson, she’d felt uncomfortable around him.
After all, how well did she really know Ryan Blake?
By one in the morning, all his lights were off except the one in the kitchen. She called Carson Smith. “All quiet on the Western front.”
“We’re a go, then. Go home and stay tuned. Make a call from your home phone to confirm you’re there.”
Good thing he’d thought of that, since she certainly hadn’t. She started up the Saab. What would happen now? Would she hear sirens? Get a panicked call from her parents? This entire thing was surreal. A heavy feeling weighed on her. She had a sudden, unruly longing for one last look at the Hair of the Dog before it got torched. She’d been in such a hurry to follow Ryan home that she’d barely given it a glance before skipping out the back.
The old place deserved better than that. Feeling worse than she ever had in her life, she drove toward home.
At the Hair of the Dog, Ryan sat on a bar stool and stared at the manual. He hadn’t been able to ignore the bad feeling tugging at him ever since he’d laid eyes on “Carson Smith.” Especially once he’d figured out the dude was a friend of his father.
His father’s friends tended to be armchair revolutionary types who wanted to overthrow society, even if all that meant was harassing the occasional census taker. But some of them had acquired various criminal skills—and records—and something told him this man fell into that category.
He wished he could call his father. But the man didn’t have a phone. Zeke Blake didn’t want anyone to be able to find him—kind of like the Unabomber, except he lived near the suburbs and spent his time ranting rather than actually bombing anything.
Tomorrow was Sunday, and the Hair of the Dog would be closed. Maybe he’d drive out to see his dad. Christ in heaven. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering a visit to his father.
The things he did for Miss Katie Dane.
In the meantime, he’d hang around the Dog to make sure nothing bad happened. He could study here just as well as in his kitchen, after all. And the coffee was better.
The sound of a marimba band woke Katie up from a sweaty, restless sleep. Her cell phone rang again, as everything came rushing back. The Hair of the Dog. Carson Smith. Ryan. Fire. She nearly threw up in her anxiety as she clicked on the phone.
“Damn it, I told you to make sure he was gone.” Carson Smith. She clutched the phone with sweaty hands.
“I did!”
“He’s sitting in the bar right now. I can’t do a thorough inspection while he’s there.”
“Shit.”
“Were you watching his door every single second?”
“No-o. I mean, mostly.” She wasn’t some professional spy, for God’s sake.
“Today, you make sure you’re with him. All day long. All night long. It’s our last chance.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Well, make up your mind. But I’ll expect some kind of payment either way.”
And he was gone. Katie buried her head in the pillows. What had she gotten herself into? He did
n’t sound like her lollipop-bearing pediatrician anymore. What the hell should she do now? And why was Ryan at the bar this late at night?
Most of all, thank God he hadn’t gotten hurt.
Ryan was tossing his fishing rod and cooler in the back of his truck when Katie pulled up in her deathtrap of a Datsun. If possible, she looked even more tense than she had yesterday.
She hopped out of the car and came toward him. He blinked, then blinked again. Katie, in a short, yellow skirt with bright flowers on it? Katie, in a tank top that showed off her slim physique? He lifted his eyes to her face. No, no mistake, it was Katie, and despite her colorful outfit, she looked like hell. Sexy. But tired.
“What are you doing here? It’s our day off. And not to be rude, but you could use your beauty sleep.”
His jab brought a little of her usual flair back to life.
“Beauty sleep, is that what you do all night with the lucky ladies?”
He gave her an A for effort, F for execution. Something was bothering her if she couldn’t come up with a better line than that.
“It’s too early, and I’m too excited about my day off to get into a verbal melee.”
Now she did smile, a genuine grin that brightened her face and snagged at his gut. “I love it when you use those big fancy words.”
“Melee? It’s two syllables. About my usual length.”
“French counts for at least four.”
“Touché.”
They grinned at each other. Then Ryan, feeling oddly nervous, turned away and strung a bungee cord over his cooler to strap it in. “What are you doing here, for real? I’ve got something to do today, so if the bar needs me, it’s going to have to wait.”
“Really? Where are you going?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Why are you interested?”
“No real reason. We’re friends, right? Can’t a friend ask a friendly question?”
“Friends, huh?” He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “Is that a promotion? Last I heard, I was the employee and you were the boss.”
She smiled at him with an innocence he didn’t buy for a second. “Yeah, but I’m a friendly boss. And you’re a very friendly employee. After all, I’ve seen your butt.” Something flashed behind her long lashes—something teasing and hot.
He liked that. But still he had to tease her back. “Didn’t realize you were paying attention.”
“Well, I was dividing my attention between five outstanding rear ends. But yours was on the list. So where are you going, really?”
“Couple hours out of town.”
Really, that was all she had to know. This was his personal, off-hours business. But when she kept looking at him with those big dark eyes, he caved in. “I’m going to visit my dad.”
“Oh.” She looked away, as if trying to figure something out. She looked back, hesitated, started to say something, then stopped.
“Spit it out. Something’s bugging that overactive mind of yours.”
“Well . . .” She bit her lip. He hated when she did that. His hands itched to stop her. “Can I come along? I need to get out of this town. Seriously. I need a break.”
He looked at her in utter disbelief, as if she’d said she wanted to go to Timbuktu with him.
“You want to visit my father?”
“I’ll be nice to your dad, I promise. I won’t be, you know, myself.” She gave him a self-mocking half smile.
He let out a snort of laughter. Katie in her wildest dreams couldn’t come close to the nastiness his father dished out on a daily basis. “I’m not worried about that.”
“Then . . .” She cocked her head wistfully, pushing her lips into a delicious pout.
Ryan considered. His purpose in visiting his father was to get to the bottom of the “Carson Smith” mystery. Maybe it would help for Katie to come with him. Hear the truth from the horse’s mouth. Or the horse’s ass, in this case.
“Hop in,” he told her. “No backseat driving, no complaining about the tunes, no bathroom stops.”
“No bathroom stops?”
He laughed, suddenly looking forward to the trip. Hours of nonstop teasing of Katie Dane lay ahead. And man, did she look good in that little skirt.
Chapter Seventeen
Katie strapped herself into the passenger seat of Ryan’s big black pickup. His truck was an old model with a deep front seat that didn’t even have an armrest in the middle. That meant only the gearshift separated her and Ryan. At least she was following instructions and staying close to him.
Carson Smith had told her he’d go ahead with the job if the opportunity arose. So by the time they got back from the Fresno area, the Hair of the Dog would most likely be burned to a crisp.
She shoved aside the horrible feeling that thought gave her, and repeated Carson’s words to herself. Blaze of glory. Viking funeral. Noble passing. In many ways, the Hair of the Dog was already dead. Dead bar walking. Now it was time for the cremation.
Ryan punched buttons on the radio. The little hairs on his arm glinted in the morning sunshine. The muscles of his forearm moved smoothly under his browned skin. She noticed a still-healing scar on his knuckle and had the urge to run her fingers across it.
“Don’t you have an iPod or something?”
“Nope. I’m old school. I like to see what the radio gods pick out for me.”
“The radio gods?” She cocked a raised-eyebrow look at him, which had the unintended consequence of flooding her senses with his blue-eyed gorgeousness. His profile was perfect, except for the slight bend in his nose. His lips dented at the corner in a half smile. The breeze from the open window tousled his hair around his ears and the back of his neck. She wanted to lick that place just under his ear, run her tongue across the vulnerable skin of his neck.
“Sure. Don’t you like to turn the radio on and see what song’s playing? If you stick with the songs you already have on your iPod, you never hear anything new.”
“Hm.” She considered that, grateful for something to focus on besides her lust for him. “What if it’s something you’d rather not hear?”
“Don’t tell me you’re a music snob.”
“No. But I was in a band for a while.”
“Seriously?” He turned to look her full in the face. “Please tell me you were a backup singer wearing one of those sexy little dresses.”
“I was a drummer. I wore all black and moussed my hair into a big pouf ball.”
He let out a burst of laughter that sounded like sunshine might. “Damn, I wish I knew you then. I can just picture you, like a big-haired Wednesday. Addams Family.”
“Yes, I know,” Katie answered gloomily. It wasn’t the first time someone had compared her to Wednesday.
“I always had a crush on her, you know. Christina Ricci is hot. But you know . . .” He shot her a speculative, full-body glance that took her breath away. “You’re cuter.”
Katie felt her heart melt like a marshmallow at a campfire. She should have known a road trip with Ryan would be trouble. “It’s better than Gidget, I guess.”
“Gidget? Big brown eyes? Cute as a button?”
She made a face. “My sister wanted us to be Bridget and Gidget. She wanted me to be her mini-me and follow her around everywhere. I did it too, until she turned into a teenager and didn’t want me to catch her making out with anyone.”
“You’re pretty close to your family,” he said in a neutral manner, his attention back on the road.
She shrugged. She’d hired an arsonist for her family’s sake. Did that qualify as close?
“There’s something I’ve been wondering about,” he continued. “Now that I have you trapped here in my truck, I’m going for it. I already figured out that running the Hair of the Dog isn’t your top choice of activities.”
“I’m only doing it for my father.”
His jaw muscle twitched at the word “father.” “So what do you really want to do? French literature professor? Drummer? Drill sergeant? Dominat
rix?”
She shot him a glare.
He shrugged. “Make that scowl work for you. Might be a turn-on for some.”
“Really. Not you, though?”
“Didn’t say that.”
Okay, dangerous territory. Time to change the subject. “I don’t know what I’ll do next. I like school. I love school. But . . .”
“But what?” He seemed genuinely interested, his head cocked her direction, the wind ruffling his hair.
“I’m not even sure why I picked French literature. It seemed glamorous and exotic and different from everything else my family does. Mostly I wanted to get away. But I don’t know about being a professor. Don’t tell my family, but . . .”
“What?”
She couldn’t believe she was telling him something she hadn’t confessed to anyone. “I didn’t like graduate school. It’s a lot of debating. This theory versus that theory. It’s like you’re supposed to pick a team. Freudian or Jungian? And why? There’s a lot of politics too, like who’s going to be chair of the department next. Two of my professors hadn’t spoken to each other in fifteen years and they were always plotting against each other. I don’t know what I was expecting, but not that. I just like to read.”
“I do too,” he said, surprising her. “Maybe you could give me a reading list sometime so I know what you’re talking about.”
She gave him a doubtful glance. “You want to learn about French literature?”
“Sure, why not? Don’t want to debate it, but I wouldn’t mind reading it. Hey, isn’t The Little Prince a French book?”
“Yes. Saint-Exupéry.”
“I read that book about a hundred times when I was a kid. In English, obviously.”
“You did?” Katie blinked in astonishment.
“Yeah. I always felt like I lived on my own personal planet. And the fox. ‘You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.’ I loved that fox.”
Katie was struck speechless.
“You’re surprised?” He glanced at her, a challenging glint in his eyes. “Do I seem that dumb?”
“That’s so unfair,” she said hotly. “I’ve never thought that.”
“Well, I used to think I was dumb, but it turned out I was dyslexic.” He turned back to the road to focus on passing a slow-moving van. She had the feeling the topic made him uncomfortable. “The Little Prince had easy words. But every time I read it I picked up something new.”
Hot for Fireman Page 17
