Family Honor

by Jamie Hill

  Sam backhanded his chest gently. "Dork."

  "We're going to Morgan's for a beer and some dinner," he told her.

  "Great!" She smiled at Nate. "Have you ever been there?"

  "Nope. But you all have me intrigued. Shall we go, and pick this up again tomorrow?"

  "Why not?" Mel rose, her demeanor less than enthused.

  Determined to turn her mood around, Nate snatched his suit coat off the back of a chair. "Since I don't know the town, why don't I ride with you? You can drop me off here later, and point me in the direction of my hotel."

  She studied him skeptically for a moment. "I suppose I could do that."

  "Great." He motioned for her to go before him. Following her once again, Nate grinned at the view.

  Chapter Three

  Mel entered Morgan's, the sports bar just down the street from the cop shop, and held the door behind her for Nate.

  "Thanks." He stepped in and let the door close, glancing around. "Nice place. Think they have enough TVs?"

  She chuckled. There was a flat screen on every wall, though most of them were close-captioned because the sound had been turned down. "Can you ever have too many TVs during baseball season?"

  He smiled. "Oh, I love baseball season. Around here, that would mean, what? Cheering for the Kansas City Royals?"

  "Of course." She stepped up to the long, gold-trimmed bar and snatched a pretzel from a bowl sitting there. "I suppose you're a Texas Ranger fan?"

  "No, no, no." He shook his head and grabbed his own pretzel twist. "Not even at gunpoint. I'm a Democrat, you know."

  "Now how would I know that? Besides, I don't think our former Republican president owns the team anymore."

  He feigned a shudder. "Once a Republican, always a Republican. Growing up I was subjected to the Minnesota Twins because of the proximity to home. But secretly I've always been a New York Yankee's fan. They have such a great history."

  She eyed him thoughtfully. "That suits you. I can see why you'd like the arrogant Yankees and their high-brow owners. Oh, and George Steinbrenner was Republican if I recall."

  Shaking his head, Nate waved a pretzel at her. "Ask anyone who knew him, he had the heart of a Democrat."

  "And Stephan King has the heart of a small boy. He said he keeps it in a jar on his desk."

  Her reply caught him off guard and they both burst into laughter.

  Her father approached from behind the bar. He looked as handsome as he had while she was growing up. Tall and muscular, he still sported a thick head of wavy dark hair. It was silver now, and he walked with a pronounced limp from his career-ending injury. But he still cut a sharp figure. Mel smiled. "Hey Cappie. I'd like you to meet the FBI agent sent to help out on the cheerleader case. This is SSA Nate Willis. Nate, this is Cappie, the bartender I told you about. He's retired from the force after thirty years."

  "It's a pleasure, sir." Nate extended his hand and the men shook.

  "FBI, huh?" Cappie raised a brow. "This case caught somebody's attention. What, the brass didn't think my girl here could figure it out on her own? She has a damned impressive solve rate, I happen to know."

  Mel waved him off and caught his eye. "Stop it, you big flirt. I keep telling you, I can't run away with you. I'm forbidden to marry." She munched a pretzel and shrugged off Nate's inquisitive glance. "It's a religious thing."

  Cappie snorted. "Yeah, right, whatever." He seemed confused for a second then caught on to her deception. "A guy can dream, though, can't he? And I always say, 'when you dream, dream big'."

  Mel grinned. "You and some country singer say that. Hey, I'm going to go look for a table. Keep my FBI friend company until I get back." She strolled to the back of the room, where she spotted Stone and Becker already seated with Tanner and a few other cops.

  "Curtis." Stone motioned to the two empty chairs by him.

  She meandered that way and nodded. "Hey."

  "Where's Willis?" he asked.

  "I left him alone with Cappie. We'll see how that goes." She kept her gaze on the two men chatting genially at the bar.

  "Does he know Cappie's your father?"

  "No! And nobody better tell him, either." She cast her evilest glance around the table.

  "Poor dumb son-of-a-bitch." Tanner shook his head woefully. "Hope he's not up there right now asking Cappie the surest way to get into your pants."

  Mel laughed and winked at Tanner. "He doesn't need to ask Cappie that, he could just ask me."

  While the people around the table snickered, she made her way back to the bar to put her new friend and her father out of their misery. "Found our table," she told them. "How are you boys getting along?"

  "Super." Nate nursed a tall beer. "I now know that the Royals suck at about the same level as the Rangers."

  "Hey, I never said that!" Cappie protested. "We have a series under our belt."

  "Yeah, and the Rangers almost have one. Wait, almost have two. And then there's the Yankees, with twenty-something series wins and twice that in pennants."

  Cappie waved a hand. "Yankees, pshaw. Better be careful rooting for the Yankees around here. People either love 'em or they hate 'em, but everybody's got an opinion. Some get passionate about it."

  "Right up your alley." Mel looked at Nate, then at her father. "He's a passionate kind of guy."

  "Oh yeah?" Cappie scowled. "Well keep your passion in check, boy. You're here to do a job, remember? Damn shame what's been happening to those women."

  Nate tossed back the last of his brew and set the glass on the bar with a thud. "All under control my friend. Now, if you'd be so kind as to bring me another, I think I'd like to find that table and order myself a thick steak."

  "Right this way." Mel picked up the full beer her father had placed in front of her and winked at him. She pointed to Nate's beer, and once he'd claimed it, she led him to their table.

  "Agent Willis!" Samantha Becker stood and offered her chair. "Right here." She maneuvered her position so she sat between him and Mel.

  Nate shot Mel a questioning glance.

  She shrugged and raised her beer to him, then took a sip. She slid into the chair between Becker and Stone, and watched Nate, obviously uncomfortable, as he sat next to the other detective.

  I could have helped him out. She let her mind wander, envisioned sitting next to him, his knee rubbing hers as they talked and laughed. The thought sent a tingle down her spine to all points south and she shook her head to clear it. He's FBI for goodness sake! Here for the duration of the case then gone again, to who knows where.

  San Antonio? Not that far away by plane. Mel forced herself to stop daydreaming and drained the last of her beer. As she set her glass down she noticed Nate had finished his drink, too, and Tanner was motioning for a waitress to bring refills.

  Her head spun and she realized she hadn't eaten anything all day besides a couple bites of a roll for breakfast and three sliders in the car at lunchtime. "No more for me, thanks," she said to Sara, one of their usual waitresses.

  "Cappie cut you off at one?" Sara grinned.

  "I'm a big girl, I can do what I want," Mel replied, quickly changing the subject. "And right now, I want to dive into a quesadilla with spiced grilled chicken and guacamole."

  "You got it. Anybody else ready to order?" She went around the table and jotted down orders.

  When she got to Nate he said, "I'd like the best steak you've got, king cut, medium-rare, loaded baked potato on the side."

  "Coming right up. I'll bring those beers in a jiff." Sara hurried off.

  He looked at Mel and smiled.

  She grinned. "Eat that much all the time? You must have to spend hours in the gym working it off."

  "I try to vary my exercise routine." He waggled his brows at her.

  Becker placed one hand on Nate's arm. "You're probably so active I bet you barely have to exercise at all."

  He said something only to her and Becker broke into peals of laughter.

  Mel rolled her eyes and l
ooked away. Tanner and Stone were discussing wrestling and as much as Mel despised that, it was preferable to watching Becker throw herself at Nate. She thought seriously about ordering another beer, but her good sense held and she sipped a soda with her meal.

  Sara kept the beer flowing, though, and most everyone grew more jovial as they ate, drank, and the evening wore on.

  Tanner excused himself to use the bathroom, and when he returned he leaned down to Mel. "How about you and I tripping the light fantastic?"

  She turned her head only slightly to answer him. "You better mean dancing, because if you're talking about something else you'll be tripping, all right. When I push you backwards over the table, that is."

  "Of course I meant dancing." He batted his thick lashes at her.

  Mel glanced around the noisy bar. "The first problem I have with that is no one is dancing. The second problem I have is that your fly is down."

  He quickly stood and zipped the errant fly. "Maybe later," Tanner mumbled, and found a seat at the other end of the table.

  Everyone around Mel burst into laughter. She chuckled as she sucked a piece of ice into her mouth.

  Still giggling, Becker stood and pointed to Nate. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." She headed to the ladies' room.

  Nate took the opportunity to switch chairs with her, and slipped into the seat next to Mel. "Hello there." He dragged his beer along with him.

  "Hi." She glanced over at him shyly, fiddling with the wrapper to her straw.

  "Not drinking anymore?"

  She shook her head. "If I recall, you designated me as the driver."

  He waved a hand. "Don't do that on my account. We can call a cab. They have taxis here, don't they?"

  "Here in the sticks?" she teased. "Yeah, we have the occasional horse-drawn carriage that doubles as a taxi."

  "Shush." He bumped shoulders with her and tossed back the last of his beer. "I never said this was the sticks."

  "You implied it."

  "You did imply it," Stone agreed.

  "Christ." Nate rubbed a hand over his face. "I either need to stop drinking, or I need a lot more beer."

  Becker approached from behind them. "I vote for more beer. You grabbed the wrong chair, honey." She pointed to where Nate had been sitting. "You're over there."

  He smiled up at her. "I'm over here now honey. You can sit there, or, if it's getting late, we'd understand if you had to go."

  Her face reddened. "Well, I never!"

  Nate waved his empty glass at the waitress and plunked it down on the table. "Well, maybe you should try it sometime."

  Becker plopped her hands on her hips. "You're drunk!"

  "I'm working on it," Nate admitted. "A smart woman might take this opportunity to flee before she gets taken advantage of."

  Several people watched to see Becker's next move. Mel wondered what Nate would do if the spunky little gal called his bluff, but she suspected the rookie didn't have the guts to do it. She nudged Stone and motioned for him to get Becker off the hook.

  He tossed back the last of his drink and stood, leaving some cash on the table. "Come on, Sam. I think it's time for you and me to call it a night. I'll walk you to your car."

  Becker's expression held a mixture of disappointment and confusion, but she let Stone lead her off.

  "Have a nice night you two!" Nate called after them.

  "Night guys," Mel repeated, and turned to Nate who'd started on another tall cold brew. "You're a mean drunk, Superman," she teased.

  He wagged a finger at her. "I remember that joke. Damned if I can remember the punch line."

  "That was the punch line."

  "Oh, yeah!" He laughed and gently knocked knees with her.

  Mel shifted so their thighs and arms touched. It felt exactly as she'd anticipated, and tingles of excitement shivered through her.

  The bar remained crowded but their end of the table had emptied. Sara came by and removed the dishes, clearing away plates and lots of empty glasses.

  "You didn't eat much of your dinner," Mel observed as the waitress removed his half-eaten meal.

  "Eyes were bigger than my stomach, I guess. Food was good, though." He picked at the soggy coaster under his glass.

  "Real good," she agreed. They didn't look at each other, but friction between them was palpable.

  "So what's up with this bartender, Cappie? Why'd Sara ask if he cut you off after one drink? There's something you're not telling me."

  She nudged his arm. "Maybe I like older men."

  He glanced at her, studying her expression, then smiled slyly. "Maybe. Or maybe you're full of shit. What aren't you telling me?"

  Mel leaned in close. "I'm a Republican."

  Nate clutched his heart and shook his head. "That's it, then. I'm a man who lives by certain rules."

  "Didn't someone say 'rules are made to be broken'?"

  "Oh, most definitely." He grinned. "That's rule number one. Rule number two is be flexible."

  "To back up rule number one."

  "Of course." They rubbed elbows and chuckled.

  "This just gets better. What's rule number three?"

  Nate peered into his beer thoughtfully. "Damned if I can remember."

  Still grinning, Mel looked at him. "You're having some trouble tonight."

  "You think?" He gazed into her eyes. "I thought I was doing pretty good."

  His eyes were the deepest shade of chocolate brown. Mel felt herself melting in their deep pools. She forced herself to look away but got sidetracked by the three-day beard growth, and wondering what the rough stubble would feel like scraping across her cheek. She shook her head and tried to focus on reality. "We should go. We've got to get you to your hotel. Where did you say you were staying?"

  "Damned if—"

  "You can remember. Heard ya. Okay, come on big boy. Your memory isn't going to improve sitting around here. Maybe the brisk evening air will do some good." She stood and he rose with her.

  "Whatever you say." He removed his wallet and pulled out a wad of cash.

  "Jeez, man!" Mel grabbed the money and glanced around. She looked at his tab and left enough to pay the bill and a generous tip, then tucked the rest safely back inside and handed over the wallet. "Hang on to this."

  Nate clutched her hand. "I'd rather hang on to this."

  "Yeah, I'll bet you would. Hands to yourself, pretty boy. Let's go." She pushed him toward the front of the bar, pausing long enough to say goodnight to her father. "Taking off, Cappie."

  He surveyed them for a moment. "Secret Agent Man isn't driving, is he?"

  "Nope.I'm dropping him at his hotel. Thanks for everything, handsome." She leaned across the bar and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Lovely evening as always."

  "Right back atcha kiddo. See you soon."

  Mel gently shoved Nate out the door.

  "Now she's kissing him," he muttered.

  "He's charming," she teased.

  "I can be charming."

  "I'm sure you can." She opened the passenger door to her Murano and boosted him in.

  She went around to her side and climbed in, looking at Nate. "Seatbelt."

  His eyes were closed. "Can't find it."

  "Well I'm not feeling around for it. Use it or not, up to you."

  He wrangled with the strap for several minutes before it finally clicked.

  Mel drove toward the cop shop. "Seriously, what hotel are you registered at?"

  He sighed, settling into the seat. "Seriously, I'd tell you if I remembered. It was something Hotel or Motel. Something like that."

  "Narrows it down," she muttered sarcastically. "Look, dude, unless you want to sleep in your shiny black rental, you'd best come up with the name."

  A soft, snoring noise came from his side of the Murano.

  "You are totally kidding me." Mel stared at him. What the hell? The guy was asleep. There was no way she could drop him off at his car, let alone the hotel he couldn't name. "Nate! Nathan Willis! Wake up."
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  He opened one eye. "Are we there yet?"

  "Where are we going? You need to remember the name of your hotel, please."

  "Tired," he mumbled.

  "Great." Her mind played out various scenarios until she finally decided what she had to do. She drove to her place and parked in the garage. "Come on, Supervisory Special Agent." She helped him from the car and into the house.

  "Is this the hotel?" He squinted, looking around.

  "No, genius. This is my house. You can sleep in the guest room tonight. We'll figure out the hotel business tomorrow."

  For a moment his eyes lit up.

  She scowled. "No funny business. Remember, I have a loaded weapon."

  "Me too.More than one!" He laughed at his own joke.

  "Which reminds me to take your gun for the night." With one arm around his waist, she led him to her spare room and turned on the light.

  Nate closed his eyes quickly. "The light. It burns."

  "Yeah, too bad, so sad. Let's have the jacket." She peeled it off and spotted a Glock similar to hers in his holster. "And the Glock." Mel reached for it.

  "Not my gun." He covered her hand with his.

  "I swear to God you'd best let go right now," she advised him. "You're a guest in my house—a drunk guest, no less—and I'm not leaving you with a loaded gun."

  He raised his hand and let her remove the Glock. "I'm not really that drunk. I just had a few too many."

  "And not enough to eat. I know. Look, Nate, it's okay. I'm not judging you. I just think I should keep the gun until tomorrow. I promise I'll give it back."

  He tried to focus his now blurry eyes on hers. "Are you as drunk as I am?"

  "Yeah, sure.Roaring drunk. We both need to sleep it off."

  "Good. Then you won't remember this tomorrow." Nate slipped his hands around Mel's waist and pulled her close. He touched his upper lip to hers once, lightly, then pressed his mouth against hers in a passionate kiss.

  Mel swooned. He tasted like beer and something minty, and she never wanted the kiss to end. She opened her mouth for more and allowed her tongue to bat against his.

  She felt the ridge of his hardness press against her thigh and the jolt brought her back to reality. Using both hands to push him away, she whispered, "We have to stop."