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She stepped back, and he saw her jaw tighten. She practically hissed, "Is this what you two are doing now? You'll keep sending in more and more of you until you’re satisfied that I'm not lying?"
"Us two?"
She jerked her head toward the opposite side of the room. "You and Marcus. He's been hounding me all damned week. I'll tell you what I told him—several times." She leaned in, lasered her eyes to his and continued. "I don't know where that useless piece of shit is, and I don't care. I haven't spoken to him in about five years. I don't even have a phone number, and again, I don't want it. If you want your precious item back, go find him. He doesn't come to me and he won't and I sure as hell have no intention of going to him since. I. Don't. Know. Where. He. Is." She finger jabbed the table as she said each syllable as if it made her point clearer.
She straightened her spine and tossed her head in Marcus' direction. Slowly shaking her head back and forth as if to scold him, she turned to him again. "Now, any other way I can make myself clear?"
He straightened his spine, glanced over at Marcus, and then looked into her eyes. "I don't know Marcus. I also don't know about any precious item. What I do know ..." He leaned toward her, set his jaw and locked eyes with her. "… is Waylon helped Bobby Ray June escape from the prison transport van on the way to his trial for killing two people in a fire. I. Want. Waylon. And. Bobby. Ray." He finger jabbed the table just as she had previously, to emphasizehispoint.
Gasping, her free hand flew to her mouth, her eyes closed, and she swallowed. Opening her eyes, she softly asked, "Bobby Ray killed someone?"
"Yes."
"Oh, God."
* * *
She made her way to the kitchen, her stomach twisted, and she thought she'd lose the little bit of the Eggs Benedict Nila had made for her. Bobby Ray always was a piece of crap. She hated it when he came around. He leered at her and creeped her out. She complained to Waylon about it, and he told her to pull up her big girl panties. Toward the end of their marriage, whenever Bobby Ray would come by, she'd disappear to the grocery store or her best friend, Jolie's, house. She knew he was dangerous and not mentally sound, but she had no idea he was capable of murder.
She tucked her order slip for the gorgeous, but probably dangerous, man in the booth by the window, beneath the spring on Nila's order wheel.
"Order for table eight is up, Megan," Nila called out when she saw her approach. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the two plates and carried them to the nice couple, asking if they needed a coffee refill.
Keeping herself busy wasn't a problem as the restaurant filled up. "Order up for table seventeen." Squaring her shoulders, she picked up the two eggs over easy and whole wheat toast, grabbed the coffeepot and headed to the table of the man who both excited and scared her. He was a broody sort; his darker than dark eyes were both mesmerizing and scary. They were so dark, it was hard to tell where the iris and pupil met. His strong jaw held a hint of whiskers as if he'd shaved hours ago. The dark shadow gave him a mysterious presence which she bet he loved. She hadn't seen him walk in, but the length of his legs under the table and of his arms on top told her he was tall. From the side, she could see he was fit and firm. Nice. But no. She was steering clear.
"Here you go." Sliding his plate in front of him, she lay his silverware, wrapped in a napkin alongside his plate. "Coffee?" Proud that she was keeping her voice even, she poured when he nodded. Then she watched as his eyes caught movement behind her and his back stiffened. She could feel the heat at her back before she heard Marcus whisper in her ear, "I'm watching you, Megan. You may as well make contact with that jerk you were married to before things get very ugly for you."
Before she could respond, he was gone. Setting the coffeepot on the table before she dropped it, she clasped her hands together in front of her to quell the shaking. He was getting bolder.
Looking up slightly to see what her mysterious man was doing, her heartbeat hitched. Those deep black eyes bored into hers, but this time they held something else. Sympathy? Caring? Probably not, but he didn't look as menacing as he had before.
"Looks like Marcus there is getting bold."
"You don't know the half of it."
"Why don't you tell me?"
She picked up the coffeepot and stepped back. "I don't even know you. Why would I share that kind of thing with a stranger?"
"My name is Ford Montgomery, and I'm here for the same reason Marcus is—to find Waylon. But not for the same reasons. I was hired by the Kane County Police Department to bring him and Bobby Ray in. Looks like we could be friends and help each other out."
Biting her bottom lip, she thought about it. Actually thought about it. His low sexy voice washed over her in a soothing way, and she'd bet her next ten checks he'd lured women of all kind in with those looks and that Sam Elliot voice of his. But, it was too easy to rely on him and too convenient. It would be nice, though, to have someone to turn to.
"Thanks, Ford, for the offer, but I don't think so."
Chapter4
Chicken day flew right by, but man, oh man, she was dog-ass tired. Pulling her sweet little white Jeep Wrangler into her garage, she climbed out and pulled the garage door down behind her. With Marcus and Ford lurking around, she'd need to start closing that door when she left in the morning. It was the first time in all the years she'd lived here that she felt like she had to close the damned garage door. Fucking Waylon and his son of a bitch cousin, Bobby “Fucking” Ray.
Walking to the end of the driveway, she pulled her mail from the mailbox, sifted through the two ads for crafts at the local mall in Harper Valley, around thirty-five miles away, the electric bill, and her favorite country living magazine as she walked to the house. Stopping at the bottom step of her porch, she took a moment to admire her little house. It had been her grandmother's house first, but she was mostly raised here after her dad took off and her mom died. She was twelve then. Her brother, Cord, and her sister, Delaney, were six and four years older than her, respectively. Cord left home and got a job on an offshore rig the week after he turned eighteen, and Delaney spent most of her time at her boyfriend's house. Though it didn't take him long to dump her when he met the newest blonde with big breasts in town. Cad.
She'd painted the wraparound porch white this summer, and even though it took her the better part of a week to get the whole thing painted, it looked fabulous with its gleaming white spindles and floor. Her brightly colored flower pots and flowers added that homey touch she loved. It looked like one of the pictures she often saw in her country magazine. She should submit a picture of it. Maybe she would once she painted the house yellow this summer. Then, the whole look would be complete.
Entering her clean, fresh living room, she took a deep breath and released it. Home. She placed her magazine on the coffee table with her other magazines, neatly fanning them out to see the titles. She smiled as she walked across the room to her bedroom. Setting her purse on the floor in the closet, she kicked off her shoes. Ahh, that felt heavenly. She pulled the hair band from her ponytail. Scrubbing her head with her fingers to ease the tension from the band and the day, she began to let herself relax.
Making her way back to the coffee table, she picked up the ads and the water bill when she heard a tapping that sounded like something dropping in the kitchen. Her brows furrowed as she listened again, and this time the tapping grew louder. Walking toward the kitchen door, she could smell something—gas, maybe? But before she could get through the door, there was an explosion.
Waking, she opened her eyes but couldn't see anything. Smoke filled her lungs, and she began coughing. Realization finally sank in, and she felt around her to get her bearings. She was on the living room floor, the coffee table to her right. The roar and crackle finally met her ears, and the direness of the situation wrapped around her, and fear seized her movement. Her heartbeat raced.
