“Well, hey, Colton.” Annie Bellows, the night manager, asked. “What can I get y’all to drink?”
He watched her gaze shift between him and Zach. Everyone knew his business, but he didn’t bring dates to places while in uniform. “Coffee and water for me, Miss Annie. Greg’s coming and unless I don’t know my uncle, the sheriff will be joining us too.”
“Oh.” She raised an eyebrow, and whatever thoughts she had seemed to disappear. “How about you, Sugar?”
“Can I have a Coke, please, ma’am?”
“Not if you call me ma’am again.” She popped her gum, and winked. “Y’all need menus?”
Colton probably should’ve warned Zach about the side of attitude Annie served with every meal. “He will.”
“Right. You’re having the usual.” She wrote something on her pad, slid the pencil in her apron, and headed behind the counter. Greg walked in, and she gave him a wave. “Hey, Baby. Be right there.”
“They seem to know you here,” Zach said, twisting a napkin in his fingers. “Your usual is pancakes and sausage?”
Staring at him up close, in the clear light, Zach was even cuter than he thought. He also looked incredibly young. Twenty-four wasn’t old, but he felt too old for Zach. “Close, pancakes, bacon, hash browns and scrambled eggs.”
“Holy shit.” Zach looked around as if anyone cared he almost cursed. “Sorry. Is there anything on the menu you aren’t having?”
On stage, Zach looked lean and wiry. Now, he wondered if the guy got enough to eat. “No pie. I love cherry pie, but I save that for special occasions.”
“Right.” Zach dropped his gaze. “Good idea.”
Colton hadn’t meant to remind them this dinner could’ve been special. “What about you?”
“I’ll go with what you’re having, minus the hash browns. Too much grease.”
They’d hit that dead space where the easy talking was over, and the serious stuff no one wanted to discuss needed to be said.
“Thank you again.” Zach finally looked up. “For everything.”
Maybe Colton needed to cut him some slack. He wouldn’t leave someone in the situation Zach had been in, but the kid couldn’t have known. “You’re welcome. Is this place safe enough for you to tell me what the hell happened?”
“I needed out.” Zach put the nearly shredded napkin down. “It was… is a mess.”
It took an effort not to roll his eyes. Even a baby could see things were f’ed up. “Are they doing something illegal? Is it meth?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think so. There’s the periodic junkie, and I’ve smoked weed, but… no. I think I’d notice.”
There was something off about the whole event. The level of anger in the one man’s eyes, and the predatory gaze in Mr. Suit. “Who were those men?”
“Stephen? He’s the minority owner of the band.” Zach started moving his fingers over his palm. “He’s a dick, and he’s pissed that my grandpa left me the majority share.”
Lord, how did somebody own a band? He’d ask, but he didn’t want to sound like an idiot. “So, who was the guy who was all up in your business during the show? He wanted me to leave pretty badly.”
Zach shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean, seriously, I honestly don’t know.”
For the first time, Colton wasn’t sure if he believed Zach. He’d been too afraid of the guy to have never seen him before. “Okay. I’ll see what I can find out about him. Why is Stephen soeager to get you to sign everything over? Is there a lot of money in what you do?”
“As far as I know, there isn’t, but there’s some in Grandpa’s estate.” Zach shrank into his seat. “That’s what he really wants—access to the bank accounts.”
He was still missing something. “You mentioned a lawyer. Is that in some kind of trust for you?”
“No,” Zach said. “It’s in probate, which is a fancy way of saying, the state is holding it hostage to get their tax from the dead.”
Colton wondered who taught him that line—the lawyer or his grandfather. “And the lawyer won’t give you any of the money?”
“Not sure. Didn’t ask.” Zach stared at Colton. “I was afraid Stephen was monitoring the account.”
