Page 5 of Fletch’s Protection

“I’m serious, Mari,” I tell her. “I’m offering you a job.”

“You can’t cover my last check.”

I lean closer, resting my forearms on the table. “Oh? Really. Why not?”

She searches my face. “Because… because you just can’t.”

“I’ll write you a check. Tell me how much.”

She covers her face with both hands. “I don’t know. I can’t think right now. This is crazy. That can’t be real. I can’t process all of this.”

“You don’t have to think. Just let me take care of you.”

“I don’t know…”

After a moment she laughs roughly. “Not like I have a choice. There’s no other work around here, and the only job I found is a night job at the hospital and I can’t be away from Cassie at night. Not after what happened…”

A flash of raw terror on her face makes me reach for her hand. “She’s okay now, though?”

Mari nods, clearing her throat. “She’s fine. During the day she’s with her friends at school. At night I need to be there.”

“Understood.”

We drink our coffee. Every couple of minutes her eyes wander to the street, to the hardware store directly across the way. The oil field truck is still parked outside, meaning Clark is still in there.

“We can cruise out there on my bike,” I say to keep her mind off that building and the men inside. They don’t deserve another fucking second of her time.

She snaps me back to the moment,when she frowns and asks, “Does this involve a scary room, black plastic on the floor and walls, gloves and a rusty knife?”

I frown. “No.”

“You’re not a serial killer?”

“Not unless you’re a box of nails. I’m a contractor.”

Her tense expression softens and my heart slams into my sternum. What the hell is going to happen to me when she smiles?

“That was a bad construction joke,” she says, looking into my eyes as she lifts her mug to her mouth.

“Do I look like the joking type?”

Mari glances down at the patches on my cut, and back at my face. “Not really.”

“Trust me, Mari. I won’t let you down.”

For a few seconds she’s quiet, then in a soft voice she says, “You did save me.”

“Let me take you for a ride. I think you’re gonna like what I show you.”

After a second, she shakes her head. “I could follow in my car.”

I let this idea sit for about five seconds, my cut creaking against the chair when I lean back. “You really feel like you should be driving right now?”

After a resigned sighing, she says. “Truthfully, no.”

The music plays in the background. I drink the black coffee, and try not to let my mind wander to the place it wants to go. My bed with her in it.

She finishes her coffee and I ask, “Feeling better?”