Page 25 of Armed ’N’ Ready

“That’s true.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I will arrest him, but I can’t do that if he’s dead, and dead is exactly what he’ll be if we don’t get to him first. Whoever Joe’s laundering money for put a hit out on him so he can’t be a witness against them.”

Despite the rising heat, a chill went through her. She covered her face with her hands, struggling to process what Nick had just told her. Large, warm fingers closed around her forearms, tugging her hands from her face. She looked into his eyes, frightened by their glittering intensity.

“You said you didn’t authorize that wire transfer. If that’s true, then by talking him in, he can clear you and you’ll be saving his life. He can’t hide forever, from us or the gun dealer who wants to kill him. The difference between us and them is that when we get to him, we won’t put a bullet in his head. If he cooperates, there will probably still be prison time, but at least he’ll be alive to serve it.”

Her stomach clenched as the heavy weight of his words sank in. Sure, she wanted her bank account released, but Joe really was in mortal danger, and she had no choice. Talking him in was the best thing she could do for both of them.

“Okay,” she whispered, staring at her phone on the table.

“You can do this. I know you can.” He released her wrists. “Here’s how this will go down. You’ll keep that phone with you at all times. I’ll be here with you most of the day and into the night, bartending inside. If he shows up, I’ll be here. He’ll probably call, rather than take the chance of showing his face with things being so hot. The minute he calls, you let me know, and you keep him on the phone. I’ll tell you what to say.”

Nick Houston dictating what she said irked her on so many levels she couldn’t tally them fast enough. “What if he calls at night after we’ve closed down and you’re not here? You can’t be with me twenty-four seven.”

“We checked your phone out. You have conference call capability. If I’m not here when he calls, you conference me in. I already programmed my number into your phone.”

She picked up the phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found his entry. Nick. There was something so disturbingly personal about seeing his name in her phone contacts.

“Call him now. When voicemail kicks in, leave the message we discussed. Don’t say anything else.”

Swallowing her pride, she took a deep breath, then cued up Joe’s number. As Nick had predicted, it went straight to voicemail, and she left another urgent message to call her back. She ended the call and set the phone back on the table, noting that her fingers were trembling. I’m so not cut out for this stuff.

“Good job.” He covered her hand with his, squeezing it.

She knew the contact was merely a show of support, an atta girl for not screwing up her first assignment. But when his fingers closed around hers, the heat from his hand spread outward and upward, making her feel as if his entire body was wrapped around hers like a warm glove.

He removed his hand. “Now let’s discuss the terms of my employment.”

“Employment?” Her fingers still tingled from his touch, something that was short-circuiting her other senses. Oh, right. Bartending.

She hated how she’d been forced into this deal. Worse, she despised how he could light up her body like a Roman candle. As if losing control of her restaurant to him wasn’t bad enough, now she’d lost command of her own body’s responses. Like it or not, she was stuck with him for a while.

“Fine.” She sat back and crossed her arms. “I’ll let you work here, but these are my ground rules.” He arched a brow and smirked, which only needled her more. “You can keep your tips, but I won’t pay you a dime. Not only are you salaried by the state police, but with my bank account on ice I don’t know if I can pay my real employees. And”—she leaned forward—“you’ll have to sit through an interview just like everyone else. I need to know what your experience is. Have you ever bartended before?”

“In college,” he answered.

“College?” She barked out a laugh. “That’s a long time ago. You sure you remember how to do it?”

“I’m not that old.” He cracked a lopsided smile that she found unexpectedly and irritatingly charming. “I think I remember how to pour a beer and mix a gin and tonic.”

No, he wasn’t that old. Mid-thirties, she’d guess. “Perhaps, but there’s more to bartending than pouring a draft and mixing a drink. Social rapport is the most essential element of the job. A good bartender can bring in more customers. Conversely, a bad one can drive them right out the door and leave the DPC with a bad reputation, something I can’t afford, particularly since you’ve frozen my bank account.”

He began rubbing his chin. “You don’t think I can do the job?”

“It isn’t that.” Well, not exactly. She grimaced.

“Then what is it?”

“I’m afraid you’ll scare away all the customers.”

He frowned. “How do you figure that?”

“Well, you’re so…so…” She twisted her lips, struggling to find the right word. Annoying? Obnoxious? Controlling? As much as she wanted to say all those things, she couldn’t without worsening the situation.

“I’m so what?”

“Big,” she blurted out, settling on something not quite so insulting. “And intimidating. You’ve got cop written all over you, and frankly, I don’t think you know how to be social without sizing someone up for an orange jumpsuit and a prison cell.”

He smiled, revealing a set of even, white teeth, then he pulled his chair closer to hers, the legs scraping on the deck. He rested a muscular forearm on the table, and she was hyperaware of his nearness. She held her breath, and when she finally inhaled, his citrusy scent invaded her lungs. He smelled too damned good.