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I inch just a little closer, almost in arm’s reach now. “You don’t have to do this, guy,” I say, monotone, calm, careful not to set him off. “If you put that gun away, and leave now, no one will call the cops. Think about it — you get a second chance. Who gets that? I’ll go with you, and we can talk about what’s going on, what brought you to this point. I got a lot of money, okay? Maybe I can help. It would be better that way, wouldn’t it?”
“No,” the man says. “No, I don’t want your strings. It’s better this way. This place is hoppin’, every night. They’ll make it back. This is chump change. Don’t fucking move!”
He twitches the gun toward me further, now almost pointing it at me. Chester is frozen in place behind the bar, his eyes shut tight. He’s afraid. Genuinely terrified of being shot. And why not?
I’m not, though. I try to match the man’s breath, pace him as he breathes, both hands up and empty as I take another slow step forward. “Let me help you. What’s your name?”
“I’m not telling you my name,” the man says. “Forget it. Just… I just have to do this, okay?”
“Tell me why,” I urge him. “Come on. It’s all right; no one has called the cops. Tell me why you have to do this.”
He looks uncertain. His eyes are twitching back and forth, looking for some sign of danger maybe, and he licks his lips. He’s pale, and there’s sweat on his forehead.
“Come on, man; just tell me the story,” I say again. “We can just talk this out…” He’s frozen with indecision, and looks, for a moment, like he’s ready to give in. I reach for the barrel of the gun cautiously…
“No!” the man snaps. He tries to jerk the gun away before I can grab it, but I’m faster than him. I grab his wrist, and tug the point of the gun down, toward the floor where a stray bullet can’t hit anyone.
“Sorry about this,” I mutter, and snake a hand behind his neck before I twist and drop to one knee.
He goes over, dropping the gun on his way, and it clatters to the floor just before he does. I grab the gun the moment I let go of him, and he scrambles to his feet. One quick look around the room, and he’s off like a shot, across the lounge, shoving people out of the way and bolting through the door.
It’s over. I straighten up, smooth my slacks, and carefully lay the gun on the counter. Chester is staring at me, wide-eyed and with a hungry sort of look that I hope Janie will have when I see her.
That was too easy. And I know why. Because paying that guy to attempt rob this place and take a fall for me was about the only thing that would get me into her good graces again.
But it worries me that I’m turning into Reginald.
Chapter 41
Janie
Every bone in my body tells me not to trust Jake Ferry when he approaches me from across the lounge, where he’s just talked down and then put down an armed robber, but all I can think about is that if anything had happened to Chester, or if someone in my restaurant was shot, it would be the end of everything.
So when he comes close, his dark eyes filled with what looks like genuine concern, all I can think to say is, “Thank you.”
Jake shakes his head. “I don’t think he was serious. Are you okay?”
“Not really,” I tell him honestly. “If someone had been hurt… I’m going to have to do something about my security detail. I thought a couple of bouncers were enough, but it never occurred to me that someone could come in and rob the place during business hours. I mean what was he possibly thinking?”
Jake shrugs, sympathetic and just as confused as I am. “I don’t know. Desperate, I guess. People do strange things when they’re pushed hard enough. Things they might not normally do. Who knows what his story is?”
“Well, hopefully the police catch him,” I say. “It’s dangerous to have someone like that running around out there. Plenty of people got that on video. I think you’ll be immortalized forever, or at le
ast for the next few weeks.” A thought occurs to me — a nasty one — and I blurt it out before I realize I’m speaking. “It’ll probably be great for your father’s restaurant, right?”
Jake blinks, his lips parted, and then starts to turn away. “I guess we’ll see.”
I should let him go. I don’t like him. I mean he’s gorgeous, and there’s something about a man who will face down danger that is objectively, undeniably sexy, but Jake Ferry is the enemy. Nonetheless, I find myself reaching out to stop him. “Jake, wait.”
He does, and for a moment I’m searching for the words. That’s about the time the police arrive.
Jake waits for me while I give my statement to the police along with everyone else. I have Chester show one of the officers the security footage from the night, and avoid being a bitch about how long it took for them to arrive. Chester hit the silent alarm behind the bar just a few seconds after he realized what was happening. Next time, someone could be dead.
But that’s the last kind of talk I want to have with the police, especially right now. So instead it’s all humility and profuse gratitude while they gather everything they can — which isn’t much. They take the gun, at least, and hope to get prints off of it. Since Jake touched it too, they have to print him just in case the robber isn’t on file. Jake is gracious about that, but people are taking pictures and I do wonder if maybe this won’t look bad for the Ferrys when it gets online.
And that’s a vicious thought, not the kind I’m used to having. Guilt worms into my stomach — this is the man that just saved my bar, my bartender, and if things had gone really badly, who knows — maybe even my life. I shouldn’t be thinking about whether the PR for this is going to hurt him. That’s not who I am. Is it?
When everything is done, and the police are on their way out, Jake comes back to me, looking embarrassed, his hands in his pockets. “Kind of a fiasco I guess.”
