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CHAPTER FOUR
Fresh out of Tylenol, I stopped by the convenience store on my way home from work on Friday. My head had been pounding for most of the day, and now I was grumpy as hell. Cade always laughed at how I lived in the world of ‘too’ when I was grumpy. Everything was either too much of this, or too little of that. Right then, everything bugged me—the air conditioning felt too cold, the background music was too loud, and the scent of the citrus cleaner was far too strong.
Really, the headache was no surprise. I hadn’t been sleeping great. My mind wouldn’t switch off at night. I had too many questions about Smith racing around my brain. It was lacking answers that bothered me most. The only thing that gave me any relief was writing. I could disappear into another world, where there was no Smith.
I’d fully completed the first draft of my new book, which was mostly just the skeleton of the story. Now, I needed to flesh it out. Give it organs and muscle. But first, I needed some pain relief.
My shoes squeaked on the tile floor as I wandered down the aisle of medicinal items, scanning the shelves for signs of … aha. I plucked a box of Tylenol from the shelf and then grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler at the back of the store.
As I was on my way to the till, I noticed a frail, graying and very familiar man. I smiled. “Hey, Bill.”
He turned from the rack of newspapers and magazines to look at me. The local baker was married to my old—and favorite—teacher. He flashed me a huge grin. “Kensey, darlin’, how are you?”
“Great. You?”
He patted me on the shoulder. “Well enough. Sylvie would love to see you, if you get a chance to stop by.”
“I will.” With the bottle tucked into the crook of my elbow, I idly tapped the pill packet on my palm. “How is she?”
“Fine, fine.” Brow furrowing, he stepped closer. “Listen, I wanted you to know … a man called Blake Mercier was asking questions about you.”
“Was he?”
“Oh, yes. He wanted to know if I knew you; what impression I had of you; whether you were in contact with Bale; if I knew you had a drug habit. I snorted at the very idea of that.”
Hmm. It would seem that Blake either doubted Libby’s claims or he was digging for the kind of dirt that could justify me being fired.
“I told him that if he had questions, he should ask you,” Bill added. “I don’t suppose you know why you’ve caught his interest?”
“He bought Skinner’s half of both CCC and the bar. He wants info on all the people working there.”
“Ah. Oh, there was something else. I forgot about it until Blake came poking around. He’s not the only one who showed interest in you. A guy came to the bakery a few months back and claimed he’d met you in a club and lost your number, so he was hoping to track you down.”
“Really?” I drawled, stomach twisting. I didn’t give my number to random strangers.
“He seemed innocent enough and he talked about you in a way that made me think he did know you, but something about him was just off. I don’t think he was a reporter. He didn’t mention Bale. He was only interested in you.”
The knot in my stomach got tighter. “What sort of stuff did he want to know?”
“Apart from asking where you lived, he didn’t really outright ask questions. He’d say things like, ‘oh, I’ll bet she was a wild child’ or ‘I’m guessing she had it hard growing up.’”
“Prompting you for information.”
“Yes. I played dumb and said I didn’t know you well. But I thought you should know.”
“Thanks.” I patted his arm. “What did he look like?”
“Thick dark hair. Squinty eyes. Had a lot of acne scars. I’d say he was in his late twenties.”
I forced my expression to remain blank even as cold fingers trailed down my spine. “I’ll keep a lookout for him, just in case he decides to make a reappearance. You take care now, Bill. And tell Sylvie I said hi.”
Still feeling sick to my stomach, I went to the counter and paid for the pills and water. Done, I swallowed two Tylenol and then stuffed the packet and the bottle in my purse. I needed to call Sarah, I thought as I left the store and headed to my car. She would—
A car smoothly pulled up, engine purring like a panther. It was a familiar black Maserati. Well, damn. My pulse spiked, and my stomach bottomed out. I froze as the automatic window lowered. And there was Blake. He looked at me, eyes unreadable. “Get in.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“We need to talk.”
I sighed. “Look, I know you’re not thrilled about me working at the bar, but—”
“This isn’t about that.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Like I said, we need to talk.” He jerked his chin toward the passenger seat. “Get in.”
Was he high? “No.”
His brow arched—there was a dare there. “Nervous?”
“No.” I was proud of just how convincing I sounded, considering it was a total lie. “But I’m not in the habit of getting into cars with guys I don’t know.” Even if part of me was curious to know what this was about.
He stared at me, a muscle in his cheek ticking. Then the engine cut off, and the car door swung open. My heart slammed against my ribs. He gracefully unfolded out of the car and stalked toward me. That good ole sexual energy ignited between us. Warmth bloomed in my lower stomach and flooded me.
I forced my muscles not to tense and somehow kept my breathing steady. It was hard, because while he loomed over me with his eyes fixed on my mouth, I felt … threatened. Not physically threatened—I didn’t believe he’d harm me. But threatened as a woman. He was dangerously seductive, and a deliciously dominant trait seemed encoded in his DNA.
“Get in the fucking car, Kensey,” he whispered. His minty breath fanned my face.
“Not happening.”
His mouth tightened just a little. His eyes flicked around and then settled on the diner. “Then we talk in there.”
I should tell him no. I should get in my car and just drive off. But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Dammit, I was curious. Why was he here? What did he want? If I walked away, the whole thing would play on my mind for the entire day because, yes, I was that much of an idiot.
I followed him to the diner. He pushed open the door and gestured for me to enter first. I stepped inside and found myself surrounded by the scents of coffee, meat grilling, and onions frying. There weren’t many people. A cop, a few truckers, and a mother with two kids.
With his hand on my lower back, Blake guided me to a booth. As he slid onto the cushioned seat opposite me, I cursed myself for letting him take charge. I should have chosen the booth myself, I thought. Too late now.
I doubted that diners were his usual scene, but he didn’t look out of place or uncomfortable. As I watched him sitting there, looking so totally and enviably at ease in his own skin, I wondered if anything ever made him uncomfortable.
The waitress quickly appeared. I knew Nancy from school. She flirted as naturally as she breathed and could suck the air from the room with her bubbly personality, but she was harmless. And married.
The smile she shot Blake was so bright it probably would have knocked him on his ass if he’d been standing. “Hi there, what can I get you?”
