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“Of course.” Tabitha fishes in her bag and hands over a bent credit card. “You know how the kids just love that fried chicken and mac and cheese. Mmm mmm.”
I stifle a giggle and run the card. Leave it to my family to order mac and cheese as a vegetable. The stuff is darn good though.
Tabitha leaves with her kids as quickly as she came. The rest of the night goes smoothly. No complaints. No over-served customers who need a ride. When Derrick says he has to leave early to help his wife Jolene, who he named the bar after, I don’t blink an eye. Apparently, a fox got in the chicken coop again, and she’s distraught. I’ve closed down the bar a hundred times. Count the cash. Close out the register. Wipe everything down. Easy peasy. Half of it’s done by the time Mr. Murdock finishes his last beer and shuffles off to his car mumbling something about the Saints upcoming season.
I’ve just locked up the safe in the office when the familiar whiny creak of the backdoor echoes down the hall. With the kitchen closed down and the country music off, I could hear a mouse squeak. Thankfully, we haven’t had any of those this year.
“Derrick?” I call.
He must have forgotten something. Or he got his wife settled and came back to make sure I didn’t forget a step. I dust my hands off on my shorts. It might be 2 a.m., but my mind is still sharp as a razor. Mostly. Well, it would be if I didn’t agree to that shot with that younger guy who’d come in. It’d been a while since I’d seen a new, cute face around here, and I couldn’t help myself.
When no one answers, I round the corner out of the office.
“Derrick—” The question breaks off into a gasp.
My legs freeze. A scream lodges in my throat. All the world narrows down to the two masked men standing in the hall, guns pointed in my direction.
Chapter 2
“Don’tscream.”Theslightlyshorter one says in a whiskey voice thick with a southern drawl.
The bigger man, and I do mean bigger in every sense of the word, closes in next to him, filling the hallway. “Don’ even think ta’ run.”
I swallow the silent scream aching to break free, but it won’t budge. Air grows thin. Spots fill my vision, and for one horrible moment, I think I might faint. My fingers brush the wall as I sway on my feet.
“Don’t ya dare.” The big guy steps closer, leveling his gun at my face.
Something about the overhead bulb’s shine on the gun metal douses me in ice water. Every bit of me is alert and heightened all at once. My heart pounds in my ears. The scent of Clorox I could have missed moments ago is so strong I might as well have bathed in it.
“Open the safe. Now.” The shorter man gestures with his gun to the room to my right—our little back-office.
With mechanical movements, I manage to enter the room. My purse occupies a corner of the desk, but there’s no way I can grab it without them noticing, much less get to my phone. There’s an old baseball bat behind the door. Old Woody has settled many a fight without being swung, but it’d be a gamble to get it—more likely get me shot instead.
The men fill the space, literally and figuratively. Sweat beads on my neck, despite the air conditioning still pumping through the vents. The shorter guy’s hands shake a little around the gun. He doesn’t want to use it. Not really.
Give them the cash, and they’ll go. Derrick’s words from long ago echo in my head.You’re more important than a few hundred bucks.
Never thought I’d have to use that bit of advice.
“The safe, Daisy Duke.” Big Guy shoves me toward the black box occupying the corner.
A flash of indignance heats my cheeks as I kneel and pound in the code to the keypad. Daisy Duke… The nerve.I may have her blond hair, but my shorts arenotthat short.
“Told ya she wouldn’t be a problem.” The shorter man’s words hit me like a jolt of lightning.
That voice. I’ve heard it tonight already.
It was the same one coercing me into that shot of Jose Cuervo.
My body shakes as I swing the safe door wide and back up. The big guy nearly knocks me down as he swoops in with a bag I hadn’t even noticed before and starts filling it with cash. There’s not much, even for a Saturday.
While he works, I risk a glance at the other man. Around his mask, I can just make out the stubble near his lips. The soft, brown hair checks out.
I checked his ID. What was his name?
As I file through my memories, our eyes catch, and he knows. He sees the knowledge I can’t hide. I’m not the dumb, tipsy bartender he thought I was. The blond waves and cowboy boots might have fooled him earlier in the night, but not now, not when I desperately need them to.
The young man stiffens, all the softness I’d admired vanishing from him in a second. My stomach drops, and it’s all I can do to keep my dinner of mac and cheese from coming back up.
