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But the longer I observe, the more I note slight changes in his expression when she isn’t looking at him. The minute pinch of his brows and distant look in his eyes. The blanch of his knuckles as he tightens his hold on his mug. The rigid set of his shoulders and stiffness in his posture. The frequent bounce of his leg beneath the counter when her back is to him.
A body language expert, I am not. But from top to toe, this man flaunts his concern, his fear.
And damn, it makes my heartbeat erratic.
The gossip compared Kirsten’s features to the victim’s. If that holds an ounce of truth, it explains why hotshot cop can’t sit still today. And if it’s one hundred percent true, does that mean Kirsten is in danger?
My stomach sours as a guy with brown hair delivers our drinks. I read his name tag as he sets a glass of orange juice next to my rolled cutlery.
Oliver.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“No problem,” he says, voice chipper. “Food should be out soon.”
As more tables fill and conversations drown out the low-volume background music, I grow more uncomfortable with the news. My foot taps the floor as I follow Kirsten with my eyes. I tug at the hem of my shirt beneath the table as she smiles and chats and laughs, oblivious to the whispered rumors.
I can’t just sit here. I can’t do nothing.
Shoving away from the table, the chair legs grate the wood floor as I stand. The table falls silent as five sets of eyes swivel in my direction.Great.
“What’s wrong?” Dylan asks.
Luke grumbles under his breath, “Jesus fucking Christ.”
I ignore them both and walk away. Weaving between tables, I head for the one place I don’t want to be in this restaurant—the counter. And before I talk myself out of it, I sit in the seat next to him.
“Good—” His greeting cuts short when he sees it’s me who sat down. He faces forward with his eyes on the wall while he grinds his molars. “I’m not in the mood,pal.”
Eyes never leaving his profile, I clasp my hands in front of me on the counter. “Don’t care,prick.” I twist in the seat, my knee knocking his leg. “What Idocare about is the gossip spreading near my table.”
He rolls his eyes but still doesn’t grant me his full attention. “Small town.” He shrugs. “What do you expect?”
I lean into him and he bristles at my proximity.Good. You should be uncomfortable.Lowering my voice, I say, “I live in a small town,prick. Gossip doesn’t generally faze me.” I pause and suck in a breath. “But whenyourtown is talking about Kirsten…”
At this, his head whips in my direction. “What did you just say?”
Unaffected by his scrutiny and sharp tone, I sit immobile and glare at him. Purse my lips and bite my tongue as he waits for me to fill in the blanks. And for a moment, I bask in his irritation. But not long enough. Much as I’d love to torment him, much as I’d love to knock the smug prick off his high horse, this isn’t about me and him.This is about Kirsten.
“For a minute, can you set aside whatever the hell you feel about me and listen?” I inch closer. “A man at a table near mine said the woman in the woods looks like Kirsten.” I lean back, study his shifting expression, and read all the things heisn’tsaying. “Is it true?”
He pales a breath before his eyes fall shut and his face twists in pain and distress. With one indisputable reaction, his nonanswer speaks volumes. Tells me I already know the answer.
Bile burns the back of my throat as my pulse hurtles into fifth gear.
Damn it.
“Is she safe?”
Fierce amber eyes all but slap me in the face. His chest heaves as he swivels his chair in my direction. “She. Is. Safe,” he grits out between bared teeth. “Nothing will happen to her. Not on my watch.”
“How?” I challenge.
A ridge forms between his brows as his eyes narrow to slits. Leaning into me, he opens his mouth to answer, but I cut him off.
“How?” I ask, the word a growl in my throat. “From your desk at the police station? Or maybe behind the wheel of your car as you drive the streets?”
Red crawls up his neck and spreads across his cheeks.
