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“Terrified,” she admitted.
“Even with a squad car outside? The female officer from last night offered to be there for the night shifts.”
“Between the two of us, I think we can admit that a car at my curb is all but useless.”
She wasn’t wrong.
This guy probably snuck in from the back to begin with. No one from the street would see him if he came back the same way.
“I’ll go back eventually,” she said. “I just… I want a few days. Maybe a week to… find ways to do that in a way that makes me feel safe.”
“The offer for the protection will stand. I can’t promise it indefinitely, but I will push for as long as possible,” I told her.
“By the time I’m done preparing, I am planning on not needing protection,” she said with a stubborn lift to her chin.
She’d just been attacked, felt like she couldn’t return to her house, was unsure about this madman’s motives. But she was still ready to fight.
You had to admire her grit.
The clock on the wall behind Mari reminded me of something my stomach had been telling me for an hour.
“I should be on lunch right now,” I said, watching her straighten.
“Oh, right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” she said.
“No no. I was wondering if you would want to finish this over some food,” I suggested, knowing damn well that it was probably a bit inappropriate.
“If you’d rather eat alone—“
“I wouldn’t,” I cut her off as I got to my feet.
The way my system was thrumming with a certain sort of pleasure as I led her to my car and opened the door for her to slide in?
Yeah that was more than abitinappropriate.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mari
I had no idea if, in real life, cops and witnesses or victims met and talked over a meal in a restaurant. Cop dramas on TV sure made it seem like it was commonplace. And Detective Vaughn’s ease about it made me think I was overthinking it.
We didn’t go far, just to a diner at the edge of town.
I felt a familiar little thrill of excitement at the sight of the motorcycles lined up near the side of the lot.
This diner was owned by members of the local outlaw biker club. A way for them to try to legitimize their illegally begotten money, I was sure. But they also had the best fries in the area. And the shakes weren’t too shabby either.
The whole place had a more elevated interior design than most diners, but the prices were kept low enough for it to be pretty packed even on a weekday for late lunch.
We were led to a window booth by a pretty hostess who had all the pep that came with a service job. I knew. I’d worked as a barista, hostess, and waitress through school. Plastering on that smile and that peppy attitude had been like slipping into your work uniform.
“Fallon and Malcolm are behind the counter,” the detective told me, making my brows pinch.
“Hm?” I asked.
“The bikers,” he told me with a knowing smile.
“I’m not a fangirl,” I insisted, but I couldn’t stop from letting my gaze slide in that direction. And, sure enough, there were two very handsome bikers standing there, drinking coffee and laughing with each other.
