Chapter 3
3
FIONA
“You passing through or headed to Coal Springs?”
A few hours later, I was in the back of a very vintage convenience store with the overly friendly owner who’d introduced himself as Pops. Seventies. Bib overalls. Thinning gray hair but impressive sideburns. A broad smile as if–while running a business where everyone who came in was a stranger–he never knew one.
Including me, it seemed. As if upon meeting he adopted every caffeine-desperate traveler as an honorary grandchild. I wouldn’t know since I never knew my grandparents, but I assumed his friendly demeanor and probing curiosity were what they did.
Inwardly, I sighed. Outwardly, I pasted on a smile. This man was the key to one of my greatest joys in life: coffee. The faster I answered his questions, the faster I’d get my fix.
After the showdown earlier with Trotter–including supervising him filling out a medical leave form–I sat at my desk waiting for HR’s approval and quickly found a vacation rental in Coal Springs. No doubt Trotter put a rush on the paperwork because I was out the door within the hour. I went back to my apartment, packed, and hit the road without grabbing a to-go cup.
I wasn’t giving myself tons of time to think about what I’d done–either saved my career or killed it. Instead, I was winging it.
Which was something I didn’t do. Ever. I was methodical. Logical. Organized.
Some said fastidious. Anal. Even ruthless, but those people were the ones who thought I’d worked my way through the FBI ranks solely to put my own father in prison.
I had.
Lately, my life felt completely disorganized. Like a dumpster fire. Brain tumor. Shady boss and partner. Supersonic hearing.
More coffee would help. I figured this time off would, too, but I never took it before. I had tons of vacation accrued which I’d never used. Work was my life.
It had been work. Now it was hopefully a cup of coffee.
I’d found the pot almost empty and brought it to Pops’ attention. He was making a fresh batch while I waited.
“Coal Springs,” I said, leaning my hip against the counter as I watched. Yes, an actual pot, not an industrial urn with the push of a button spewed forth the black gold into a waiting paper cup.
“Vacation?”
“Yep.”
Was paid medical leave without a medical issue called a vacation?
“With your family?”
God no. Unless dear old dad joined me in his orange prison uniform, handcuffs, and accompanied by armed guards.
“Nope.”
“Boyfriend?”
Boyfriend? As if. None of the guys I’d gone out with had balls big enough to handle a woman who worked for the FBI and took down bad guys for a living. Or maybe it was just me. The answer to that could go either way and it didn’t matter. I didn’t trust anyone enough to let them in. Sex? Sure, although that had been a long time ago. But a relationship? I had no clue how to be in one.
“Nope.”
His gray eyes were laced with the look you got when visiting the local pound and eyeing all the cute dogs up for adoption. “You’ve gotta be meeting a friend or something.”
“Hoping to meet someone,” I replied, knowing he was eager for an answer.
My goal now was to track down Hannah Highcliff.
“Don’t tell me you’re staying in a hotel all by yourself.”
I shook my head. “No. I’m staying in a house on Candy Cane Lane. Are all the streets named like that? ”
I didn’t make a practice of telling someone where I was going to stay, but Pops wasn’t a threat. And Candy Cane Lane? Seriously? I’d heard about Coal Springs and wondered if it was as quirky and perky as everyone said.
He clucked his tongue as he poured water into the back of the machine. “Yep, sure are. A pretty girl like you all by yourself? I don’t like that one bit. You should come to dinner. I know my wife, Marge, would love to have you. She’s making her famous pot roast tomorrow. You said you’re hoping to meet someone. We’ve got a grandson you can meet who–”
I held up my hand, cutting off his matchmaking. “Not that kind of meet. Pops, the dinner invitation is super sweet. Please share my thanks with Marge, but I’m a vegetarian.”
He paused in his progress on scooping grounds into the filter.
My brain was pounding its fists on a table repeating coffee, coffee, coffee over and over.
“You don’t eat meat?”
The look on his face was the same as if I admitted I just arrived from space and I was here to take him back with me, without the pot roast.
I shook my head. Fortunately, that stunner had him forgetting he wanted to fix me up.
He grinned and winked. “You’re the perfect guest then. I won’t have to share any of the roast with you.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t tell Marge you heard I’m so greedy.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Marge must have been an amazing cook .
“My lips are sealed.”
He nodded, then set the glass carafe in the machine and pushed the start button. “There. A fresh pot. Just give it a few minutes to brew and you’ll be good to go.”
“Thanks, Pops.”
He patted my shoulder, gave me that grandfatherly smile and went back to the front and behind the counter.
As the pot quickly filled, I stilled and let the noise in. Started to hear everything around me. The phone rang and Pops answered it. It was Marge. She wanted him to bring a gallon of milk and a variety of ice cream treats from the freezer because the grandkids were having a sleepover.
Back by the wall of refrigerated drinks two younger guys–who’d come in while Pops and I had been chatting–were debating cherry versus vanilla soda. Out in the parking lot, a car needed a new power steering belt based on the loud screech.
As soon as the pot finished, I eagerly poured some into a to-go cup and sighed. The constant chatter was exhausting. I took a second, closed my eyes, and focused on tuning it all out again. I’d gotten pretty good at it but–
“Gonna share?”
The voice, deep and rumbly, came from my left. It startled me, making me jump, the coffee sloshing in the carafe I still held.
I whipped my head around and there was a man. Right there.
How had he snuck up on me since I could now hear a dog fart a block away? I worked in law enforcement where being aware of my surroundings was ingrained.
So was doing a perp assessment.
Male–obviously. Gorgeous. Early thirties. Six-two. Wearing a suit with the tie loosened and the top button undone. Built like a runner… no, a rich, cocky lacrosse player, except his knuckles and hands were rough as if they’d seen a few too many fights. His eyes, blue and piercing, were blisteringly focused squarely and completely on me. My ovaries exploded, a confetti parade invitation for him to get me pregnant.
Jesus, he was that potent, like I was standing on a live electrical wire.
He seemed to be doing the same onceover in return. His gaze cataloging everything about me, although hopefully not that my nipples were instantly hard, or my panties had caught fire.
Did his visual interrogation make him law enforcement, too?
Hell, no. He radiated danger. If he was on the wrong side of the law, he was doing extremely well for himself. The suit was custom and too expensive for a law enforcement salary. So was his haircut. Short on the sides, longer on top, but had a fade that was probably done in a place that gave those shaves with the hot towels. Except he never got one of those because he had very appealing scruff.
He wasn’t from around here. The only suit men in the mountains wore was a snow suit.
“Sorry,” I said, swallowing hard. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was sorry for. Keeping the coffee hostage or ogling him. Because just looking at him made me want to drool. Okay, maybe I was actually drooling. I may have had a bit of a dry spell when it came to men, but this guy would turn any conscious woman’s panties to a raging inferno. It was definitely the eyes. Why the hell did men get the naturally long lashes? Or strong cheekbones? Since when was I drawn to a square jaw? Right, always. Or full lips. Lips that would kiss along my inner thigh and I’d feel the rasp of that few-days-old beard. A body that–
“Give me the money in the cash register.”
Interrupting my sexy times thoughts about the potent and intense guy in front of me, I heard the anxious voice from across the store. The man spoke quietly, as if he didn’t want anyone else in the place to know what was up. Still, I heard it clearly. Of course, I did. Shit.
“Nice and quiet now or I’ll have to shoot everyone in here,” the guy added, meaning he had a gun.
I sighed.
Fuck. Why me? Why now? Why did I have the shittiest luck?
An armed robbery?
Really? I had to stop it, of course. I couldn’t stand back here and keep drooling over the hot guy when someone was breaking the law.
The hot guy waved his hand back and forth in front of my face. “You okay there?”
I ignored him.
I also didn’t turn around. I knew the layout of the store. Main entrance directly behind me. Three rows of snacks and food between where I stood and the doors. Bathrooms to the right at the back. Cash counter twenty feet to my left. Glancing up, I looked into the mirror high on the wall that gave Pops a view of people in the far aisles. Like me and Mr. Suit.
It also meant I could see the counter in return. Pick up a slightly distorted view of a guy in a baggy t-shirt and jeans holding a gun on Pops.
Fortunately, the soda debate was still happening in the corner. They had no idea what was going on. Neither did Mr. Suit next to me.
“Um, can I have some, too?” he asked, referring to the coffee carafe I still held. The fact that he liked coffee only made him even more perfect. Too bad duty called.
I flicked my gaze from the mirror overhead to him. Shit, he was tall. Tall enough to be seen and shot. It would be a shame if anything happened to a man as handsome and sexy as him.
“Stay here and…” I set my free hand on his shoulder and pushed. “Get down.”