Chapter 28
To Do:
- Triple check Nicole’s remote camera system
- Buy more dusters for gallery
“Thanks for picking me up, guys,”Claire said as she slid into the back seat of Mindy’s Mazda. “I’m pretty sure the press knows what car I drive. Yesterday I was in the grocery store and a reporter jumped out from behind a wall of paper towels to take my picture. I thought they were finally backing off. But ever since the news broke about the notes, they’re everywhere. They’re driving me insane.” She shook her head.
“Nasty buggers,” Gavin said from the front seat. His British accent was honey to her ears. The sharp lines of his haircut suggested he had had a trim that day, and his warm brown skin was flawless. Maybe Gavin had a single brother.
“You still don’t know who leaked the information to the press?” Mindy asked as she pulled away from the curb.
“No. My money’s on a dirty cop, though. An officer got fired just last year for taking bribes.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Mindy said. “Gavin, you should have let Claire sit up front. She’s had a hell of a start to her week.”
“We can switch.” He tugged at his seatbelt.
“No way,” Claire said. “I’m already third-wheeling. I don’t want to throw off your date night vibe. Does Mindy ever let you drive, Gavin?”
He shook his head and looked over his shoulder. “I keep pulling out on the wrong side of the road. Old habits.”
Mindy rolled her eyes and pulled to a stop at a red light. “You’ve lived in the United States for a year, babe. It’s time to accept our freedom units and customs.”
“Inches. What bollocks,” Gavin muttered, staring out the window.
“Mindy,” Claire said, “Did you see Aaron’s print? Coli framed it today.”
“Yes, it’s perfect,” Mindy said with a smile. She turned down Electric Avenue. They were less than a mile from tonight’s bar of choice, a country bar called Yee Haw’s.
“Hey,” Gavin said, whirling away from the window and pointing an accusatory finger. “We said no work talk tonight.”
“You’re right, sorry. Claire, tell us more about the mediation meeting.”
Claire groaned. “Only in America could you destroy government property during a mediation and still think that I’m the problem.”
“That can’t have won her any points with the mediator. You said she stuffed the pictures in her mouth?”
“Yes! It was crazy. I wish Luke had been there to—” Claire stopped. As much as he would have appreciated Wendy’s antics, Luke was not invited to take up space in her brain.
Mindy’s eyes flashed to the rearview mirror.
Claire turned to stare out the window. “Anyway, I’m looking forward to a drink.”
“And drinks you shall have,” Mindy said as she pulled into a parking spot. “Let’s do this.”
Claire shuddered as she crossed the threshold into the bar that exclusively played country music. Getting through this night was going to require a large volume of whiskey.
Luke loved whiskey. She glanced at her phone. No messages from him today. What was he up to right this minute? It was early in Los Angeles, not even dinner time. He was probably busy lying to someone and/or bossing someone around.
“A warm-up before everybody gets here.” Gavin turned away from the bar with three tall shot glasses. A bright green liquid sloshed inside, and there was a spoon on top for some reason.
“Thanks.” Claire said, clinking and knocking it back without asking what it was.
Ugh.Black licorice hit her tongue like an electric shock. “What the hell was that?”
“Absinthe! You said it was a rough day.”
Was this how people in England got through a rough day? Her whole body shuddered.
“Water,” she begged the bartender. “And a beer.” She slapped the tall shot glass on the counter. On her list of all-time least-favorite flavors, black licorice came in right below candy corn.
“Hey guys,” Nicole called as Claire’s beer arrived. “Oh, started without us?”
“You didn’t miss anything,” Claire grumbled.
“Great. Let’s get six shots of cinnamon whiskey, please,” Nicole said to the bartender. Oh, boy.
Claire stared at the amber liquid in her hand. Mixing whiskey and absinthe was sure to be a terrible idea. But it really had been a spectacularly bad day. And at least it would get the licorice taste out of her mouth. And maybe the thought of Luke out of her head.
“Where’s Sawyer?” Kyle asked, turning around.
“Here,” a voice said as the sound of cowboy boots rang out on the wooden floor. Sawyer emerged from the crowd wearing a denim shirt with a bolo tie, jeans that were entirely too tight, and a white cowboy hat that practically brushed the ceiling.
“Are those spurs a tactical weapon?” Claire raised her eyebrows. She pressed her lips together, fighting the laugh that was dying to come out.
“If you think I’m going to come to a country bar and leave without line dancing, you are sorely mistaken,” Sawyer said, taking the shot of whiskey from Kyle. “Cheers.”
They clinked and drank. The cinnamon burned all the way to her stomach. She really needed to slow down. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up riding the mechanical bull again. And no one wanted that.
“So, how was the rest of your week?” Sawyer asked. He ordered a water from the bartender.
Claire picked up her beer. “Well, the press are hounding me worse than ever since the news about the notes got out.”
Sawyer put his hands up in the air. “It wasn’t me.”
“I know it wasn’t you. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Wendy also tried to assault me with a fire extinguisher during our mediation appointment but still thinks she has grounds to sue me.”
Sawyer shook his head. “That sounds about right. Oh, I love this song.”
What was there to love about it? It sounded like every other country song—twangy chords interspersed with lyrics about a truck and a bottle of whiskey.
“Come on.” He grabbed her wrist.
She snatched her arm back. “Where are we going?”
“To dance,” he said, gesturing to the dance floor. People had lined up in two rows. Claire wasn’t wearing nearly enough flannel for this.
“Absolutely not.” She picked her water up and took a large sip. No one could force her to dance if she was hydrating. “I can’t leave my drink unattended, Mr. Safety Expert.”
Sawyer picked up her glasses and dropped them next to Mindy. “Watch these,” he said before dragging Claire into the fray.
The whiskey and absinthe had met in her stomach. It gurgled angrily. Tomorrow was not going to be fun.
Sawyer shuffled her into the line next to him. “Here.” His massive hands planted on his hips. “Like this.”
The floor shook as he stomped his right boot twice and then clapped.
She glared daggers at him. If this had been a 90s party song, she would have danced him under the table. But line dancing was another beast entirely.
“Come on,” he said, nudging her with his elbow.
She begrudgingly copied his movements. Oh no, there was spinning involved. She whirled to the left and to the right. The gurgling in her stomach was intensifying. Somewhere between the stomping and clapping, a trio in the corner of the bar caught her eye.
Two men in cutoff tank tops had cornered a girl in a yellow sundress. She looked terrified. On autopilot, Claire began cataloging the details—two white males, between 5’8” and 5’10”, one with a backward facing Phillies cap and the other completely bald. The bald man wore a Venor University tank and neon pink shorts. The other had a tattoo on the back of his left arm. She stomped and spun around again. Were those letters? It was too dim in this bar to tell. She needed a closer look if she was going to prevent a crime.
The song mercifully ended, and she set off in the direction of the men, but they had moved. The girl in the sundress had slipped past them and was headed toward the door. They followed her.
“Not today, assholes,” Claire said. She followed them outside without turning back for her purse. The ankle holster for Taser #4 hadn’t gone with her outfit, so she hadn’t bothered to put it on. She was wandering straight into a potential kerfuffle with no weapon. What was the plan? Shit, maybe she should have gotten Sawyer first.
The douche in the baseball cap walked underneath a streetlamp. His tattoo was finally visible and Claire gasped. The Greek letters epsilon, sigma, and alpha were inked into his skin. Tingles shot through her whole body, and the hair stood up on the back of her neck.
ESA. Barney’s frat. And they were pursuing a helpless girl. The Solo cup didn’t fall far from the keg, apparently.
“Where do you think you’re goin’, huh?” the one in the hat asked. He grabbed the girl’s wrist and tugged her several feet down the alleyway, pressing her against the brick wall. “I said we’re going back to my place.” He leaned in and planted one hand above her head.
Claire’s blood ran cold. Faint strains of country songs were still audible. She was not going to let this girl get attacked in an alleyway next to a country bar. But how would she save her? She scanned the dingy alley. Other than two dirty trashcans, a dumpster, and a discarded wood pallet, it was empty. She could turn back and grab Sawyer, but what if they attacked while she was gone? She hesitated with one foot on the sidewalk and one in the alley.
“N-no,” the girl said. She couldn’t be more than five feet tall, and she wore the same wedges as Claire. “I’m supposed to meet my friends.”
“You can meet them later,” said the other one. “You’re coming with us. We’re gonna have some fun.”
“The fuck you are,” Claire yelled in a much deeper voice than usual, yanking the lid off a metal trash can and marching down the alleyway. She stood in the shadows and held the lid in front of her. “Get away from her.”
The douche brothers whirled around. They made eye contact with Claire and burst into laughter. “Oh, look, Josh. Another taker.”
The bald one cracked his knuckles and took a step toward her. The absinthe and whiskey roiled in her stomach. She held the lid in front of her like a shield. She could throw it, but then she’d lose her only protection.
Lumbering footsteps echoed behind her, and she spun around. Was there a third one? She had only had two physical self-defense lessons, and none of them focused on fighting off three attackers at once.
Sawyer, who had thankfully taken off his cowboy hat, marched down the alleyway. His spurs rang on the asphalt.
“Problem, gentlemen?”
The douche brothers looked at each other. They seemed to be sizing Sawyer up.
“I said get away from her,” Claire yelled. The one in the hat still had his hand planted above her head.
“You heard the lady,” Sawyer growled.
The bald one took another step forward. Lights came on behind them and illuminated the alleyway. A car must have been turning down a neighboring street. Now was her chance.
“Run,” Claire screamed at the girl. She pulled the metal trash can lid toward her and released it like a Frisbee. It sailed down the alley and clanged straight into the bald one’s nose.
“You fucking bitch!” Blood poured from his nose like a spigot. Claire’s stomach heaved.
The girl in the yellow sundress ran back out to the street.
“Claire! Claire Hartley!” an unfamiliar voice called from behind her. The alleyway was still illuminated. What the hell was happening now?
The men turned and sprinted down the alley. They jumped the fence at the end and kept going.
Relief flooded her for a split second. Sawyer was talking to someone behind them. Hopefully it was the police. She was fairly certain she could give a good enough description to track the men down.
Her stomach burned and lurched. Oh, no. She was going to?—
“Get the shot! Get the shot!” A male voice called behind her. “Doug Schroff, Channel Eight News reporting live from the scene where the only living victim of the West Haven Widowmaker appears to have just assaulted an innocent bystander outside a bar. Miss Hartley, do you care to comment?”
“Hey,” Sawyer’s voice boomed behind her. The reporter ignored him.
An innocent bystander? She couldn’t hold it in. It was no use. She bent over in the alleyway and vomited spectacularly onto the ground.
“Miss Hartley! Are you drunk? Did you just assault that young man? What do you have to say for yourself?” Something soft bounced off her head. She glanced up. A low-hanging boom microphone. She groaned and whirled toward the camera.
“I didn’t assault him. He was going to hurt that girl!” She gestured in the direction that the girl in the sundress had gone.
Doug reeked of aftershave. “Is that really what was happening? Or did we just witness the violent, alcoholic streak referenced by Rachel Islestorm, Mr. Windsor’s attorney?”
“That’s enough.” Sawyer stepped into the shot and pulled Claire out of the alley.
“Not everything is as it seems in the Widowmaker trial,” the reporter said into the camera as Sawyer dragged her back toward the bar entrance. “Claire Hartley is currently the defendant in a civil case for assaulting renowned local business owner Wendy Flutter after a drunken confrontation at an engagement party. An incident like this surely makes you wonder, is she really a victim? Or is the Happily Ever Afters moniker covering up something much darker?”
Sawyer marched her inside and stood in front of her to block their shot.
“Sawyer, no, I have to tell them?—”
He grabbed both of her arms. “Look at me. They’re not going to listen to you.”
“But we saved that girl from getting attacked or worse.” She gestured at the sidewalk outside.
“I know you did. But if you go back out there, they’re going to twist whatever you say. Trust me. Stay put. Mint?”
“What? No, I don’t need a—well, yes. Thank you.” She took the offered breath mint and popped it into her mouth. What an awful night. She glanced back out at the reporter, who was still standing in front of the bar.
She turned to Sawyer. “Did you see that guy’s tattoo?”
“The one of the hotdog surfing?”
“No, the Greek letters on his left arm. Epsilon, sigma, alpha.”