Chapter Four
W ren drove through downtown, slowing to roll down her window and holler at a couple running across the road. “Use the crosswalk!”
If she wasn’t on her way to another call, Wren would have stopped and given them each a ticket. Why couldn’t people follow simple rules? It was like people thought that breaking laws meant to keep people safe were no big deal, but people died every day speeding and getting hit by idiots because they crossed roads willy-nilly like a bunch of headless chickens.
She parked the SUV cruiser in front of the Wolf’s Den, studying the dark building with a rush of nostalgia. This was the place she’d snuck into with Sam as a teen, barely old enough to drive. She should have been home watching TV or studying, not sneaking into the bar with her fake ID or letting Sam take her into one of the back rooms to show her a new way he could make her body tingle. While things could have taken a bad turn any time she visited the Den, the bar owner, Quint, had always kept an eye on her because he knew she was underage. He’d told her once she was safer drinking in his bar than getting drunk at the lake or some house party with a bunch of idiots. He’d taken a risk letting her hang around, but Wren’s rebellious years had been safe.
Well, except for the whole broken heart and pregnancy scare.
Wren climbed out of the SUV, looking into the far back where Duke sat watching her. “I’ll be right back, possibly with a friend.”
Wren headed around to the front, nodding at the man guarding the door. He took one look at her uniform, and his lips twisted in disgust. Wren couldn’t blame him. Mistletoe police and the crowd at the Den had never been on the same page, but Wren was only there because an old friend called about a disturbance.
Wren took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Although she’d attended department-mandated therapy after her shooting last year, Wren fought back a rush of panic every time she went to a disturbance call. Even in Mistletoe, where violent crime was minuscule, the anxiety always hung in the back of her mind.
She stepped into the bar, smiling as she stared up at the dark chandelier that disappeared into the high ceiling above. To the right and against the far wall was a stage, where a black karaoke machine was tucked in back against the wall. Tonight, a live band played a lively rendition of “Can’t Buy Me Love,” while the dance floor was packed with couples bouncing along to the beat. There were several tall tables scattered among shorter ones, but the biggest crowd was by the bar, waiting to get the attention of the two bartenders on duty. Wren knew that the back area would have one man on the door, taking passwords from bikers who needed a little R & R before they got back on the road.
For Wren, those private rooms had been a safe place to be with Sam, to experiment with the first boy she’d ever been with. At the time, she’d been swept up in being in love and experiencing passion. It had been nearly twenty years since she’d been back there, and Wren had no plans to revisit and drag up old memories.
“Wren, darlin’!” A booming voice hailed her from over the Beatle’s song. Quinton Gains was average height and barrel-chested. His dark, silver-streaked hair was pulled back in a short ponytail, and his Fu Manchu was salt and pepper, perched happily above a wide, welcome smile.
“Quint!” Wren found herself enveloped in a bear hug and returned it as best she could with her shorter arms. “You look good.”
“I look like grizzled jerky, and you know it.” Quint stepped back and gave her a once-over. “You’re a stunner, though! Has Blondie Boy seen you yet?”
Wren’s cheeks warmed at the familiar nickname for Sam. “I’m sure in passing.”
“Never could figure out how he let you get away, but I’m glad to have a friendly face on the Force.” He nodded his head toward the back. “Disturbance is back this way.”
Wren trailed behind Quint toward the private rooms in the back, passing by the other bouncer without issue. The hallway was dimly lit, with a red light overhead and numbered doors on either side. They stopped in front of number eight, and Quint opened the door. A man sat on the chair in the middle of the room, holding his eyes and wailing.
“What happened to him?” Wren asked.
“Apparently, old Dan has been coming here for two weeks, creating his own little peep show on either side of the room and cleverly hiding his peepholes from us. But today the guest next door spotted the holes in the wall, and when she realized those were eyes staring back at her, she poked him.”
“She poked him in the eyes?” Wren nodded her head approvingly. “Good for her.”
“Yeah, except now Pervy Boy here is threatening charges against her and to sue me.” Quint folded his arms over his chest, scowling at the whimpering man. “I want him booked for trespassing, destruction of property, and anything else you can throw at the little weasel.”
“I need a doctor!” the man hollered, covering his eyes with both hands. His balding head was bent over, obscuring the rest of his features. “I think I’m blind!”
“Doc already looked at you and said you were fine!” Quint growled.
The man removed his hands for a split second and blinked at Quint before slapping them back over his face. “I want a proper examination.”
Wren pressed her lips together disapprovingly when Quint took a step toward the man. “I’ll give you an examination, you little—”
Wren stepped between Quint and Dan, shaking her head. “If he’s injured, Quint, I have to take him to the hospital.”
“Oh, come on, Wren!” Quint objected, pointing at Dan over her shoulder like he was stabbing the air. “He’s full of shit.”
“I still got to take him.” Wren pulled her cuffs out and asked, “Where is the victim?”
“She had to split,” Quint said, his gaze steady.
“Uh-huh.” Wren went around the back of Peeper and secured his hands. When he started to whine, she said, “You’re lucky all she did was poke your eyes. Knock it off.”
The guy grumbled as she read him his rights and helped him to his feet. Shooting Quint a dry look, she pulled her card out of her pocket and handed it to him. When he took it, Wren said, “Let her know I’ll need her to come in and make a formal statement as soon as possible.”
“Sure thing, Wren.” Quint pocketed the card and led her and Peeper out of the room and down the hall. As they reentered the bar area, a familiar head of blond hair arrested her in place. Sam was leaning against the bar, chatting up a brunette who didn’t seem as enthralled with him as Wren would have expected. Then again, after the things she’d heard on the Jilly G Show, it seemed the entire female population of Idaho wanted a piece of Sam and not in a good way.
Tonight, he wore a red bomber jacket, the tips of his hair brushing his collar, and she could only see his profile. His jawline was tense, and she wondered if whatever the girl was talking about had to do with his on-air roasting last night.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Quint called loudly, most likely for Wren’s benefit, and she could have cursed the big man for trying to play matchmaker. That time had long passed.
Sam turned around, flashing a wide, crooked grin at Quint before he appeared to politely excuse himself from his companion and cross the floorboards to hug Quint. There was a lot of back slapping and manly guffaws, which made Wren want to gag.
Wren cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said, hauling Peepers around them.
She hadn’t taken two steps toward the exit when Sam’s deep voice called out, “No hi for me, Birdy?”
Wren grimaced as the old nickname stirred something warm and sensual inside her, swirling like a tornado straight to her pussy. Even with nearly two decades between those intimate moments and now, that name took her back to that time. To the frantic last kisses before curfew. Their first time next to the river. The last—
“Hey,” she said curtly, refusing to go back there. She’d left that girl behind a long time ago.
She continued past the dancing patrons and those lookie-loos watching her and her charge. Once they stepped outside, Peeper really started blubbering.
“Officer, you got me all wrong. I found those holes in the wall and was just curious what they were! I had no idea—”
“Sir, do you not understand your Miranda rights? Because being silent is the first one.”
“I’m just trying to explain,” he whined.
“Let me give you a rundown of what’s going to happen. I’m going to take you to the doctor’s office in town, who will check you over after hours. When he gives you the okay, I will take you to the station for processing. At that time, I’ll run your fingerprints, and I’m going to guess this isn’t your first offense. So, I suggest you keep your excuses to yourself and wait to unburden yourself to your attorney.”
Wren opened the back door of her cruiser and ducked his head with her hand on top of it, helping him onto the seat.
Duke pressed his nose against the metal barrier, and Peeper leaned forward, releasing a panicked yelp. “I’m allergic to dogs!”
“Womp, womp.” She shut the door with a thud and took a deep, searching breath. Why was the last call of her shift the craziest? The chief wasn’t going to be happy about the overtime, but unless she wanted to call in one of the other guys to take over, there was nothing for it. Besides, she was curious to see what other crimes this slimeball had in his past, and if her victim called, Wren wanted to be the first person she talked to.
“Hey.”
Wren closed her eyes at Sam’s low greeting and knew he was standing behind her, probably with his hands shoved in his pockets.
She turned slowly to face him, giving herself silent kudos for being right. He stood a few feet away, looking like a lost little boy.
“You’re looking well,” she said.
His lips quirked up in the corner. “High praise. I was thinking the same.”
“I take my vitamins.” Her fists squeezed when he chuckled, and she tried to ignore the tight tingling of her nipples. “You leaving already?”
“Seems I’ve earned myself a reputation, and all women in Mistletoe think I’m scum. Might as well head home and do something productive like clean my apartment.”
“I heard a bit about that. You called into a radio show looking for relationship advice?”
Sam shook his head. “My nephew called. I was innocently sitting on the couch, snacking and watching TV when he came out and let me know Jilly G wanted to talk to me.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry it went south for you.” She patted the top of the cruiser. “I should probably get him seen, or he’s going to slap a medical neglect suit on the department.”
“Wait—” Sam stepped forward, taking his hands out of his pockets, and her breath caught in her throat. What was he doing? He wasn’t going to hug her or something, was he?
God, I bet he smells fantastic still— No, stop! It didn’t go well the first time around. There’s no need for a repeat.
He didn’t come any closer than that, and she waited silently for him to finish, ignoring the voice in her head arguing that they’d been kids. That if he wanted to get coffee or something, they were older and wiser now. They could be cordial. They could be...
Friends?
“What is it, Sam?” she said impatiently, the thought of being Sam’s buddy, listening to all his conquests and mistakes, made her stomach twist in disgust.
Sam swallowed, his gaze sweeping over her face before he shrugged. “Be safe out there.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
As she was climbing into the cruiser, he called out, “I’m glad you got everything you wanted.”
Wren reeled back like she’d been slapped. “Everything I wanted?” What was he talking about? She’d wanted to go to college and get her criminology degree, maybe go into the FBI. She hadn’t wanted to jump around to different states, starting over at each precinct. She especially hadn’t wanted to get shot and end up alone, back in Mistletoe.
“How do you figure that?”
Sam held his hands up, taking a step back. “Whoa, why are you jumping on my ass for being friendly?”
Because when I was sixteen, I saw my future with you? Perhaps ‘everything I wanted’ was a career and a life with the guy I loved? Instead, I’m back in my hometown, the one thing I want within my grasp, but I’m unable to take the leap.
Not that Wren was going to pour her soul out about her childlessness to Sam. He’d probably gag like a teenager who heard something distasteful.
Wren snorted. “Maybe because I can’t figure out whether that was sarcasm or an accusation.”
“It was neither,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “You’re here in Mistletoe, following in your father’s footsteps, just like you—”
“I’m in no way like my father, but obviously the rumors about you are true,” she snapped.
He crossed his arms over the red of his jacket, the white T-shirt poking through. “What rumors would those be?”
“That you’re a world-class jackass that deserves to be alone.” Damn, she’d really come out swinging on that one.
Sam nodded, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Well, if that’s my issue, what’s your excuse for being single?”
Wren didn’t answer, wanting to escape the escalating situation, which was bringing too many unresolved feelings to the surface. She unlocked the car door and climbed inside.
“You’re just going to bail without finishing this conversation?” Sam called out.
Wren didn’t bother rolling the window down to respond. “No point in rehashing something dead and buried,” she said before putting the car into gear and pulling out of the parking lot.
“You know, that was unfair of him,” Peeper said from the back seat. “Many women are alone by choice—”
“Not. Another. Word.”
“Roger that.”
Wren let it go. There was no law against being annoying, unfortunately.
If there was, Sam would be sitting in the back next to Peeper. He didn’t know her, hadn’t spoken to her in almost twenty years, and she was damn sure there weren’t any rumors racing around town about her.
She really should have stuck to her initial instincts and stayed the hell away from Sam.
Going forward, Wren would do just that.