Chapter 14
Emery
“I haven’t been here on a Friday night since … I can’t remember when.” I toss my jacket on a nearby hook and slide into our reserved table as the singer belts out a gritty song, earning himself a round of catcalls and hollers. “It’s busy.”
“Good thing you called in when you did.” Mike shakes his jacket off his brawny shoulders and drapes it over his chair before easing into it.
Of all my officers, he puts the most effort into staying in shape.
The guys at the station constantly tease him about Breanne being way out of his league and he better not let himself go if he wants to keep her.
I know Breanne well enough to know she cares about far more than his physique, but she has admitted on more than one occasion that she appreciates he hasn’t gone the way of the beer gut.
“One of the few perks of my job, I guess.” I smooth my palm over the front of the silky emerald-green blouse Breanne loaned me in place of the wine-soaked T-shirt from earlier.
This one’s sleeveless and probably too sleek for the Bale House, but she insisted on it, and it pairs well with her boots and my leather jacket.
Within minutes, Matt approaches our table with a tray carrying our drink order. “Lookin’ good tonight, boss.”
“Don’t forget, you’re driving my drunk ass home later,” I warn Mike before flashing Matt a smile. “Thank you again for holding this table for us.”
“You kidding? Anything for the one who saved my fine establishment from Benny the Hulk.” With a playful wink, he sets a full-to-brimming glass of chardonnay in front of me. “I have to say, I’ve always liked the uniform on you, but this works too.”
Beside me, Breanne snickers. She was with me the night Matt poured all those tequila shots and piled on the charm. She knows how close I was to making a mistake with this man.
That’s right … that night was the last time I was here on a Friday, dressed up and on a mission to drink away my problems.
“So, how’s Shawna doing these days, Matty?” A not-so-subtle reminder that I know the game this eternal bachelor plays.
Matt grins. “She’s doing just great. A solid server and …”
His words fade from my focus as a prickle crawls down my skin, a sixth sense that I’m being watched. I turn and there Logan is, standing tall and imposing, in a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt draped over a T-shirt.
I inhale sharply, the shock of seeing him here like a lightning bolt zapping my nerves. The seconds seem to hang as we lock gazes and my brain stops working.
And then, with nothing more than a subtle nod, he passes by, heading down the hall toward the washrooms, leaving me with my pulse racing through my veins.
“Staff?” Mike’s sharp voice in my ear pulls me out of my stupor.
“Huh?”
Concern mars his brow. “What was that about?”
It seems my shock didn’t go unnoticed. “Nothing.”
A server calls Matt away then, thankfully. The fewer people there are to ask me questions, the better.
But Mike and Breanne aren’t buying it.
I sigh heavily. “That was Logan Landry.”
Breanne’s jaw drops. “That’s him? The guy who just got out of prison? Your neighbor?”
And my first love.
My first everything.
“Yup.” I gulp back my wine as my emotions swirl.
I didn’t expect him here, but I should have.
It’s not a secret that the Landry crew occasionally comes in after a long week of work, and I imagine the first week with Logan back was the longest one they’ve had in decades.
Plus, his cousin Jameson is practically a staple, peddling his brewery like a shameless salesman with a trench coat full of stolen goods tucked inside.
There he is now, chatting up a group of women.
“Well, damn … Fine, I’ll say it. Prison years have treated him well.” Breanne’s eyes widen with meaning. “I mean, if it were me he was ogling like that—”
“You know I can hear you, right?” Mike scolds his wife from across the table.
“Then stop listening!” she retorts but follows it up with a blown kiss and a wink.
I’m distracted from their playful bickering by the slender blond form darting past me into the back. Was that Holly? I check my watch. It’s close to curfew for under-agers in here, though it’s not uncommon for them to come early and cross their fingers that the servers won’t politely kick them out.
I scan the Bale House for questionable patrons and quickly spot a table of them—three girls done up to disguise their youth. There’s little chance Holly didn’t notice Logan, didn’t watch him go down the hall.
“Need I remind you that the guy went to prison for manslaughter? Two cops?” Mike’s eyebrows arch.
There’s no need reminding me of that. I met Officers Whitley and Combs. I knew all the cops at my father’s station.
“And then he nearly killed an inmate?” Mike goes on.
“That was self-defense,” I offer half-heartedly, too focused on thoughts about Holly. What is that silly girl up to?
And how will Logan react to her games?
The longer those two are back there together, the more worried I get.
“Excuse me.” Without waiting, I slide out and head for the washrooms.
The moment I round the corner and see Holly herding Logan until his back is pressed against the wall, watch her reach up to touch him, I knew I was right to be concerned.
“What the hell is going on here!” I holler, storming forward.
Holly jumps back. “Um … hi, Mrs. McAllister.” The brazen version has evaporated, replaced by this polite one. “I was just asking Logan if his window had been repaired—”
“Bullshit.” I stop a few feet away to stare her down.
She averts her gaze, her fingers toying with one of her chunky gold tube-hoop earrings.
“Time for you and your friends to leave. I suggest you get going before I arrange a ride home for you in a cruiser.” I emphasize my point with a sharp finger toward the exit just as Mike sticks his head around the corner.
“All good here?” I can barely hear him over the muffled music.
Loud enough for him to understand, I announce, “Holly, this is Sergeant Lynch. He’ll help you and your friends pay up so you can get home.”
She scurries toward and past him without another word.
Mike pauses to regard Logan a beat before nodding at me and trailing her out.
Logan sinks back against the wall, his shoulders sagging. “Thank you.”
I remember when he and I got together, I could never be near him without touching him—a hand on his biceps, a nudge against his knee. Even now, my instinct is to reach out for his forearm, but I resist. “You okay?”
“Twenty years with murderers and rapists and I’m terrified of a teenage girl. Who knew?” He chuckles to play it off, but his entire body radiates tension, the muscles in his arms corded. Or maybe that’s how he always is these days.
“It’s not the girl you’re afraid of. It’s being in any situation that might put you back inside.”
“I’m never going back. Never.” His jaw is taut as he shakes his head resolutely. “I don’t know why she has a thing for me.”
It’s the same reason he’s likely drawn the curiosity of most females in this place.
Criminal record or not, Logan is handsome beyond compare and moves with a stealth that is both dangerous and graceful.
I’m sure his mugshot would go viral if it were posted online, garnering thousands of thirsty comments.
I hesitate. “Holly’s mother, Jenny, was Eric’s cousin.”
Logan’s forehead furrows with realization. “Are you saying Holly’s a Whitley?”
“I mean, she’s a Monroe, but yeah, she’s one of them.
” They walk around with their noses aimed a little higher in the air and assume the position of local royalty at all the events.
I’ve heard Brad’s wife Elizabeth actually use those words.
I imagine Holly will run for Harvest Queen next year—and win.
“Fuck.” Logan pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You know how it is. Can’t throw a stone without hitting one of them around here.” They cling to the area and multiply like hamsters. And when push comes to shove, all of them will launch silver mining lore at you to get their way. At least, the older generation does.
“I need you to keep her far away from me.”
A man and woman enter the hall then, stalling our conversation. I press my back against the wall opposite Logan, allowing them past so they can use the facilities. Our eyes are locked the entire time.
Once the doors shutter, Logan says, “My PO said Brad Whitley’s looking for any reason to put a restraining order on me, so is that what that was? Are they setting a trap for me?”
“No.” I may question Jenny’s parenting, but I don’t doubt she loves her daughter and would never allow anyone to use Holly as bait.
“That’s just Holly being herself. Curious and wild and doesn’t think about consequences.
She’s a beautiful girl who likes attention and unfortunately doesn’t seem to have much interest in boys her age.
” Last year, there was a high school phys ed teacher, an attractive twenty-eight-year-old, who Isla confirmed several girls had a crush on.
Holly flirted with him in class one day and that sparked a tale that he and Holly were seen having sex in a classroom after school.
The rumor was so potent that my detachment was called in to investigate. It turned out to be false—a group of jealous mean girls started it—but the poor man’s reputation was ruined. He transferred to a school district four hours away.
“Maybe she’s looking to brag about hooking up with a criminal,” I say, thinking out loud. Logan is more than double her age.
His jaw clenches.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, you’re just calling it like it is, right?”
Matt pops out of his office then, carrying a roll of printer paper. He jumps when he sees us. “Oh! Hey.” He looks warily at Logan before focusing on me. “All good here?”
“I’m fine.” It sounds sharper than it needed to be.
With a nod, Matt ducks past and vanishes around the corner to the front as quickly as he appeared.