Chapter 17
As it turns out, the signature cocktail is called the Pig’s Tail and is a sickeningly sweet mélange of liquors and fruit juices in a shade of pink I normally associate only with upset stomachs. I take a single sip of the one Dani hands me and instantly regret all of my life choices.
“Oh,” I say, still feeling the viscous liquid coating my tongue. “Wow, that’s…”
“It’s awful,” Dani says, surveying the crowd. “But it gets the job done.”
“The job being…?” The only job the Pig’s Tail seems capable of doing is ensuring no one actually keeps down any of the appetizers—pigs in a blanket, obviously, as well as sausage rolls, maple-glazed pork lollipops, and bacon-wrapped scallops that look like they were pulled from the ocean when the mountains of West Virginia were formed and kept on ice ever since.
Dani laughs and taps my arm playfully. “You’re hilarious,” she says, and I’m pretty sure she has no idea what I just said.
I consider giving the Pig’s Tail another chance, but when I bring it closer to my face, I’m almost overwhelmed by the alcohol fumes and have to set it down on the bar by my elbow.
Marcy’s is packed, people crammed around the handful of tables and lined up along the bar.
It’s not a big place, which doesn’t help, and it kind of has those dark, seedy bar vibes.
There’s a small TV installed near the ceiling over one end of the bar.
It’s playing some NASCAR race that can’t possibly be live because it’s still daytime there.
The décor is all pretty much various shades of brown—dusty brown wood floors, a sticky dark brown bar, peeling gold, orange, and brown wallpaper that I suspect looks familiar because my grandmother had the same wallpaper in her bathroom.
Behind the bar, where two bartenders move at a leisurely pace despite the crowd, there’s a red neon sign that reads, “Gilts, Grunts, Guns,” which I assume was custom-made just for this place.
At the moment, the crowd noise is loud enough that the only person I’m able to really hear is Dani, and that’s because she’s raising her voice. Less than ideal, obviously, but maybe I just need to use what I have. “So,” I say. “Having a good week?”
“Definitely. It’ll be even better if Milton shows well tomorrow. I’d love to get a good price for him.”
I wince. After last night’s conversation with Grayson, I’m not ready to think about all the boars going up for auction after the show. “Well, good luck.” I try to think of a casual way to steer the conversation to the other participants. “So, um…have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around?”
Wow, Jensen. Nailed it.
Dani snags one of the pork lollipops. “Suspicious how?”
“I don’t know.” They look like they’re considering flattening the barn and crushing everyone in it? “Like maybe they don’t quite belong?”
“Hmmm.” Her gaze slides past me, and she gets what I’m starting to think of as her Reg smile on her face. “I’ll tell you what—that guy’s suspicious. Suspiciously hot.”
I turn and am startled to see Grayson leaning back against the bar several feet away, a dark bottle of beer in one hand. When he sees me looking, his face lights up and my insides squeeze.
He’s happy to see me.
Me.
Dani doesn’t seem to notice. “I’d like to have that guy churn my buttermilk,” she says.
“I don’t…I don’t even know what that means.”
But once again, she’s not paying attention. This time she’s deeply invested in eating her meat lollipop as lasciviously as possible, all the while staring at Grayson like he’s a pig show judge and she desperately wants a belt buckle.
Okay. So probably not going to learn much from Dani.
I study the people around me, but I don’t see anyone who stands out, which means either The Witch isn’t there or, more likely, I’m not actually good at reading people.
She could be anyone—the older woman down the bar with ribbons woven through a pile of graying braids, the bartender handing off yet another viciously pink cocktail as his mouth smiles and his dead eyes don’t.
Even Dani, although I have a hard time imagining a criminal as cold and calculating as The Witch doing that with her tongue to a piece of meat while making eyes at a pig-shifting medical examiner.
She smacks her lips after a particularly aggressive tongue swipe and then thrusts what’s left of the meat-on-a-stick into my hand.
“Hold this,” she says. “I gotta hit the bathroom.” Tossing her blond mane, she turns and squeezes her way through the crowd to a bathroom that I can only assume is as brown and sad as the rest of this place.
I do not “hold this,” but rather set it down on top of my abandoned cocktail. Then I head over to where Grayson stands, his eyes dancing as he watches me walk up.
“I didn’t expect you to be here tonight,” I say.
“Well, Wayne did say beer was a good way to make weight, right?” he says, waggling the bottle in his hands. “Plus, I didn’t like the idea of you out hunting on your own.”
“I can handle it.”
“Last night you took down a middle-aged mom of three and got peed on. I’m staying.”
“Touché.” The people beside us move a little, leaving me enough space to lean back against the bar next to him. “I don’t know if you saw Dani torturing that meat lollipop to death, but she was doing it for your benefit.”
“Was she? Kind of felt like a threat.”
“I think it was more of a come-on.”
“In that case, it was a terrifying one.” He lifts his bottle to his lips and shudders as he takes a sip.
“It has to be flattering to have an attractive woman suck meat in your general direction.”
He bends his head to speak directly into my ear. “She’s not exactly my type.”
Warmth washes over me that has nothing to do with the close-packed bar.
I’d like nothing better than to revel in what I’m almost positive is Grayson flirting with me, but I can’t.
The Witch is out there, and we have no idea who she is or what she’s planning.
I can’t be distracted by a pig shifter, no matter how sexy he is or how his breath is tickling my earlobe even now.
I pull back a little. “Sir, you’re used to looking at dead women. I don’t know that I trust your judgment when it comes to how pretty a woman is.”
“Hey, I’ve dated some very attractive women, I’ll have you know. In fact, you know one—Cressida Caine? She’s your boss, right?”
I almost wish I still had my Pig’s Tail so I could do a spit-take with it. That’s how shocking this revelation is. Cressida dated someone? Like, an actual human(ish) man? She doesn’t feel very…warm. “You dated Cressida?”
“Yeah.” He settles back against the bar, his face growing distant. “We dated for a while, actually. Almost a year. I think we both thought…” He picks at the label on his beer. “Well, I think we both thought we’d found The One.”
Oh.
So he hadn’t just dated Cressida.
He’d been in love with Cressida. Thought about marrying Cressida.
“What happened?” I ask even though I know I have no right to know.
“She was obsessed with catching The Witch. It was all she could focus on, and it just ate up her energy. She just didn’t have anything left to give to a relationship, and eventually I got tired of being the only one putting in the work.
” He gnaws on his lip for a moment, then shakes his head like he’s dismissing the memories.
“Okay, enough about old relationships—if you were going to use a meat lollipop to get a man’s attention here, who would it be?
” he asks, looking around at the various pig show participants packed into the small bar.
This feels like a trick question.
I turn so I’m facing him and look up into those blue, blue eyes. “One thing I’ve learned this week is that I will never put a pork lollipop in my mouth again.”
Grayson makes a strangled sound and then takes another sip of beer to cover it up. “Noted,” he says, coughing a little. But his eyes sparkle in the wash of fluorescent lighting and he moves ever so slightly closer to me.
I’m surprised at how comfortable it feels just to stand next to him. If I let myself, I might even be able to forget about what’s coming tomorrow.
“You’re going to catch her, you know,” he says after a moment of silence.
“I sure hope so. Because the alternative…” I look away, not wanting to think too hard about everything that’s at risk.
“You have good instincts.”
“Two minutes ago you reminded me that I literally tackled an aging mother with questionable bladder control.”
“Yeah, but she was up to something. You picked up on that.” He sets the beer down on the bar behind me. “And if you picked up on such small nefarious intent, I imagine you’ll have no trouble when you encounter someone planning something truly evil.”
He reaches out and takes my chin in one strong, warm hand. His fingertips are calloused, and I imagine that must come from his time as a pig. “Trust your gut, Jensen,” he says softly.
I wish I could, but considering my gut is urging me to reconsider my moratorium on putting meat lollipops in my mouth at this very moment, I’m not sure it’s the wisest part of my system.
“There you are.” Dani wedges herself into the small space between us, the rhinestones on the back pockets of her jeans biting into my hip through my pants.
“Hi, I’m Dani Lewis. You might remember me as Miss Buttermilk, 2015, but I’m hoping tomorrow I’ll be known as the North Mountain Pig Show Champion. ”
“Oh, that’s…I’m, uh…” Grayson stammers, clearly out of his depth here. No cover story. Not even a good fake name to give her.
Amateur.
I move away from the bar to stand next to Dani. “This is Ian Nichols,” I say. “He’s here to buy a couple boars tomorrow after the show.”
“Well, now.” Dani’s eyelashes work double-time, fluttering so fast I’m afraid she’ll manage to hypnotize Grayson. “I happen to have a fantastic boar that you should look at.” Her hand strokes up Grayson’s arm to squeeze his bicep. “Maybe we should go have a look at him right now.”
“I’m going to just…” I give them both a little wave before turning and snaking my way through the crowd to the door.
Trust my gut, Grayson had said. Well, my gut is telling me The Witch isn’t there, which means the most dangerous thing for me in that bar is Grayson himself.
Focus, Jensen!
I need to get back to the hotel and get some sleep so I’ll be sharp tomorrow. That’s the smart thing to do.
And I fully intend to. I do. But I’ve only made it a few yards down the sidewalk when I hear the bar door open, the sound of the revelers inside spilling out into the muggy night.
“Olive,” Grayson calls, jogging to catch up with me.
He grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop on the sidewalk and looking down at me with an exasperated look on his face.
“Did you just abandon me with your meat-sucking friend?”
“I’m not Olive here, remember? I’m Sally, and I have a pig to show tomorrow.”
But he doesn’t release my arm. Instead he reaches out with his free hand and gently takes hold of my other arm, too. “I swear sometimes it seems like you’d rather be anyone but yourself.”
He’s not wrong. Especially not right now. Because Agent Jensen needs to be laser focused on catching The Witch, on not letting Cressida and everyone else down.
But Sally doesn’t have to worry about that. Sally’s biggest worry is whether or not her pig drank enough beer to gain some weight. She can let herself go tonight, can give in to the temptation to do all the things with Grayson that Dani was doing to that poor piece of meat.
Grayson must sense I’m teetering on the edge of surrender, He tugs me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his forehead against mine. Closing his eyes, he whispers, “You’re enough, Olive. Just the way you are.”
I am lost. In this moment, it doesn’t matter who I am—MBI agent, professional screwup, fairly terrible pig handler. I want this. I want him.
Grayson. In this moment, he’s all that matters.
I lean forward and kiss him. I mean for it to be just a little kiss, a tidbit to satisfy the boundless craving I have for this man. But the moment my lips touch his, I know this isn’t a craving that can be satisfied with just a tiny taste.
One of his hands grips my hip, pulling me hard against him, while the other hand moves up to slide through my hair, cupping the back of my head and holding me right where he wants me, right there on a sidewalk beneath a buzzing streetlight, moths occasionally bumping the side of my face in their haste to get up to the light.
Grayson’s hands release me, and he breaks away to scoop me up into his arms before diving back to my mouth again. “Hotel room,” he mumbles against my lips. “Now.”
I pull back and look up at him. That lock of dark hair is feathering his forehead again, and his chiseled cheeks are all shadowed in the weak light from the streetlamp, and he’s breathing like he’s just wrestled a Bigfoot into the back of an unmarked MBI SUV.
“You can’t carry me all the way to the hotel,” I say.
Above his shadowed cheeks, his eyes glitter. “Watch me.”
And he does.
He really, really does.