2. Char
CHAR
“Special Agent Monica DeFleur,” the woman said as she picked up her drink.
It didn’t take a genius to know how much trouble I was in.
I knew exactly who this woman came into the bar for, and I just said one of their names.
Whatever this woman was investigating—whatever she was chasing down—I just became officially wrapped up in it.
Bartender or not, I sounded much too eager in greeting her when I thought she was someone else.
It wouldn’t go unnoticed by someone working in law enforcement either.
That much I knew from personal experience.
Then again, an ATF agent coming to find the guys said a lot about what they were really wrapped up in, and my curiosity peaked.
Yes, that curiosity. The one that got me into enough trouble already.
Best not to make any assumptions, though.
For all I knew, that woman was in here for a completely different set of people.
Or maybe just one person. Layborn was a small desert town, after all. Plenty of places for people to hide.
People like me, who wanted to start new lives for themselves.
Or run away from old ones.
“So tell me,” I said as I started cleaning down the bar a bit, “what does ATF stand for, anyway?”
“Alcohol, tobacco, firearms, and explosives.”
“Guess we don’t like the letter E, huh?”
The woman snickered. “That got added on later, after the acronym had already become commonplace.”
“Wait, really?” I asked as I looked up.
The woman shrugged as she sipped her drink. “I don’t know. Sounds official, though, doesn’t it?”
I giggled as I nodded to her credentials. “Everything could be official when you’re flashing that kind of badge around.”
As I watched her scoop them up, I wondered which one the guys were dealing in. I mean, alcohol and tobacco? That didn’t sound so bad. What, there was a whole damn army of feds running around plucking Cuban cigars and absinthe from rich people’s homes? That didn’t sound like the guys.
Guns and explosives, on the other hand…
POP! POP POP!
VROOM-ROOM-ROOM-ROOM-ROOM.
WEE-OO! WEE-OO! WEE-OO!
VROOM-ROOM-ROOM-ROOM-ROOM.
I furrowed my brow at the sheer cacophony that kicked up outside.
Police cars cruised by with an ambulance on its tail as a dull roar grew in the distance.
Like rolling thunder that didn’t have a stopping point.
I craned my neck to try and see out of one of the windows.
Where in the hell was all that noise coming from? And why?
I found it odd that the federal agent sitting in front of me didn’t seem to be the least bit interested in what was going on outside.
“So,” I said as I cleared my throat, “are you hungry? Because we’ve got a wonderful chef in the kitchen here.”
The agent’s gaze was painfully locked onto me. “I’ll keep that in mind if I get hungry. But I just ate a couple of hours ago.”
I nodded. “If you change your mind, let me know.”
I wanted to ask her what the questions were that she had for me. I expected her to pepper me with them. I expected her to immediately start asking about the bar, or the guys, or the bar’s regulars. Instead, however, she just kept staring.
As if I were her favorite subject in school or some shit.
“I need to go get some boxes from the back to restock things,” I said as I slapped my rag over my shoulder. “Holler if you need anything, all right?”
“Are you the only bartender in the place?” she asked.
I shrugged as I turned my back to her and took stock of the liquor bottles that needed replacing. “Pretty much. I had another girl I hoped to train, but she got fired when ownership of the bar was transferred.”
I still felt sour about that, too. God, we needed another fucking bartender in that place.
“Transfer of ownership? To who?” she asked.
I picked up a pen and pad and jotted the list of liquors down. It kept me from smiling, because now I had her hooked.
Now I knew why she came into the bar.
“Just these guys,” I said as I forced my voice to stay calm and collected. “I call them the three stooges.”
The woman chuckled a bit, and I had to admit, it was disarming. “That who you thought was walking through the door?”
I turned toward her with the list of liquors in my hand. “They run a tight ship. Only been here a few days, and they’ve already turned this place topsy turvy.”
“I’m sure that didn’t sit well with some people here. Change of management is always rough.”
I shrugged. “It’ll be good for the place. I never could convince the prior owner to do any sort of updating. But these guys? They’ve already taken out our nasty stage.”
I nodded toward the cavernous area that once housed our stage and the woman craned her neck over her shoulder.
It gave me a split second to study her as much as I could, and I sure as fuck didn’t waste the opportunity.
Her work suit fit her perfectly, almost as if it was tailored to her body.
A luxury I’d never be able to afford with my wardrobe.
Guess that’s what being a top-dog federal agent gets someone, though. And her earrings.
God, her dangling diamond earrings caught the sunlight and all I thought about was how loved someone had to be to receive something like that.
A love I could never dream of.
“So you don’t know the new owners very well?” Agent DeFleur asked as she turned back around.
I scoffed. “About as good as you know someone after the time equivalent of a long weekend.”
She thumbed over her shoulder. “What are they turning that area into? Do you know?”
I smiled. “It’s going to be so nice. We’re putting in a dancefloor so that Layborn’s got a formal place to have their hoedowns and shindigs.”
She nodded slowly. “Looks like a decent enough space to do something like that with.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Part of me wished that the guys would walk through the fucking door.
Ding that little bell and save me from a conversation I was floundering in.
Our conversation came to a grinding halt and that agent was back to staring while she sipped her diet drink.
God, she was unnerving. Like a robot with a stone-cold face when it isn’t interacting with others.
“So,” I said as I went in search of the mop, “you said you had questions for me?”
The agent cleared her throat. “How long have you worked here?”
“The better part of three years.”
“And in that time, the bar has only had one owner until now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’ve always been the bartender?”
She’s interrogating you now, stay calm. “Well, I do a few other things. Restocking of the bar. Helping to open and close. We’re a small staff, so while my title is head bartender, there are other things I help with from time to time.”
I heard her scribbling things down and I did my best to keep my concentration on mopping.
It felt like I was back in that interrogation room as a young girl with that light bearing down onto the top of my head.
People surrounding me, asking me questions and feeding me snacks as if I were a pig to be stuffed.
Getting me blankets, making me feel warm and full before they peppered me with questions that led to a trial that turned my life upside down.
I wouldn’t allow that to happen again. I liked my life in Layborn.
And I wouldn’t let some dumbass, weirdo-staring agent take that from me.
“Is it true that your apartment is above the bar?” Agent DeFleur asked.
My heart dropped to my toes. “Technically, it’s just an open space up there. Miss Lilly, the prior owner, was kind enough to help me convert the space into a small studio apartment for me to live.”
“Did she charge you rent?”
I shrugged. “She let me pay her from time to time. Not every month, but some months—like around the holidays—I could convince her to take it.”
“Maybe that’s why she didn’t have the money to update things.”
My head whipped up at that statement. “Is there a reason why you’re asking me about my place of residence?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, actually. Did the prior owner give you separate ownership of your apartment? Or did that get transferred to your new owners?”
Step lightly. “Haven’t gotten that far with things yet.”
Her eyebrows slowly rose on her forehead. “You haven’t asked whether or not you’ve got new landlords?”
“They haven’t approached me about rent, or with any sort of a lease agreement, so no. I’m not rocking a boat that’s been good to me for years now.”
She slid her gaze down my body. “Smart woman.”
Oh, you have no fucking clue.
Something was off. I couldn’t place it, and I certainly couldn’t put words to it, but my gut kept tugging on my reins.
Telling me to slow down. Telling me to consider my words.
Maybe it was my anxiety popping up. Maybe it was some form of PTSD I had developed from my childhood trying to warn me about history repeating itself.
Either way, however, I knew enough to keep my mouth shut until I felt more comfortable with the situation.
“Well,” the agent said as she abandoned her half-sipped drink, “thank you for your time. Do you know where I might be able to find the new owners? I have some questions for them.”
I shrugged, even though the chaos still raining down outside gave me a faint idea. Because where there was chaos, they seemed to feel comfortable making their home in the middle of it.
“Not a clue,” I said as I continued pushing the mop around behind the bar, “but, if you wanna leave your information, or a card, or something, I can make sure one of them gets it when they come by.”
“It’s okay,” the agent said as she slipped out of her rickety bar stool, “I’ll just pop back in after filing my paperwork. Practically anything I say in the field has to be documented, so I don’t ever do more than one official conversation at a time.”
God, what a load of fucking bullshit. Who the hell was this woman, anyway?
“Suit yourself,” I said plainly.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Charlotte.”
My head whipped up. “How do you know my name?”
She grinned as she slid her hands into her pockets. “You think I’d come in and have an official conversation with someone whose name I don’t know?”
I searched her face for a while. “No.”
She nodded. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing one another soon, Miss Charlotte. Until then.”
I nodded back. “Until then.”
And as the bell on the door dinged above her head, I noticed something.
All was finally quiet on the western front.