CHAPTER THREE CLICK. CLICK. CLICK
CHAPTER THREE
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK
LUNA
So he does remember…
My first case as a detective involved the stalking of his friend.
I’d only landed the case because my former mentor had requested me, and it’d thankfully had a happy ending.
But before that ending, it’d been ugly. Mr. Walker had brought Piper to the station when there’d been a development, but he hadn’t offered his name when prompted, leaving me to call him sir.
The awkward exchange had replayed in my head for a week after, and each time I would cringe.
It was rude as hell, and I’d been annoyed.
Mostly.
I’d also been slightly intrigued by the ridiculously attractive man who was so protective of his friends.
It was a shame he was clearly a man on a power trip.
A shame, but not a shock.
He was the one who’d said I should call him sir again, but then he immediately scowled before I had the chance to shoot him one of my own.
And I would have. I had a mean scowl, and I didn’t appreciate him dodging my questions.
He must’ve decided he also wanted to get it over with because he answered, confirming the info we had in our system. “Never mind. Rhys Walker.”
“Date of birth?”
It wasn’t an invasive question, but his jaw clenched for a moment. There, then gone, but I caught it.
Is he about to lie?
After a long second, he told me a date. I did the quick math to see that he’d turned thirty-nine the month prior.
That was about what I’d guessed. He probably could’ve passed for a handful of years younger if not for the creases that lined his eyes and the hints of gray in his overgrown brown hair and in the dark stubble that covered his sharp jaw.
And the weariness that emanated from him, making him seem older than his years. Like he’d seen too much shit and was already over the day by the time he climbed out of his bed.
Or whatever bed he was warming.
“What happened tonight?” I asked, staying on track.
“Was working. One of my bartenders saw you. I came to check it out. You know the rest.”
My brows lowered. “How’d the bartender know me?”
Rye was a dive but not a dump. The walls were lined with framed photos and signatures to the point of running out of room.
If not for the woman zip-tied to a filing cabinet, I would’ve thought it was one of the coolest bars I’d been to.
I wasn’t the only one who thought so because the place was packed with a variety of people.
Bikers. Partiers. The polo shirt bros. Even some people in suits.
Matthews and I shouldn’t have stuck out.
“Harlow is best friends with Piper,” he explained.
I thought about my impromptu pop-in at the kitchen hidden in the depths of a custom garage. I’d wanted to see how she was doing, but then my focus had mostly been on the cookies she’d sent me off with. I vaguely remembered one of her friends being there. “Redhead?”
He lifted his chin.
“How is Miss Skye?”
“Not Miss Skye anymore. Mrs. Hyde.”
That wasn’t a shock. For a brief second, I’d almost suspected her man was her stalker because I’d never seen someone so obsessed.
It would’ve sucked to have to arrest my mentor’s son—the same mentor that’d gotten me the case to begin with.
But it’d quickly become glaringly obvious that Jake would rather throw himself in front of oncoming traffic than cause her even a moment of fear or pain.
“Good for her.” And I meant it, too. That kind of love was rare.
“Better for him,” he tossed back, cluing me in that nothing had changed between the couple. “They’ve got a new building. Her bakery has a storefront now.”
My stomach and taste buds perked up at that, and I was tempted to go visit. I wasn’t sure if seeing me would retraumatize Piper or Jake, though, so I decided against it.
Even if my stomach and taste buds hated me for it.
Pushing fantasies of chewy cookies away, I tapped my pen on my notepad. “Do you have any idea who would orchestrate something like this?”
His nostrils flared.
“What were you just thinking?” I asked.
I anticipated an evasive answer, but he grumbled, “That it’s a long list.”
“You have a lot of enemies, Mr. Walker?”
“Every business owner does. Punks I’ve kicked out. Assholes I’ve fired. Other bar owners who want what I’ve built.”
Daisy’s throwaway comment landed at the forefront of my brain. “And women you’ve had security remove from the back room?”
That time it wasn’t just his nostrils flaring. It was his eyes, too, as they flashed with surprise. “Never had that happen. If they’re bounced, it’s before we get to that part.”
“That can’t go over well.”
He lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Hell hath no fury.”
Like a woman scorned.
Yeah, that saying was not inaccurate or exaggerated.
Still, something about it twisted in my stomach. “Are you in the habit of getting women drunk and taking them back there?”
His dark eyes—an interesting shade of blue with hints of green—narrowed at the insinuation, but rather than getting pissy, he chuckled.
The slight curve of his mouth was enough to deepen those dimples in his cheeks.
“Don’t need ’em drunk. If I see someone I want to spend a little time with and that feeling seems reciprocated, I switch her to water till I can take a break. ”
It was none of my business, and the frequency of his… breaks likely had no bearing on the wild-goose-chase investigation. But I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Does that happen often?”
“Not anymore,” he rumbled.
I didn’t know if he was referring to him wanting it, her also wanting it, or getting a break.
Maybe it was just two of the three because I seriously doubted he faced constant rejections.
“In that long list of enemies, does anyone stick out?” I asked.
He shook his head.
A simple action that he didn’t contradict by rambling or overexplaining.
But something in me said he was lying.
Before I could push, Daisy hurried into the room, followed closely by a crestfallen Matthews. Her focus was on me. “I really need to get home to my kid.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “You have my card, right?”
She nodded as she thrust her wadded-up apron and a white handheld device at Mr. Walker.
His eyes dropped to the bundle he didn’t accept before lifting to her. “Daisy…”
Keeping her own gaze locked over his head like the faded CPR poster was the most interesting thing she’d seen in her life, she rushed out, “The corner of the screen cracked when I, uh, dropped the apron. I forgot it was in the pocket. Sorry. You can take it out of my final paycheck.”
“Don’t do this.”
She set the items on the table. “Do me a favor, give me a good reference.”
“Take the night. Or the weekend.”
But she was already pushing out the employee door.
“I’ll meet you at the car,” I told Matthews as I jerked my head to prod him to walk her out. Again, it didn’t take any convincing.
Looking back at Mr. Walker, his focus was still aimed at the exit.
Crushed.
No.
He looked downright devastated as he glowered, seemingly lost in thought.
And I thought Matthews was crestfallen to see her go. Maybe there are some feelings, after all…
I cleared my throat to regain his attention as I pulled one of my cards from my pocket. “If you think of anything else, Mr. Walker.”
Taking the card, he stood before I had the chance to back up. It left us standing oh so close.
Now this is the definition of tower.
He had to be nearly a foot taller than me, and a lock of his overgrown hair fell across his forehead as he tipped his head to look at me. I had to crane my neck to meet his stare down, even as I took a subtle step away.
A move he didn’t miss if his small smirk was any indication. He gestured to the door Daisy and Matthews had disappeared through, but I ignored him and his smirk as I headed out into the hall.
I was acutely aware he followed, but I kept my focus on my surroundings in case I missed anything earlier.
Pausing at the end of the hall, I did a sweep of the bar area.
It was even busier than when I’d arrived, the roar of conversation and laughter drowning out the music—the kind that was piped through the speakers, not coming from the small stage.
That was unfortunately empty. But nothing was amiss.
No one looked distressed. There wasn’t even the usual over-served drunk stumbling and making a scene.
That might’ve been the most shocking part of the evening. A bar wasn’t truly a Boston bar without that customer.
Or two or three of them.
As I neared the other side of the room, I scanned the crush of people waiting for drinks. While the bartenders looked backed up, no one appeared hostile about it.
And even though they looked backed up, that didn’t stop Harlow from ignoring the masses as the two men working beside her picked up the slack. Her attention was aimed my way, and even from a distance, I could see her worry.
Belatedly noticing she’d gotten caught staring, she gave an awkward little wave. I returned it with a smile. That must’ve been reassurance enough because she got back to work.
Mostly.
Just with multiple quick glances toward me again.
I pushed through the exit and exhaled at the rush of cool April air. Even the quick walk through the crowd had been enough to leave me flushed and overheated. It would be far worse if they let in the stretching line that waited on the sidewalk. I headed in the opposite direction of them.
Without looking back to confirm Mr. Walker was there—I knew he was—I kept going toward where my car was parked around the corner as I asked, “Are you over capacity?”
“No.”
Other than serving minors, the biggest thing bars and clubs in the area got dinged for was packing customers in like they were sardines. If they had room to move, there was room for more—safety be damned.
I slowed to a stop at the intersection before turning to face him. “Are you sure?”
“Keep it about thirty under capacity so my people don’t get burnout. Plus, two guys on the door who keep track and pace entry accordingly.”
That was thorough.
And thoughtful.
And possibly bullshit.
I’d bartended my way through two years of college and the academy—plus, the occasional shift during my patrol years.
I’d never had a manager willing to forgo their bottom line in favor of their employees’ mental wellbeing.
Since he was the owner of the bar, it seemed even more implausible that he would make that tradeoff.
Before I could voice my skepticism, he folded his arms across his broad chest. His words were quiet. Teasing. “Why? Disappointed there’s nothing to keep you here?”
“I’m making sure my next call out isn’t for an avoidable tragedy.”
“It won’t be. But if you want to check, you’re more than welcome to count for yourself, darlin’.”
“It’s Detective,” I corrected.
“Detective Darlin’,” he shot back.
His deep voice was gravel and whiskey and smoke, with just the barest hint of an accent. Like he’d been a rancher in a previous life or something. It was far too appealing, and that just added to my annoyance.
“Sir—” I started.
“Yeah. Don’t like that,” he muttered, more to himself than me. Even in the hazy glow from the flickering streetlight, I could see his lip twitch in a quick sneer.
Well, fuck you very much.
“Call me Rhys,” he demanded.
And I ignored said demand.
Instead, I repeated the word firmer out of spite. “Sir, if there’s nothing else…”
My words trailed off as the hairs at the back of my neck stood. I scanned around, trying to spot the cause as I cataloged the details I saw. Parked cars. Idling ones. Normal traffic. People. Long lines. Broken glass, darkened windows, neon signs.
Desperation. A rush of adrenaline. Concern.
My gut clenched.
My body braced.
An engine roared.
Click. Click. Click.
Light glinted.
I moved.
I wasn’t the only one.
Rhys crashed into me just as I lunged to tackle him to the ground.
Rather than taking him backward, we collided and fell to the side.
Every molecule of air was forced from my lungs in a haggard wheeze as I hit the ground.
The side of my head bounced on the concrete, my vision narrowing and blurring as intense pain swelled to fill my skull to bursting.
Even still, my body scrambled on instinct, quickly rolling before the cartoon birds cleared my sluggish brain.
Once they had, it was like someone had cranked the volume from mute to one hundred in an instant. Echoing pops filled the air, slamming against my already aching eardrums. Something burned across my forehead as I was suddenly flipped.
Despite the weight, I lifted my torso to keep my vantage point clear.
Seconds.
That was all it’d been.
Brief blips of chaos and destruction that tore through the peaceful night before vanishing like they were never there.
My gaze dropped to the man I was physically tangled with. One of his hands palmed the back of my head, and I had no clue when it’d gotten there. I dislodged it when I got to my knees. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Not injured.” Rhys scrambled after me, hovering in my space. His mouth was moving. His tone was urgent. But no words sank in as I scanned him again. He seemed physically fine—other than a little blood on his cheek. That was far preferable to a rushing geyser of a hit artery.
Bolting to my feet, I fought a wave of nausea as my vision tunneled in and out. Once I trusted that I wasn’t about to hit the ground for a second time, I pulled my walkie-talkie from my waistband and called it in as I scanned the street to survey the situation.
Thankfully, it hadn’t been blips of maximum chaos and destruction. No one appeared shot. There were no bodies on the ground. No one was bleeding out.
Most of the waiting line scattered in various directions. Some remained rooted to the spot, likely out of fear or shock. Or, like a few who were illuminated by their phone screens or camera flashes, because they wanted to record or stream or whatever.
Screams and panicked cries were drowned out by barked orders—and most of said orders came from the man standing at my side.
I could do without that icepick to my brain.
Fabric was suddenly pressed to my head. I was already trying to shift the random obstruction away when sharp, fiery pain burned across my skin. My breath hissed out between clenched teeth. “Shit.”
Rhys tried to yank me toward him.
“I need to get to work,” I muttered distractedly.
“You were hit.”