Читать книгу His Secret Agenda - Beth Andrews - Страница 9

DEAN DIDN’T SO MUCH AS blink. Hell, he was so stunned, he didn’t even move.

He wasn’t what she was looking for? What did that mean? His blood began a slow simmer. Damn it, he was perfect for this job. He’d worked for three years tending bar before joining up. What more did she want? A note from his mother?

“If anything changes,” she said, the hint of pity in her tone causing him to grind his teeth together, “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

In other words, here’s your hat, get your ass moving.

He forced himself to smile. “I appreciate your time.” He pulled his coat on and set his Stetson on his head. Though his better sense told him not to, he stepped forward until she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Until her flowery scent filled his nostrils. “You be sure to let me know if you change your mind,” he said, letting his accent flow as thick as honey.

Heat flashed in her eyes, turning them a deep, denim blue.

He tipped his hat. “I’ll find my own way out.”

He didn’t slow until he’d pushed open the door and stepped out into the blowing snow and mind-numbing cold. He trudged across the parking lot, unlocked his truck and slid inside.

He didn’t get the job? He slapped his hand against the steering wheel. Unreal. He always got the job. Always got the job done.

He started the engine and cranked up the heat. Allison hadn’t believed he’d stay in Serenity Springs.

She didn’t trust him.

He sat there, resting his forearms on the steering wheel, and stared at the swirling white flakes drifting down. His record of success was a direct result of his tenacity. He’d go back to his hotel room and regroup. Come up with a plan to somehow convince her he was the best candidate for the job.

That she could trust him.

Even if she really shouldn’t.

“YOU SENT HIM PACKING?” Kelsey asked. “But I wanted to keep him. I’ve never had a cowboy of my very own before.”

Allie, perched on the top rung of the stepladder, snorted down at her sister-in-law. “You can’t have one now, either.” She climbed down, careful to keep her high heels from hooking on the rungs. Once both feet were safely on the ground, she moved the ladder next to the bar. “I don’t think Jack would appreciate you wanting to keep this—or any—cowboy.”

They were the only people in the bar. Allie hated this time of day—what Kelsey referred to as the dead zone. The two hours in the afternoon after the lunch crowd left and before people got off work.

Allie knew she should be taking advantage of this lull to get caught up on the pile of paperwork on her cluttered desk. She had inventory sheets to go over. Bills to pay. Taxes to file. Liquor deliveries to schedule and grocery orders to submit.

All of which bored her to tears.

“I guess you’re right,” Kelsey said in mock disappointment, as if she wasn’t completely gaga over Allie’s brother, ever since the day they’d met, right here at The Summit a few months ago. Kelsey tapped her forefinger against her bottom lip. “Hey, I know. What if I slap one of those cowboy hats on the sheriff? And do you think spurs would be too kinky?”

“Eww. I think my brain just imploded. And if it didn’t, I wish it would.” Allie climbed two more rungs and reached down for the red paper heart Kelsey held up to her. “For one thing,” she said, hanging the heart from a rafter, “could you please refer to my brother by his name? Or better yet, pick a better nickname for him. He’s the police chief, and you calling him ‘sheriff’ is too weird. What about ‘pooky bear’? Or ‘snookums’?”

“You expect me to get down and dirty with a man called snookums?” Kelsey grimaced. “That is just wrong.”

Allie glared down at her. “And that’s the other thing. I don’t want to hear anything about you and Jack playing dress up or getting down. Dirty or not. How would you like it if Nina told you all about her and Dillon’s love life?”

Nina, a mutual friend, had been involved with Dillon since Christmas. Everyone around Allie had paired up. It was like Noah’s ark.

With her all by her lonesome on a life raft.

Good thing that’s how she wanted it, or else she’d be depressed as hell.

Kelsey waved another paper heart in the air. “Nina’s far too sweet to ever discuss something like that.”

Allie rolled her eyes and descended the ladder. She reached the last rung and slipped, twisting her ankle when she landed on the floor. “Ouch.” She rubbed the sore spot through her boot. “Why don’t you be a real friend and hang the rest of the decorations?”

“Take your boots off. Why are you climbing a ladder in that getup?”

“Because I don’t have any other shoes with me. And if you think I’d walk around in here in my stocking feet, you’re more delusional than usual.”

Kelsey picked up the ladder and moved it to the end of the bar. “There. I helped. But I’m not hanging any froufrou hearts. You know how I feel about decorating for holidays. Especially ones as commercial as Valentine’s Day.”

What could Allie say? That she needed to keep busy? That if she stopped for even a minute she started questioning herself? Started wondering if she should’ve listened to Evan, her ex-boyfriend, and accepted the partnership at Hanley, Barcroft, Blaisdell and Littleton. Or if her life would’ve been different if she’d never taken Miles Addison’s case.

But she had taken it. And she’d been so determined to get ahead that she forgot all the reasons she became a defense attorney in the first place—to help people. People who needed it.

See why she hated this time of day?

“Hey,” Kelsey said, rubbing Allie’s arm. “You okay? Your ankle isn’t sprained, is it?”

Allison rotated her foot while she cleared her thoughts. “No. It’s fine. I just can’t believe you don’t like Valentine’s Day, that’s all.” She climbed the ladder again. She was so counting this as her workout for the day. “Are you sure you’re female?”

“Valentine’s Day is a holiday made by the greeting card companies and retailers to trick poor saps into spending money on a bunch of useless crap.” Kelsey’s voice rose and she began to pace. “I mean, what’s up with sending flowers? They just die. And if I want candy, I’ll pick up a Hershey’s bar at the convenience store.”

Allie hung a set of pink hearts and climbed down. “What about jewelry?”

She sneered. “Do I look like someone who wants diamonds?”

No, she didn’t. Well, except for that gorgeous engagement ring Allie had helped her brother pick out. “You poor thing,” she said, wrapping an arm around Kelsey’s stiff shoulders. “Have you ever gotten a valentine?”

“I never wanted one,” Kelsey said haughtily.

“I’m sure Jack will get you something superromantic,” Allie assured her. She gave Kelsey a little squeeze.

“He’d better,” she mumbled. “And it better be expensive.”

“At least now I understand why you want to host a speed-dating event on Valentine’s Day. You’re rebelling against romance.”

Kelsey crossed her arms. “I’m all for romance. The speed dating thing gives our customers a chance to find true love. And if they happen to find love while helping our bottom line, all the better.”

Allie grinned and folded the ladder before carrying it back down the hallway to the supply closet. Her good humor faded as she realized what had become of her life. Instead of playing a very important part in the American legal system, she now spent her time hanging cheap decorations, preparing the same meals over and over, and avoiding paperwork.

She slammed the closet door shut. Well, she’d wanted to change her life. As usual, when she set out to do something, she’d succeeded. And while running a bar might not be as exciting as practicing criminal law, it was a lot less stressful.

And she wasn’t unhappy, she told herself as she went into the kitchen. She loved Serenity Springs and had fabulous friends and the best, most supportive family a person could ask for. A family that didn’t ask too many questions. Such as why she’d quit her job and moved back.

She owned her own business, which was growing by leaps and bounds. Plus, she got to do something she enjoyed every day. Even if a year ago she hadn’t considered her love of cooking to be anything other than a fun hobby.

Hey, she was nothing if not adaptable.

She gave her pasta sauce a quick stir, adjusted the flame under the pot and picked up her coat.

“I’m going home to change,” she told Kelsey as she walked back into the bar. “The sauce is simmering, so could you check it once or twice? Oh, and I almost forgot, can you switch the appetizer on the specials board to grilled flat bread pizza? I’ll do a veggie one and a chicken one.”

Kelsey leaned against the bar and sipped from a bottle of water. “Sure. But hey, before you go, you never told me why you did it?”

“We’ve offered bruschetta twice this month,” Allie said, pulling on her red leather coat, “and it hasn’t gone over too well. I thought we’d try something different.”

“No, why did you reject Mr. Tall, Not-So-Dark but Very Handsome? Didn’t he pass your test?”

Well, damn. And here she thought she’d avoided the subject of Dean Garret.

“Actually,” Allie said, lifting her hair out from beneath her coat, “he passed with flying colors. He didn’t hit on me once.”

Although she remembered how, right before he left, he’d stepped closer to her, how his eyes had heated and his voice had lowered.

Kelsey set her glass on the counter and crossed her arms. “If he passed the test, what was the problem?”

Allie shrugged and picked up her purse. “He wasn’t right for The Summit.”

“Ahh.” She nodded sagely. “In other words, he didn’t need to be saved.”

Allie narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You only hire the downtrodden, the needy or, in a few memorable cases, the just plain pathetic. You’re like the Statue of Liberty. All you need is a tattoo on your forehead that reads ‘Give me your poor, your tired, your flakes who don’t know the difference between a cosmo and a mojito….’”

“So?” Allie asked, sounding to her own ears suspiciously like a pissy teenager. “I don’t know the difference between them, either.”

“Which is why you need to hire a bartender who does. Besides, none of the people you’ve hired since I’ve been here have stuck around. What does that tell you?”

Allie pulled on her black leather gloves. “That my manager keeps firing them all?”

“Hey, I only fired three of them—and they all deserved it. The rest quit. And they quit,” she continued, when Allie opened her mouth to speak, “because though you tried to save them from themselves, they weren’t interested. All they wanted was to get on with their dysfunctional lives.”

“Who was stopping them?” Allie zipped her coat. “You act like I offered counseling sessions as part of a benefits package or something.”

“Pretty close,” Kelsey mumbled.

“Relax. I’m telling you, Dean Garret isn’t right for this job. Trust me on this, I’m doing the right thing here.”

“I hope so,” Kelsey called after her as Allie walked out the door.

She shivered and hurried over to her car. Yeah, she hoped so, too. And Kelsey was way off base about her trying to save people. She was out of that game.

Because the last time she’d played, she’d saved the wrong person.

THE NEXT DAY, Dean held his cell phone between his shoulder and ear as he dropped a cardboard pizza box onto his motel bed. “Hey there, darlin’,” he said when his call was picked up, “it’s me. I need a favor.”

“I’m not that kind of girl,” Detective Katherine Montgomery said in her flat, look-at-me-wrong-and-I’ll-kick-your-sorry-ass New York accent. And people thought he sounded funny. “And don’t call me darlin’.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. He’d met Katherine over a year ago when he’d worked in Manhattan. The mother of three teenagers, she’d been married for twenty-five years and was built like a rodeo barrel. She was also one of the most savvy cops working in the anticrime computer network in the NYPD, and she didn’t take crap from anyone—least of all him.

Was it any wonder he was half in love with her?

“Now don’t be that way,” he said, flipping the box open and sliding a piece of pepperoni-and-onion pizza onto a paper towel. “I’m betting with the right incentive, you could be talked into being that kind of girl.”

He could almost see her scowling at the phone as she sat behind her very tidy desk. “If you keep up with the sweet talk, my husband’s going to hunt you down,” she warned.

Her husband, a skinny, balding postal worker, wasn’t much of a threat and they both knew it. Unless the guy attempted to whack Dean upside the head with his mailbag. “For you, I’d risk it.”

“Uh-huh.” She made a soft slurping sound—probably sipping her ever-present coffee—before saying, “So you called me two hours before quitting time on a Friday afternoon in another pathetic attempt to sweep me off my feet?”

“Well, that wasn’t the only reason.” Dean bit into his pizza, chewed and swallowed before wiping his hand on his jeans. He slid his notebook toward him and flipped it open. “I need everything you can give me about a Terri—T-e-r-r-i—Long.” He gave her Terri’s social security number, date of birth and last known address. “I need everything you can find, the more personal the better.”

“And you think I’m going to help you why?”

Dean took another bite of pizza and popped the top of a can of soda. “Because it’d take me at least three days to find out even a quarter of what you could discover in a few hours?”

“Yeah. That’d be why.” She repeated back to him the information he’d given her. “Who’s Terri Long?”

He finished his pizza. “At the moment she’s my competition for a bartending job I’m interested in.”

“Do I even want to know why you want a bartending job?”

“Probably not.”

“Uh-huh.” He heard the distinct sound of Katherine tapping at her keyboard. “You’re not doing anything illegal, are you, Dean?”

“Not at the moment.”

Silence filled the line. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” He switched the phone to his other ear. “Nothing you need to know about, anyway.”

Like how he’d broken into The Summit last night and gone through Allison Martin’s office until he’d discovered the name of the person she’d given his job to.

Technically, yes, breaking and entering was illegal. But he hadn’t stolen anything.

Other than information, that is.

And most importantly, he hadn’t been caught. In Dean’s book, that meant he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“If you get hauled off to jail again,” Katherine warned him quietly, “don’t even think about calling me. Especially if you’re more than one hundred miles away from Manhattan.”

“Now, you know how much I appreciated you flying down to Atlanta to bail me out. Didn’t you get the gift basket I sent you?”

Katherine grunted. He would’ve been worried if he hadn’t still heard her typing. “Next time you send me fancy chocolates, send them to the station. By the time I got home, Mickey and the kids had already eaten half the box.”

“You got it.” He lifted his hips, pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took out his credit card. As soon as he got off the phone with Katherine, he’d call the chocolate shop.

“Want me to e-mail you what I find?”

“That’ll do. And thanks. I owe you one.”

“You owe me at least a dozen. But who’s counting?” Katherine asked with a sigh. “Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“Always.”

He disconnected the phone and tossed it aside. Allison Martin needed his help to realize she’d hired the wrong person. Now all he had to do was sit back and wait for Katherine to work her magic. Then he’d make his next move.

He shot his crumbled paper towel into the garbage can in the corner. Once he had the job, once he had her trust, it was simply a matter of time before everything else fell into place for him.

He’d make damn sure of it.

BEING SURROUNDED BY barely dressed coeds sure made a woman feel every single one of her almost thirty-two years.

Allie drew a beer and handed it to her customer, a fully dressed, beefy kid of twenty-two. “Here ya go,” she told him with a grin.

Hey, she could flirt with younger guys just as easily as men her own age. And if she gave some kid a thrill by smiling at him, who was she hurting? In the dim light of the bar she noticed him blush all the way to the dark blond roots of his crew cut. He stammered a thank-you as he hurried off.

See? She was just doing her best to spread a bit of sunshine wherever she went.

Allie turned her attention back to her lineup of thirsty customers. A brunette in a bright pink tube top sauntered to the horseshoe-shaped bar in her three-inch sandals.

Someone needed to tell these kids that it may be called spring break, but that didn’t mean they should dress as if they were in Florida. For God’s sake, it was ten degrees outside.

Dear Lord, she’d sounded like her mother. And had called her customers—most of whom were barely ten years younger than her—kids.

She might as well start wearing support hose and let her hair go gray.

“Two cosmos and a strawberry margarita,” the brunette said over the blaring jukebox and loud voices.

“Coming up.” Allie poured the margarita ingredients into a clean blender and added a scoop of ice. With the machine whirring, she then worked on the cosmos. After making at least a dozen tonight, she didn’t even have to consult the cocktail book Kelsey had given her.

Go her. If she didn’t have another, oh, twenty or so people wanting drinks, Allie would take the time to pat herself on the back.

Too bad memorizing the ingredients in a few select drinks was about the only thing that had gone right tonight. After a small Saturday night dinner crowd, The Summit had been inundated with college kids ready to party. The sight of her bar packed wall to wall with customers had made Allison’s heart go pitter pat.

Until Terri Long called five minutes before her shift was to start to say she wouldn’t be coming to work for Allie, after all. Seemed she had a shot at the big time—whatever that meant—and wasn’t even in Serenity Springs anymore.

Allie viciously shook her cosmo ingredients and filled two glasses. She hoped there was a special place in hell for people who blew off work.

That was the last time she’d ever hire someone without checking references.

She tossed straws into the cosmos and poured the margarita into a glass. She sent tube-top girl on her way and began filling the next order as the too-familiar opening chords of “Hotel California” came on the jukebox. Allie gritted her teeth. No doubt about it. This was not her night.

She finished the drinks and recorded the sale on the register. At least her male customers were easy to please. A smile or flip of her hair and they were falling all over themselves to charm her. Even after waiting in line for a solid fifteen to twenty minutes to get a beer. She just thanked God all they wanted to drink was either beer, shots or the occasional rum and coke.

Noreen, her very grumpy middle-aged waitress, was keeping beer pitchers full and the rowdiest customers in line.

Allie glanced at the door, where Luke Ericson was perched on a stool, a grin on his too-handsome face as one of the three girls surrounding him whispered in his ear. When he’d walked in an hour ago, Allie had given him free drinks for the night in exchange for him checking IDs at the door.

None of that made up for the fact that her feet were killing her, she had a huge cranberry juice stain on the front of her favorite jeans and she was starting to wonder if she was breaking a fire code with so many people in the place.

She stepped back toward the line of customers, but stopped when something at the far end of the bar caught her eye.

Her heart thumped heavily in her chest—once, twice, before it found a quick rhythm. Well. Her night might be getting better, after all.

“You must’ve found something in town to keep your interest,” she called over to Dean.

“How do you figure?”

She crossed to him. “You’re still here.”

“I’m heading out tomorrow. Got a job in Saranac Lake.”

She kept her smile firmly in place. Well, that’s what she got for not hiring him when she’d had the chance. “Congratulations. How about a drink to celebrate?”

“Whatever you have on tap is fine.”

She got his beer and took it over to him. When he pulled out his wallet she waved him off. “On the house.”

He studied her for a moment before putting his wallet away. “Appreciate it.”

For the next half hour, she poured drinks, all the while aware of a pair of aquamarine eyes following her every move. She set a fresh beer in front of Dean—who seemed oblivious to the fact that the three giggling, just-this-side-of-legal girls next to him were vying for his attention.

Sometimes men could be so clueless.

“What can I get you?” Allie asked the girl with the cute pixie haircut.

She slid a look at Dean. “Sex on the Brain.”

“Sweetie, sitting next to this guy—” Allie motioned to him “—would give my ninety-two-year-old grandmother sex on the brain. What drink do you want?”

The girl giggled and leaned on the bar, the better for Dean to have a clear view down her low-cut top. “Sex on the Brain is a drink.”

Allie glanced at Dean, arching an eyebrow. He nodded. She sighed and brushed her hair back. Well, that figured.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” Before Dean could answer, she walked around the end of the bar, took him by the arm and pulled him off his stool. “Don’t worry, ladies. I’ll bring him right back.”

He didn’t fight her and she easily hustled him behind the bar. “Quick. What’s in a Sex on the Brain?”

He scratched his cheek. “Couple of things.”

“Okay,” she said to no one in particular, “that’s it.” She wrapped both hands around the lapels of his jacket and yanked him forward. Noted how his eyes widened slightly. “I’m not in the mood for games, so you can drop the laconic cowboy act.”

He kept his hands at his sides. Just tilted his head to the side. “What act?”

She growled. “Listen, I’m tired, I have an endless supply of people waiting for drinks and I’m surrounded by about a million overly perky, faux tanned coeds.” Allie inhaled, then rushed on when he opened his mouth. “I’ve had to pull the same girl—intent on showing everyone her coyote-ugly act—off the bar not once, but three times, and I’ve been hit on by just about every guy in here. But the worst thing is I don’t know what I’m doing. And I can’t call my sister-in-law to come and show me because she caught some nasty stomach bug from my niece. Suffice it to say I’m not in the best of moods.” Allie tightened her hold on his jacket and stood on her toes so that her forehead bumped his chin. “So do not even think about messing with me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of messing with you,” he said, his voice husky and somehow intimate.

Oh. She blinked. Pried her fingers open and stepped back. “Well then.” She swallowed. “How do I make a Sex on the Brain?”

“I’ll show you.” He took off his jacket, and she could’ve sworn every female in the room sighed. His black T-shirt hugged the smooth planes of his chest and molded to his biceps. The man was beautiful.

Now if only he’d left his hat on, the moment would’ve been perfect. Allie knew she was going to have some erotic dreams about that hat.

Dean tossed his jacket on a shelf under the bar. “Fill a tall glass with ice.”

She set the glass of ice in front of him. He stuck a straw in it and added a shot each of peach schnapps, vodka and Midori melon liqueur. He then laid an upside-down spoon against the glass and slowly poured in pineapple juice, followed by orange juice and then sloe gin, resulting in a drink that resembled a stoplight: green on the bottom, yellow in the middle and red on top.

“You’re a genius,” Allie declared. “And my personal hero. I’ll give you three hundred bucks to work the rest of the night.”

She forced herself not to back up when he leaned toward her. “Darlin’,” he purred into her ear, his warm breath causing her to shiver. “I thought you’d never ask.”