Читать книгу Rescue Me - Kira Sinclair - Страница 10
ОглавлениеFINN WAITED FOR about twenty minutes, watching the people come and go from the shadows surrounding his Jeep. Enough time that Tucker would assume he’d left, hopefully get busy with something else and not notice when he and Duchess slipped back inside.
He wasn’t anywhere near finished with the Kentucky Rose—or its feisty owner.
Waiting until a rowdy group of college guys crowded the front door, he melded seamlessly with the group. The guys pushed at each other, laughing and generally making asses of themselves, never even noticing he was amongst them. Idiots.
Blending into the shadows on the outskirts of the room, Finn found a booth that was unoccupied—probably because it was far away from the dance floor, bull and bar. Still, it worked perfectly for his purposes.
Duchess, her paws barely making a sound, curled up beneath the sticky, gouged surface of the table. Her head rested on his feet. To anyone who might spot her, which was unlikely in this crowd, they’d probably think she was napping. But Finn knew she was actually paying more attention to what was going on than half the people in the place.
He’d barely settled before a waitress swept over to his table. “What can I get you tonight?”
He ordered another beer. Maybe he’d actually get to drink this one. Several minutes later, the waitress plopped a frosty glass onto the table in front of him, apparently oblivious to the dog not three feet away.
Good. If he was lucky no one else would notice her, either.
Grasping the cold glass in his hand, Finn settled back into the corner of the booth, propping his legs up across the seat. The beer was good; he’d give Tucker that. A nice selection from a local microbrewery.
Finn watched, taking in the patrons and the staff. Looking for anything that stuck out to him as strange.
It didn’t take long for Tucker to surface again. He watched her move efficiently through the crowd, stopping to encourage some women who were obviously out for a night without kids and husbands to indulge by taking a turn on the mechanical bull. They went from reluctant to whooping and hollering, huge smiles on their faces.
At another table, she nudged a group into purchasing more drinks. At the next, where an inebriated group of professionals had obviously overindulged, she pushed food and glasses of water, instead. She expertly maneuvered each of her customers into having a good time, and the most impressive part was, they had no idea it was happening.
But Finn noticed. Because paying attention was part of his job.
He tried not to let her distract him, but over and over again he found his gaze drawn to her body, her smile, the way her face lit up when she laughed.
Several times he wished he had his camera so he could capture the flash of amusement as it stole through those bright blue eyes. Or the glint of light off those soft, golden curls. His fingers itched to hold the camera in his hands, to view her through the tiny window and see what else a photograph might expose about the woman he couldn’t seem to ignore.
But leaving the camera tucked away behind the seat of his Jeep was the smart move. Having Duchess beside him was conspicuous enough; if he’d strolled in here with an expensive piece of equipment hanging around his neck, too...it would have been too much.
Finn finished his beer, flagged a passing waitress and requested another. He was fifteen or so minutes into the second when Tucker disappeared into the back. The crowd was getting rowdier, typical Friday night. The hand on his watch was creeping toward midnight. The mom crowd had headed home a while ago, to relieve their babysitters, leaving behind only the hard-core partiers and singles searching for a hookup.
The mix of professionals and college students was outnumbered by airmen. Even out of uniform, Finn had no trouble picking them out—both men and women looking for a good time.
Someone cranked the music just a little louder. Darkness draped over the dance floor like a curtain, only broken by the flash of laser lights bouncing off the walls and that damn mirrored armadillo hanging from the ceiling.
People were laughing, singing and dancing. To his left, someone started yelling, the sound loud enough to rise above the crowd. Finn was on his feet before he registered the intention. Duchess was right beside him, her shoulder even with his hip.
Twenty feet away, two large men were shouting at each other. Finn didn’t have to guess; it was obvious to him they were both soldiers. Idiotic hotheads.
Chairs fell backward, clattering to the ground. Coming from opposite corners of the bar, three bouncers were headed for the melee, but it would take them too long to wade through the crush of people.
Finn was closer.
Gritting his teeth, he was halfway across the space when the first punch was thrown. The crunch of bone against bone echoed around him. Glass shattered on the wooden floor. One of the guys grunted, but Finn had no idea if it was the fool who’d thrown the punch or the idiot who’d taken it.
Unfortunately, it didn’t stop there. Stunned, the punchee shook it off, then threw one of his own, landing a solid uppercut followed by a body shot. The other guy doubled over.
Another bruiser entered the fray, and then a fourth. Fantastic, just what he needed, these knuckleheads drawing attention to themselves and tearing up the place.
Finn was right there, but not fast enough to prevent this from turning into a true clusterfuck. The situation was deteriorating quickly as buddies, fueled by alcohol and big egos, backed up their buddies.
The situation was bad enough, but it got ten times worse when he saw the bright flash of blond hair ahead of him.
Shit. Where had she come from?
“Tucker, don’t!” Finn hollered.
She glanced over her shoulder, saw him and frowned. But she also ignored him, turning away.
Goddammit.
She practically disappeared between the bruisers who were too busy slamming each other into the tables that had emptied around them to notice a woman shoving her way between them.
The first guy went to throw another punch, but Tucker stepped right in front. He was too drunk to react before his fist connected with her jaw.
Tucker’s head snapped sideways. She swore, the low, throaty hum of the sound reverberating through Finn’s chest and making his belly cramp. He watched, helpless, as her body crumpled to the ground.
Finn’s heart thumped erratically behind his ribs. A sense of impending doom he hadn’t experienced since coming home from Afghanistan overwhelmed him. They were going to trample her.
He found a burst of power, wading right between the flailing fists and brawling men, taking a couple of glancing blows across his ribs and shoulder that he didn’t even feel. Reaching down, he gripped Tucker and hauled her up.
Wrapping his arms around her, he pushed his way back out of the melee, using his broad body to protect hers as much as possible.
As he passed one of the bouncers who had threatened to throw him out earlier, Finn growled, “Get a handle on this.”
“Working on it. She okay?” the bouncer asked, nodding his head toward Tucker.
“Don’t know.” She wasn’t fighting him, which was a bad sign. What little he knew about the woman suggested she probably wasn’t one to take kindly to being hauled about. Something he had to respect. But she also wasn’t limp and lifeless, as he’d feared he might find her.
Confident the men Tucker had hired were capable of getting control now that they were close enough to the fight, Finn strode swiftly to the booth he’d been in minutes before. Duchess gave a low whimper, but was right behind him.
He eased Tucker down onto the vinyl seat, propping her against the wall before pulling back so he could look down at her.
He expected to find her a little dazed.
Instead, those dark blue eyes that always seemed to snag him raged with anger.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Twice now she’d growled those words at him. He was really starting to hate that question. “Saving your ass, darlin’.”
“My ass didn’t need saving. It’s perfectly capable of taking care of itself.”
“Didn’t look like it from where I was standing...looking down on you sprawled across the floor.”
Pulling her feet back, she tried to jerk up and sit straight.
Finn grasped her calves and pinned her legs right where they were. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“Get your hands off of me.”
“Gladly, as soon as you promise to stay put.”
“I have to handle the situation.”
Finn threw a glance over his shoulder. Five bouncers had swarmed the area and were each manhandling a soldier in the general direction of the door.
“Your security team has it well in hand.”
“I’m sure they do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need to be there. This is my place. It’s my responsibility.”
His lips twitched. “I imagine you pay good money for men who can handle this kind of thing for you. Let them earn their paychecks. You had the wind knocked out of you.”
He watched her little button nose scrunch up and her soft pink mouth twist into a grimace. A shudder ripped through her body and she finally sagged against the side of the booth. “God, I can’t believe I didn’t see that punch coming.”
Bowing her head, she started to probe along her cheekbone. He didn’t miss her wince. The skin was already starting to mottle. In a few hours she was going to have one hell of a bruise across her cheek.
“I’m damn impressed.”
Her gaze flashed up to him before dropping back to the table again. “Yeah, my guys are good. I only hire the best.”
“I wasn’t talking about your staff. I was talking about how well you took that punch. He was one hulking dude and put everything he had behind that hit.”
“My cheekbone is throbbing with the proof of that.”
“I know some pretty badass women, and I don’t think any of them could have taken that hit and still been coherent enough to hold a conversation with me right now. Why isn’t your brain rattled?”
She shrugged. “Not the first punch I’ve ever taken.”
Shit. For the second time tonight, Finn wanted to knock someone on their ass—preferably anyone who’d ever given Tucker bruises.
She must have registered where his brain had gone because she quickly said, “No. Not that way.” She scoffed, the rough sound scraping through her throat. “I’ve been involved in martial arts and self-defense off and on for years. I was raised by a single dad who believed in making sure his little girl could take care of herself.”
“Smart man.”
“He is. But that’s all I meant by not the first time I’ve taken a punch.”
Satisfied she was showing no signs of concussion, Finn turned away long enough to snag the arm of a passing waitress and request she bring him a towel or bag filled with ice.
He might not know her well, but even Finn realized it was a testament to just how much her cheek must be hurting that Tucker didn’t make some snide comment about him ordering her staff around. Or that after the waitress returned with some ice wrapped in a towel, she didn’t protest when Finn moved close, sliding his hip against hers, to place it against her cheek.
But she did hiss and jerk back in response to the pain and cold.
Finn wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, holding her in place.
“That hurts,” she grumbled.
What was wrong with him? He wanted to pick her up, plop her down into his lap and do whatever it took to make the pain go away. Even though he knew that wasn’t possible.
The only person Finn ever worried about taking care of was Duchess—and she wasn’t technically a person.
“I’m sorry, but something tells me you’d rather keep the swelling and bruising to a minimum.”
With a sigh, she settled against the wall, the warmth of his palm cupping her head. The soft rain of her hair brushed across the back of his hand.
His gaze snagged on her lips. He wanted to taste them. Wanted to know if the taste of her would be just as spicy as her attitude, or if that prickly outer shell hid a sweetness designed to bring a man to his knees.
But he didn’t get the chance. He could feel the presence behind him long before the man spoke.
“Boss, problem’s all taken care of.”
“Great. Thanks, Wyatt.”
“You okay?”
“She’s good. Looks like she’ll have one hell of a bruise tomorrow, though.”
The toe of her shoe connected with his hip. “I can speak for myself, thank you very much.” Her gaze shifted to the man standing just over his shoulder. “I’m fine. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be back out on the floor.”
“Take your time. The guys and I have everything in hand.”
Finn watched Wyatt disappear. Beside him, Duchess stirred. She moved to follow and Finn was too preoccupied to notice or call her back. He wasn’t worried about her—she was better behaved than the morons they’d just thrown out.
“Hey, how the hell did you get back in, anyway? I’m pretty sure I said you and your dog weren’t welcome.”
“And yet we weren’t the ones who just tried to start a riot in the middle of your bar.”
“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”
Finn shrugged. “I’m not the one sitting here with an ice pack on his cheek.”
She shoved at him. Finn moved so Tucker could slide out of the booth. He figured asking her to sit still a little longer wouldn’t have made any difference. He could have stonewalled and kept her in, but he wouldn’t put it past her to duck under the table.
The minute she stood she let out a loud hiss and her entire body buckled again.
Jolting forward, Finn caught her around the waist, not bothering to wait before depositing her back onto the bench.
Kneeling in front of her, he asked, “What’s hurting?” even as his gaze swept over her looking for apparent signs of injury.
“My ankle. I must have twisted it when I got knocked on my ass.”
His mouth tugged into a frown. “It’s no wonder with these death traps you seem to think are shoes.”
Slipping one of the heels from her left foot, he dropped it onto the floor, not caring when it clattered with a resounding bang.
“Hey!” She jerked forward, trying to dive after the shiny black heel. “Those cost eight hundred dollars.”
Finn wrapped his fingers around her ankle, the smooth warmth of her skin registering somewhere deep inside. “Excuse me?”
“They’re couture.”
“Did you just tell me that you spent almost as much as my mortgage payment on an impractical pair of heels?”
For the briefest moment, Tucker looked a little sheepish. But the expression didn’t last long, quickly replaced with bravado and a no-nonsense stare that threatened to cut straight through him.
God, there was something about this woman that lit up everything inside him. She was infuriating and adorable at the same time. Intriguing and tempting.
“I don’t need to justify my spending habits to you.”
“No, you sure don’t,” he said, tucking his chin into his chest to hide the smile he couldn’t quite stop. Probing her ankle, he moved it from side to side, testing her range of motion. So far, it wasn’t swelling, which was a good sign. “But maybe you should lay off the heels for a few days while this heals.”
She harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest, but didn’t argue with him.
Slipping the other shoe off, this time carefully setting it onto the floor beside them, Finn grasped her by the arms and gently pulled her up, taking as much of her weight as she’d let him.
“Try putting some weight on it.”
Gingerly, she did, only grimacing slightly, before shaking his hands away. “I’m fine.”
His fingers tingled where they’d touched her skin.
Scooping her shoes up, she limped away.
Shaking his head, Finn debated whether to let her go or try to help. It was obvious which she wanted. But before he could make up his mind, a commotion snagged his attention.
Several feet away, Duchess was raising a ruckus, barking and pawing at the floor.
Finn stilled. There was only one thing that would cause the dog to react that way.
“What the hell?” Tucker flashed him a glare. “If she leaves so much as a scratch on my floor I’m sending you the repair bill.”
“Darlin’,” Finn said. “You’ve got a bigger problem than a scuffed floor. Duchess only reacts that way to one thing.”
“I hardly think she’s found an IED buried beneath the floorboards, soldier.”
“No. Duchess isn’t trained to scent bombs.”
Pushing ahead of her, Finn stalked over to where Duchess was going crazy. A couple of tables had been pushed out of the way during the fight, and right there, tucked halfway beneath the leg of one of them was a plastic bag filled with a decent amount of crystal meth. Not the kind of baggie sold for a single hit of fun...this was a big enough score that it would be broken up and sold.
“Drugs. Duchess is trained to find drugs.”
* * *
SONOFABITCH. THAT’S WHAT she wanted to say, but she managed to not let the word out. Not because she particularly cared what the man standing beside her thought of her vocabulary—she’d been raised by a soldier and she owned a bar. Her dictionary of curse words was understandably intense. But giving in to that urge would probably lead to a serious meltdown that she didn’t have the luxury of indulging in right now.
Tucker stared at the little baggie dangling from the soldier’s fingers. Twice in one night. Her teeth ground together. Taking a deep breath, she dragged her gaze up.
“Well, that’s a problem.”
A big one. Finding that bag in the bathroom was one thing. Sure, she did what she could to keep drugs out of her bar, but it was inevitable that some might slip through.
But him finding a sizable amount on the floor, the same night, was more than a coincidence. It was a major issue, one she and Wyatt would have to address.
“Really?” His dry tone irritated the hell out of her.
She moved to take the bag, but he snatched it out of her reach, holding it above her. “No, you don’t.”
So frustrating. Tucker tipped her head back and glared at the drugs dangling above her.
“What? I wasn’t planning on using it.”
“Sure.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she scowled at him. “I try my damnedest to keep that shit out of my place, but I’m not naive enough to think it doesn’t still get in.”
“So you intend to turn this over to the police?”
“Why would I do that? It isn’t like the drugs can be traced to a person. They were lying on the floor. I’ll just...flush them down the toilet.” That was exactly what she needed to do.
“Uh-uh.”
“Look...” Tucker’s voice trailed off and she realized that she didn’t even know his freakin’ name. He’d picked her up off the floor, sent her blood pressure spiking as his palm cupped the back of her head, held an ice pack to her throbbing cheek and she didn’t even know his name.
Maybe she should keep it that way.
“Finn McAllister.”
“And Duchess.” She knew the dog’s name. The dog she didn’t like to even glance at because it sent a zing of apprehension through her chest. “Look, Finn, I appreciate you sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“Gee, what an amazingly passive aggressive expression of appreciation.”
Tucker let out a sigh. “Fine. Thank you for stepping in and helping with our little problem. And for making sure I was okay.” Even she heard the reluctance in her words.
“Wow,” he said, a smile stretching across his gorgeous mouth. No man should have lips like that, perfect and lush, the thin white scar running through the right edge only making him more dangerously tempting. “That might have been even worse.”
“No, I really mean it.”
She did. While it grated that she’d needed the help, she was big enough to realize it was the truth. No doubt she’d get another lecture from Wyatt when this was all over. He was constantly telling her not to get in the middle of altercations and just let him and the guys do their jobs.
But she had a hard time taking a step back and watching anyone protect what she’d worked so hard to build.
Her father had raised her to be self-reliant and independent. She could still hear his voice in her head, telling her she was a big girl and needed to be strong, right before he left her by herself for months. She hadn’t disappointed him then and she had no intention of starting now.
Even if there were days she felt...alone.
Despite the sense of family she tried to build within her team, they came and went. As much as she hated it, she was used to a fluid train of people moving in and out of her life. Moving around a lot as a kid, she’d become adept at being friendly with everyone, but not actually forming friendships because it always tore her heart out when those bonds were inevitably broken.
She’d built those old, protective walls pretty strong and high. Now, she wasn’t sure she knew how to find a door—or even a crack—to let someone in. Not really.
Her cheek throbbed, her ankle and ass hurt, and her head was starting to pound, from stress, the punch, whatever. She was done dealing with this mess.
And this man.
Taking a step away, she said, “I’m assuming since your dog is trained to scent drugs that you know the best way to destroy that.” She nodded at the baggie still suspended above her head. “I’m going to trust you to take care of it, but if you decide to smoke it...”
“Not happening.”
“Whatever. If you decide to use it yourself I don’t want to hear about it if you OD.”
The corners of his lips turned up slightly, not nearly a smile, but definitely humor at what she’d said. The idea that he was silently laughing at her burned.
Slowly, he lowered his hand. Arms crossed over his chest, feet spread wide like he was king of the castle surveying his domain, his gaze ran over her. In the middle of a crowded bar he suddenly made her feel like the only person present. How the hell did he do that?
“You know something?” he finally said. “You’re cute.”
Tucker gave a fake gasp. “I’ve never heard that in my entire life.”
Between her small stature, long blond curls and refined facial features, people tended to take one look at her and see sweet and soft. There was a large part of her that delighted in proving those people wrong because she was neither of those things.
Finn, however, simply ignored her sarcasm. “And I wouldn’t touch the stuff if someone was holding a gun to my head. I’ve seen the results firsthand. It’s nasty.”
Tucker could hear the bitterness in his words, but didn’t want to care. She definitely didn’t want to ask.
It didn’t matter anyway. In the next five minutes he was going walk out of her bar and out of her life.
“I have a business to run and a nasty bruise to ice. I’d appreciate it if you and your dog left my premises.”
“Nice way to repay us for the help.”
She shrugged. “My bar, my decisions. The sign outside the front door clearly says I have the right to refuse service to anyone I choose. Your tab’s on me. Have a good life, Finn McAllister.”
