“Lite?”
“No thanks.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I prefer mine full-flavored.”
Her skin heated from the inside out. She blushed like a school girl. How had Cash ordering a beer turned into a sexy exchange of words?
Jonathan cleared his throat and held an open can in front of her.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, passing the beer to Cash.
“I hope a week without me was long enough.”
She held up a finger indicating he should hang tight a minute. Her stomach rolled in turmoil while she waited on a couple of customers. One day without him had been too long
. Not telling him that
.
The line at her station thinned, giving her a chance to talk with him. “Have you been following me?”
“Stalking isn’t my style. I could’ve tracked you down, but wouldn’t have won any points for it.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Why?”
Stacey lifted one shoulder. Maybe her imagination had gone completely haywire. Was she inventing monsters? Turning paranoid for no reason? She had no proof Ray had tried to find her. If she were lucky, he’d forgotten she existed.
“A shrug isn’t going to cut it. You don’t ask a question like that without an explanation.”
Stacey caught Brady out of the corner of her eye. Not a good thing to be caught paying attention to just one customer. “Go away. My boss is headed this way.”
“I’m not leaving without your number.”
She wrote her cell number on a bar napkin then pushed it in front of him. “Now go. I have work to do.”
“I’ll call tomorrow.” He touched the brim of his hat with his finger then sauntered away, leaving his beer untouched.
She and Brady checked her back-up stock. He made sure she wouldn’t run low when the band took a break and her station filled with customers.
“You made a new friend.” Lance held up his beer bottle to indicate he wanted a refill.
“Not new. We grew up together.”
“Should I be jealous?”
“What you ‘should’ do is look elsewhere for a girlfriend.” Stacey pushed his fresh beer down the bar to him and turned to the next customer.
The rest of the night flew by. The crowd ebbed and flowed with the band breaks. The traffic was enough that when Stacey took her swollen feet and aching back out to her car, home was all she could think about. The sight of Lance leaning against her car sent irritation shimmying up her spine.
“How about breakfast?”
Tired down to her toenails, she snapped, “I don’t know how else to say this, so here goes. No date. No breakfast. Grow up and take no for an answer.”
She unlocked her car and threw her purse across to the passenger side. She got in and slammed the door. Jonathan walked past and waved, but waited until she drove away.
Minutes later, a vehicle roared up behind her, its headlights almost blinding her. Based on the angle of the glare ricocheting off her rearview mirror, she guessed it to be a car. It moved closer, so she sped up a little. But the car matched her speed. Then it slowed and turned down a side street.
What was that?
Drunk driver? Her body shook, cold from the inside out.
Paranoid to a fault, she drove through the apartment complex’s parking lot twice, checking the cars for Ray. Because of him, she’d learned how easy a person could misinterpret an innocent customer service smile.
Finding nothing disturbing, she parked and went inside.
She opened the fridge and stared at the contents. Not hungry but needing to eat, she decided on cereal, snacking while she got ready for bed.
She hoped she’d made her point with Lance. No doubt, he’d give her a wide berth from now on. The last thing she needed was trouble with him.
After a nice hot shower, Stacey crawled in bed. She stretched her legs and wiggled her toes, celebrating not having on tight jeans and boots.
****
Someone pounded on her front door, dragging her from a deep sleep. Panic seized Stacey’s lungs, making breathing an effort. Other than her landlady and two bosses, no one knew how to find her. The loud racket started again, only this time, it sounded like the world was coming to an end.
Grabbing her robe, she hurried to the door and peered through the peep hole. A chill rushed across her arms and down her spine. Two cops standing outside the door at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning couldn’t possibly be bringing good news. She tightened her belt and opened the door.
“Stacey McKinney?”
“Yes. What’s wrong?” Nerves knotted painfully in her neck.
The older man offered his ID. “I’m Sergeant Kelly. This is Officer Barnes. The owner of the Rockin’ Boot provided us with a list of employee names.”
She glanced up from his badge. “Something happened at the bar after I left?”
“May we come in?” The sergeant ran his hand down the front of a wrinkled white shirt.
“Of course.” The circles under both men’s eyes made her think they’d missed a lot more sleep than she had. She waved them inside and led them to her small kitchen table.
“You spoke with Lance Pierson last night?”
“Yes. A couple of times. He was walking toward his pickup the last time I saw him.” She returned the detective’s ID. “Why? What’s he gotten himself into?”
“I’m sorry to tell you, he’s dead.” He pulled out the small kitchen chair, turned it backwards, and sat. “You may have been one of the last people he spoke with.”
“What? How? He was fine when I drove away.” Stacey gripped the countertop to steady herself. Her heart ached for his family.
“What can you tell us about the last time you saw the deceased?” Detective Kelly set a small recorder on her table and waved her to a chair. “Do you mind if record our conversation?”
Whoa. The word ‘deceased’ sent shock waves rolling through her system. It was so final and cold. As if when a person died they ceased being a person and became a thing. Her heart raced, her stomach cramped, and her mother’s death flooded her memory.
What the hell? Stop this.
She dragged her emotions inside and concentrated on helping the detective.
“Do you record all your interviews?”
“If I’ve been up all night, I usually do. It’s just so I don’t forget to write something down. You want it off?”
“No. It’s fine. It’s such a shock.” Stacey took a calming breath and then succinctly repeated her discussion with Lance in the parking lot. “Do you have any suspects?”
“No one in particular. We can’t rule anyone out just yet, but based on the extreme violence of the murder, my gut tells me a woman didn’t kill Jonathan.” Kelly’s expression softened a little. “Every possibility has to be considered, but this is all standard procedure. It would be helpful if you could verify what time you arrived home.”
“The only person who could do that almost ran me over in my car, but they probably wouldn’t be able to identify me sober. You said his death was violent. Can you tell me what happened?”
“A friend found him in bed with his throat cut.”
She gasped. “My God.”
“What is it?” The detective leaned forward.
“Lance was a sweet kid. Why would anyone kill him?”
“That’s a question I intend to answer.” He turned off the recorder, smiled, and then stood. He dropped his card on the table. “Give me a call if you think of anything.”
Stacey closed the door behind him and the officer. She touched her fingers to her neck Lance’s throat had been cut. She wrapped her arms around her waist. What a horrible way to die.
It took three tries to punch in Cash’s number. She knew if she needed him, he’d be there. Her lips trembled so badly, the only word she could force out was his name.
“Sug? You okay?”
“Yes, but the cops were just here.” Her mouth moved but nothing else came out. Was she overreacting? Just because her stalker, Ray Simmons, had threatened to kill anyone she cared about didn’t mean he’d found her. Nor did it mean he’d follow through on his threat just because Lance had been friendly. “Can you come?”
“Tell me where.”
Tears breached the surface, but she managed to rattle off her address. Unstoppable, they slid from her eyes. That Cash would be there soon helped calm her. That he hadn’t asked why she needed him spoke volumes straight to her heart.
Stacey fixed a pot of coffee, watching the dark liquid drip into the carafe, as if staring would hurry the process along. She poured herself a cup before it stopped dripping, carried it to the couch, and curled up to wait.
Lance’s pretty face, his full of life personality, his gift of charm gone. She hadn’t known him very well, but nobody deserved to die like that. His family would experience the soul numbing pain of losing a loved one. Just the way she had when her mother died.
A light tap on her front door had her on her feet.
“Stacey,” Cash called out from the hallway.
“Coming.” She opened the door and stepped into his arms. Safe. Protected. He leaned his head back and gazed at her, brushing her eyes, cheeks, and lips, tracing the planes and valleys with his fingers.
“You’re okay?”
“Better now.” She leaned into his palm when he cupped her cheek. “Thank you for coming.”
“Anytime. Any place. What happened?”
Stacey led him to the couch and repeated her conversation with the police. The longer she talked the darker his eyes turned.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that way. So why were they talking to you?”
“Lance and I talked in the parking lot after I got off. According to the detective, I may have been the last person to see Lance alive.”
“Not the last.” Cash’s tone was soft but firm. “The killer saw him after you left the parking lot.
“Did he give you the impression he expected trouble?”
“No. On the contrary. He was upbeat. Full of life.”
Cash stood and paced. He crossed her small living room in a couple of strides. At six-foot-three, his broad shoulders, muscled arms, and narrow waist presented a remarkable sight. Something stirred inside her. Something deep. Something primal.
“There’s something missing. What are you not telling me?”
“Trouble may have followed me to town.” The words were hard to say, and her voice was a whisper.
He spun on his heel. The surprise on his face made her want those words back.
“What makes you think that?”
She shook her head. Stupid thing to say or think. Ray had no idea where she was hiding. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing my ass. What trouble followed you?” Cash caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger, lifting until her gaze met his. “Tell me.”
She refused to deal with possibilities. Refused to believe Ray had found her. Refused to think about death and the young man it took.
“Kiss me.” Cash could make her forget, if only for a minute.
One corner of his mouth lifted making her insides clench. He slid her hair back over her shoulders, took a handful, and pulled her head back. Her insides melted. She wanted to consume him, wanted to be consumed by him, to push death and fear from her mind.
His lips slid across her forehead down her nose and then gently covered her lips. Searching. Exploring. Slowly, he pulled away. He tenderly kissed her forehead then lazily walked to the kitchen. He opened cabinet doors until he located one of the few cups she owned, which he filled with coffee before returning to the couch.
Why had he broken away? She wanted to forget for a few minutes. Now he stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “I’ve never made love to a woman that didn’t really want me to. I’m not going to start today. You’re upset and scared. This isn’t what you want.” He calmly sipped his drink, watching her over the rim of his cup. “You ready to tell me what’s troubling you?”
Damn, she hated to admit he was right. Escaping from her fears wouldn’t make them go away.
Chapter Four
Cash finished his coffee and sat in silence, patiently waiting for Stacey to open up. She had to confide in him of her own free will. She’d mentioned trouble and then shut down. Her emotions were all over the place, and he couldn’t take advantage of her.
She carried both cups to the kitchen then set them on the counter, dropping to the couch next to him when she returned. Her expression was unreadable. He tried to see beneath the layer of bravado she was displaying.
Damn, he wanted to trust that she’d grown up and was no longer under her father’s domineering thumb. Supporting herself was a big step in the right direction.
She rested her cheek on his shoulder. He felt like a king. How could he not? Stacey snuggled against him in a quiet apartment was a dream come true. He could’ve stayed in this setting forever. If only she’d talk to him. Why’d she think trouble had followed her?
“I’m sorry about Lance.” Cash smoothed hair off her forehead, spreading the long, golden silk across her shoulder.
“Me too.”
If she wasn’t going to make this easy, he’d press her. “You ready to explain your earlier statement?”
Her body went rigid. Damn if the air in the room didn’t cool. In one motion, she scooted to the edge of the couch bed. She’d turned her back to him effectively closing him out.
“Look, sometimes I speak without thinking. Forget I said anything.” She stood and planted her hands on her hips. “Maybe you should just go.”