As I headed to the bar for table seven’s Buds, Jess, our bartender, grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the window. “Ho-ly heavens, Savannah. I think I’m in love.”
A man stepped down from the cab of his shining black Ford F-250 pickup. The rolled-up sleeves of his gray shirt stretched over his thick, tanned forearms, and his blue jeans offset a pair of rugged biker boots. Somehow, he made the half-ton truck look small.
My knees locked as he turned toward the restaurant. Every movement spoke of restrained power, and his shirt clung to his chest in ways that made my mouth dry.
I licked my parched lips. Definitely an out-of-towner.
“I call dibs,” Jess whispered, quiet and reverent as if speaking to the pope.
The man sniffed the air like he was searching for something, and a dark expression cut across his face.
I didn’t blame him. Maybe it was my imagination, but I was certain I could smell the scents of grease and stale beer half a mile from the bar.
My apron and white Taphouse logo T-shirt suddenly felt dirty and constricting. This wasn’t a place for a god like him. He was out-of-this-world gorgeous, with thick tousled hair and a trimmed beard that accentuated his strong jaw.
He approached, and my pulse quickened. Something about him screamed danger. When he pushed through the front door, the whole bar went silent—except for the idiots on TV still rambling about the abductions. Every eye trained on him, and we all knew we didn’t measure up.
He scanned the room, not like a man who was lost, but like a hunter, assessing the two dozen faces all staring back. His gaze stopped on me, and though it must have been my imagination, just for a second, I swore his co
ffee eyes flashed gold.
I knew in that instant, that I should run. That I should flee. But his dark eyes had a magnetic hold on me, and I was torn between submission and flight. My legs wouldn’t move, and my breath stilled as if all the air had been drawn from the room.
I’d seen this story before. He was the predator, and I was his prey—a deer transfixed while it stared into the beautiful face of its doom.
Luckily for my paralyzed brain, Jess jerked me behind the bar. “What are you doing? You’re staring at him and practically drooling on the floor. I called dibs!”
“I…”
She spun me around toward the back of the restaurant. “Anyway, table seven just bolted out the back door. Did they pay? Because it’s on you if they didn’t.”
That hit me like a bucket of ice water.
The only thing the backwoods couple had left at table seven were the empties, and their pile of unpaid beers would wipe out my wages for the day. The creepers had dined and dashed.
The death rattle of my pocketbook drove all thoughts of the man from my mind. I clenched my fists and slammed through the back door.
Those assholes were going to pay.
The backlot stank of grease and trash, and I scanned the area in vain for the two freeloaders. I strained my ears for any sign of movement, but the only sounds hanging in the air were the song of crickets and the buzzing overhead lights. I was about to head around the front of the building when the echoes of a hushed argument in the overflow lot broke the stillness.
Gotcha.
I fingered the bottle of mace in my apron as I headed through the trees down to the barren patch of dirt where employees and unlucky customers parked. I wouldn’t have had to carry the stuff if the owner fixed the damn lights.
At least the moon was nearly full.
The couple was arguing in the shadows at the back of the lot. I slowed my pace. They looked as if they were about to come to blows, and I didn’t want to get mixed up in that.
The woman got up in the man’s face and jabbed a finger into his chest. “We gotta stick around. That’s definitely the girl we’re supposed to grab.”
The heavily inked man shoved her back with a snarl. “No way. Did you see who just walked in? He’ll scent me out in a second. We’ll snatch the girl another time. We can’t fuck this up again.”
My pulse raced. Holy crap. They’d been staring at me all evening. I had to be the girl they were supposed to snatch.
I skidded to a halt in front of a car that was trying park. What the hell should I do?
Get inside. Call 911.