the nearest open seat at the bar, making it there without being accosted. Nic settled on the stool and braced her arms on the polished wood bar. The butt of her Glock pinched her right side; she wasn’t unprotected. But she was living in a state that allowed concealed carry, and any number of these people could be armed.
A sardonic smile played across her mouth. Who in their right mind would level down with her after she took out a man with a sniper shot?
The flash of a white bar towel caught Nic’s attention, and she lifted her head. Patrick Keegan’s expectant expression asked what he didn’t voice.
“Hi, Patrick. I’ll just have a ginger ale.”
“You look like you could use some food, Nic.” Patrick reached under the counter to open a small fridge.
“Maybe here in a bit.” The small amount of the enchilada she’d eaten was making her already tense stomach hurt more.
He poured the ginger ale in a glass. “Want to start a tab?”
“That’s fine.” Nic took the offered glass and napkin. “Thanks.”
Gripping the edge of the bar, Patrick tilted his head to the side and gazed at her. “Lots of people are talking about what you had to do yesterday.”
“They can shove where it don’t shine, too.” Nic saluted him with her glass and gulped the fizzy soda.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you sound so bitter before.”
“You barely know me. How would you know when I sound bitter or not?”
He leaned forward, a secretive smile gracing his full, pink lips. “I might be young, but people say I have an old soul. When you come in here, you’re usually in good spirits, and not once tonight have you teased me about my ‘pretty boy’ hairstyle.”
His smile was infectious. Nic scratched her forehead, trying to control her twitching lips and not grin. Someone at the other end of the bar called for Patrick.
He glanced that way, then placed a hand on her arm. “Ignore the busybodies and the old biddies who just want to make themselves feel better about themselves. We do what we have to do for the greater good.” He gave her a wink and went to serve the waiting patron.
She stared at her haggard reflection in the mirror, then sipped more of the soft drink. God, a smooth whiskey would taste good right now. But she’d promised herself it had to end. No more liquor. She closed her eyes as she gulped more ginger ale. She couldn’t take Aiden’s path. The glass thunked against the bar. Nic opened her eyes and stared into the pale yellow liquid. He’d failed. She wouldn’t.
“Well, shit. Patrick, I didn’t know you allowed trigger-happy killers in here.”
Chapter Seven
Nic’s grip around the glass tightened, making a squeak. Clenching her jaw, she slid her gaze toward Doug Walker. He stood with his hands on his hips, his right hand hooked over his off-duty pistol. Right behind him was another cousin of his and Dusty’s. They both looked lit and ready to cause hell.
“Shove off, Walker.”
Her coworker slapped a hand on the bar next to her. Nic expected it, tensed her body in anticipation of it, but she still flinched at the crack of flesh against wood. Every nerve in her body screamed to grab her gun and put him down. Protect herself and the innocents.
“I’ve lived in this town all my life.” Walker’s soured breath rolled over her. “My family helped build this place out of nothing.” He leaned closer. “You’re the outsider, Rivers. You shove off.”
He was drunk and slow. And that worked in her favor.
Nic rotated on the barstool to face Walker. Her gaze flicked behind him to his cousin, who was unsteady on his feet. If she got into it with another deputy off-duty, the town council would have Hamilton’s head and force him to sack Nic.
And she didn’t give a damn.
“Last warning,” she said.
A twisted grin appeared. “Or you’ll do what?”
From the opposite side of the bar, someone’s hand grabbed a fistful of Walker’s hair and slammed his head down on the bar. Nic
A sardonic smile played across her mouth. Who in their right mind would level down with her after she took out a man with a sniper shot?
The flash of a white bar towel caught Nic’s attention, and she lifted her head. Patrick Keegan’s expectant expression asked what he didn’t voice.
“Hi, Patrick. I’ll just have a ginger ale.”
“You look like you could use some food, Nic.” Patrick reached under the counter to open a small fridge.
“Maybe here in a bit.” The small amount of the enchilada she’d eaten was making her already tense stomach hurt more.
He poured the ginger ale in a glass. “Want to start a tab?”
“That’s fine.” Nic took the offered glass and napkin. “Thanks.”
Gripping the edge of the bar, Patrick tilted his head to the side and gazed at her. “Lots of people are talking about what you had to do yesterday.”
“They can shove where it don’t shine, too.” Nic saluted him with her glass and gulped the fizzy soda.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you sound so bitter before.”
“You barely know me. How would you know when I sound bitter or not?”
He leaned forward, a secretive smile gracing his full, pink lips. “I might be young, but people say I have an old soul. When you come in here, you’re usually in good spirits, and not once tonight have you teased me about my ‘pretty boy’ hairstyle.”
His smile was infectious. Nic scratched her forehead, trying to control her twitching lips and not grin. Someone at the other end of the bar called for Patrick.
He glanced that way, then placed a hand on her arm. “Ignore the busybodies and the old biddies who just want to make themselves feel better about themselves. We do what we have to do for the greater good.” He gave her a wink and went to serve the waiting patron.
She stared at her haggard reflection in the mirror, then sipped more of the soft drink. God, a smooth whiskey would taste good right now. But she’d promised herself it had to end. No more liquor. She closed her eyes as she gulped more ginger ale. She couldn’t take Aiden’s path. The glass thunked against the bar. Nic opened her eyes and stared into the pale yellow liquid. He’d failed. She wouldn’t.
“Well, shit. Patrick, I didn’t know you allowed trigger-happy killers in here.”
Chapter Seven
Nic’s grip around the glass tightened, making a squeak. Clenching her jaw, she slid her gaze toward Doug Walker. He stood with his hands on his hips, his right hand hooked over his off-duty pistol. Right behind him was another cousin of his and Dusty’s. They both looked lit and ready to cause hell.
“Shove off, Walker.”
Her coworker slapped a hand on the bar next to her. Nic expected it, tensed her body in anticipation of it, but she still flinched at the crack of flesh against wood. Every nerve in her body screamed to grab her gun and put him down. Protect herself and the innocents.
“I’ve lived in this town all my life.” Walker’s soured breath rolled over her. “My family helped build this place out of nothing.” He leaned closer. “You’re the outsider, Rivers. You shove off.”
He was drunk and slow. And that worked in her favor.
Nic rotated on the barstool to face Walker. Her gaze flicked behind him to his cousin, who was unsteady on his feet. If she got into it with another deputy off-duty, the town council would have Hamilton’s head and force him to sack Nic.
And she didn’t give a damn.
“Last warning,” she said.
A twisted grin appeared. “Or you’ll do what?”
From the opposite side of the bar, someone’s hand grabbed a fistful of Walker’s hair and slammed his head down on the bar. Nic
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