Read Online Fantasy Man by Barbara Meyers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Meyers
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surprising number of bills and coins.
“Lunch rush only. Tips only. First name only. No questions.”
“Oh?” Frankie stared her down. He was fifty if he was a day, Quinn decided, and he was nobody’s fool. He was a survivor. He was successful, too, based on what she’d just seen. He probably wouldn’t go for her proposal. But then, she hadn’t been looking for a job when she’d walked in. Although spending a couple of hours a day doing what she’d just done would go a long way toward breaking up the monotony of being alone in Reif’s house. All she had come for was lunch. Her stomach growled to remind her of that fact. “And a slice every day on the house.”
Frankie burst out laughing. Huge, amused guffaws that caught the attention of everyone left in the place. Quinn grinned, feeling a rush of fondness for this man she’d just met.
He got himself under control and said, “I can picture this sort of thing happening to my cousin in Jersey, but here?” He started chuckling again. “You’re hired. Eleven to two weekdays. No questions asked.” He lowered his voice, so only she could hear. “First sign of trouble, you’re out of here. Capisce ?”
“ Capisco ,” Quinn replied just as softly.
He chuckled and shook his head. He nodded at what was left of the pizzas sold by the slice. “What do you want to eat?”
A couple of the kitchen guys and the server were gathered around one of the tables already with leftovers and soda. They eyed her with friendly curiosity.
“Okay if I take a couple slices and a soda to go?”
“Knock yourself out.” Tony handed her a paper plate along with a Styrofoam cup. “You don’t show up tomorrow, don’t bother coming back.”
He walked off when she didn’t reply. She had every intention of taking the job, such as it was. She could earn a bit of extra money and add it to the cache she had brought with her. Just in case, on the outside chance, she had to run.
Chapter Eight
Reif stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He’d been in a restless sort of half slumber before but now he was fully awake. The numbers on his bedside clock glowed 1:34 a.m. He lay still, listening, until he was certain he heard movement coming from downstairs.
He slid out of bed and donned a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. Reaching beneath the bed he wrapped his hand around the base of a Louisville Slugger. Out in the hallway he paused, listening to the soft shuffle of footsteps and a door opening and closing.
With his heart pounding double time he kept his back to the wall as he moved down the steps. Had they come for Quinn? What if there was more than one of them?
Reif owned a Glock 22. He kept it in a gun safe in his bedroom closet and took it out on those rare occasions when he visited the gun range, usually when his dad was in town. But he’d never shot at anything other than paper targets, tin cans or old tires, and he didn’t intend to start now. He felt confident he could defend himself against a lone assailant, crack a knee or a head or a couple of ribs with his trusty bat. But if there was more than one, and if they were armed, his bat wasn’t going to do a whole lot of good.
He peeked into the kitchen, searching the shadows for the intruder, before moving further into the room. He hadn’t imagined the sound of the door and the shuffle of footsteps. Someone was down here. He’d bet his life on it.
Moving forward he noticed a light beneath the door of the pantry and laundry room area that led to the garage. The light went out. He shifted to the side of the door, holding his breath as he heard the knob turn. The door opened and a figure collided with him. He nearly dropped the bat when Quinn screamed before he could identify himself.
He clamped his hand over her mouth. “It’s me. Calm down. It’s me.”
Either she didn’t hear him or he’d royally pissed her off, because she bit him. He yelped and pulled his hand back. Before she could run he caught her, yanking
“Lunch rush only. Tips only. First name only. No questions.”
“Oh?” Frankie stared her down. He was fifty if he was a day, Quinn decided, and he was nobody’s fool. He was a survivor. He was successful, too, based on what she’d just seen. He probably wouldn’t go for her proposal. But then, she hadn’t been looking for a job when she’d walked in. Although spending a couple of hours a day doing what she’d just done would go a long way toward breaking up the monotony of being alone in Reif’s house. All she had come for was lunch. Her stomach growled to remind her of that fact. “And a slice every day on the house.”
Frankie burst out laughing. Huge, amused guffaws that caught the attention of everyone left in the place. Quinn grinned, feeling a rush of fondness for this man she’d just met.
He got himself under control and said, “I can picture this sort of thing happening to my cousin in Jersey, but here?” He started chuckling again. “You’re hired. Eleven to two weekdays. No questions asked.” He lowered his voice, so only she could hear. “First sign of trouble, you’re out of here. Capisce ?”
“ Capisco ,” Quinn replied just as softly.
He chuckled and shook his head. He nodded at what was left of the pizzas sold by the slice. “What do you want to eat?”
A couple of the kitchen guys and the server were gathered around one of the tables already with leftovers and soda. They eyed her with friendly curiosity.
“Okay if I take a couple slices and a soda to go?”
“Knock yourself out.” Tony handed her a paper plate along with a Styrofoam cup. “You don’t show up tomorrow, don’t bother coming back.”
He walked off when she didn’t reply. She had every intention of taking the job, such as it was. She could earn a bit of extra money and add it to the cache she had brought with her. Just in case, on the outside chance, she had to run.
Chapter Eight
Reif stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He’d been in a restless sort of half slumber before but now he was fully awake. The numbers on his bedside clock glowed 1:34 a.m. He lay still, listening, until he was certain he heard movement coming from downstairs.
He slid out of bed and donned a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. Reaching beneath the bed he wrapped his hand around the base of a Louisville Slugger. Out in the hallway he paused, listening to the soft shuffle of footsteps and a door opening and closing.
With his heart pounding double time he kept his back to the wall as he moved down the steps. Had they come for Quinn? What if there was more than one of them?
Reif owned a Glock 22. He kept it in a gun safe in his bedroom closet and took it out on those rare occasions when he visited the gun range, usually when his dad was in town. But he’d never shot at anything other than paper targets, tin cans or old tires, and he didn’t intend to start now. He felt confident he could defend himself against a lone assailant, crack a knee or a head or a couple of ribs with his trusty bat. But if there was more than one, and if they were armed, his bat wasn’t going to do a whole lot of good.
He peeked into the kitchen, searching the shadows for the intruder, before moving further into the room. He hadn’t imagined the sound of the door and the shuffle of footsteps. Someone was down here. He’d bet his life on it.
Moving forward he noticed a light beneath the door of the pantry and laundry room area that led to the garage. The light went out. He shifted to the side of the door, holding his breath as he heard the knob turn. The door opened and a figure collided with him. He nearly dropped the bat when Quinn screamed before he could identify himself.
He clamped his hand over her mouth. “It’s me. Calm down. It’s me.”
Either she didn’t hear him or he’d royally pissed her off, because she bit him. He yelped and pulled his hand back. Before she could run he caught her, yanking
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