over, took three tapes out of his desk drawer. “I believe these satisfy your warrant.”
Her palms were sweaty, but she couldn’t sacrifice the dignity she was trying to rebuild by wiping them off. She took the tapes, slipped them into her shoulder bag. “I’ll give you a receipt.”
“Forget it.”
“I’ll give you a receipt,” she repeated and took out a pad. “It’s procedure.”
“We wouldn’t want to tamper with procedure.” He held out his hand, accepting the copy she offered. “Don’t let me keep you, Fletcher. Clock’s ticking.”
She strode to the door, yanked it open. Dignity be damned, she decided and spun back. “You can save the attitude. You made the first move, I made the second. That’s an even slate to me, and now it’s done.”
“Honey—make that Detective Honey—if we were done, we’d both be feeling a lot better right now.”
“Yeah, well. We’ll live with it,” she muttered and sacrificed dignity for satisfaction by slamming the door.
* * *
Ally wasn’t cut out to be a waitress. She was sure of it when, during her second shift at Blackhawk’s, she poured the drink Beth had allowed her to serve over the head of the idiot customer who’d grabbed her butt and invited her to engage in a sexual act that was illegal in several states.
The customer had objected, rather strongly, to her response, but before she could flatten him, Will had appeared like smoke between them. She’d had to stand passively and be rescued.
It had grated for hours.
But if she was sure of her lack of waitress potential after her second shift, she was desperate to shed her cover by the third.
She wanted action. And not the kind that required her to serve wild wings in demon sauce and take orders for drinks called tornadoes to young executives on the make.
Twenty minutes into her third night at Blackhawk’s had given her a profound respect for those who served and cleared and tolerated impatience, lousy tips and lewd propositions.
“I hate people.” Ally waited for her drink order at the bar while Pete drew a beer off tap.
“Ah, no, you don’t.”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I really do. They’re rude, annoying, oblivious. And all of them are jammed into Blackhawk’s.”
“And it’s only six thirty.”
“Please. Six thirty-five. Every minute counts.” She glanced back at Jan, who worked the bar area, all but dancing between tables as she cleared, served and played up her assets. “How does she do it?”
“Some are born for it, Blondie. You’ll excuse my saying so, but you’re not. Not that you don’t do the job, but you don’t have the passion.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have the arches, either.” She started to lift the tray, eyes tracking the room as always, then she let it drop again when she spotted the man coming in the front door.
“Oh, hell. Pete, ask Jan to get this order to table eight club side. I have to do something.”
“Ally, what’re you doing here?”
It was all Dennis got out of his mouth before Ally grabbed his arm and hauled him through the bar,into the kitchen and out the back door. “Damn it, Dennis. Damn it!”
“What’s the matter? What did you drag me out here for?” He put on his best baffled look, but she’d seen it before. She’d seen the whole routine before.
“I’m on the job. You’ll blow my cover, for God’s sake. I told you what would happen if you started following me again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His injured air had worked on her once. More than once.
“You listen to me.” She stepped close, jabbed a finger in his chest. “Listen hard, Dennis. We’re done. We have been done for months. There’s no chance that’s going to change, and every chance, if you keep hassling me, I’ll slap a restraining order on your butt and make your life a living hell.”
His mouth thinned, his eyebrows lowered, the way she knew they did when he was backed into a corner. “This is a public
Her palms were sweaty, but she couldn’t sacrifice the dignity she was trying to rebuild by wiping them off. She took the tapes, slipped them into her shoulder bag. “I’ll give you a receipt.”
“Forget it.”
“I’ll give you a receipt,” she repeated and took out a pad. “It’s procedure.”
“We wouldn’t want to tamper with procedure.” He held out his hand, accepting the copy she offered. “Don’t let me keep you, Fletcher. Clock’s ticking.”
She strode to the door, yanked it open. Dignity be damned, she decided and spun back. “You can save the attitude. You made the first move, I made the second. That’s an even slate to me, and now it’s done.”
“Honey—make that Detective Honey—if we were done, we’d both be feeling a lot better right now.”
“Yeah, well. We’ll live with it,” she muttered and sacrificed dignity for satisfaction by slamming the door.
* * *
Ally wasn’t cut out to be a waitress. She was sure of it when, during her second shift at Blackhawk’s, she poured the drink Beth had allowed her to serve over the head of the idiot customer who’d grabbed her butt and invited her to engage in a sexual act that was illegal in several states.
The customer had objected, rather strongly, to her response, but before she could flatten him, Will had appeared like smoke between them. She’d had to stand passively and be rescued.
It had grated for hours.
But if she was sure of her lack of waitress potential after her second shift, she was desperate to shed her cover by the third.
She wanted action. And not the kind that required her to serve wild wings in demon sauce and take orders for drinks called tornadoes to young executives on the make.
Twenty minutes into her third night at Blackhawk’s had given her a profound respect for those who served and cleared and tolerated impatience, lousy tips and lewd propositions.
“I hate people.” Ally waited for her drink order at the bar while Pete drew a beer off tap.
“Ah, no, you don’t.”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I really do. They’re rude, annoying, oblivious. And all of them are jammed into Blackhawk’s.”
“And it’s only six thirty.”
“Please. Six thirty-five. Every minute counts.” She glanced back at Jan, who worked the bar area, all but dancing between tables as she cleared, served and played up her assets. “How does she do it?”
“Some are born for it, Blondie. You’ll excuse my saying so, but you’re not. Not that you don’t do the job, but you don’t have the passion.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have the arches, either.” She started to lift the tray, eyes tracking the room as always, then she let it drop again when she spotted the man coming in the front door.
“Oh, hell. Pete, ask Jan to get this order to table eight club side. I have to do something.”
“Ally, what’re you doing here?”
It was all Dennis got out of his mouth before Ally grabbed his arm and hauled him through the bar,into the kitchen and out the back door. “Damn it, Dennis. Damn it!”
“What’s the matter? What did you drag me out here for?” He put on his best baffled look, but she’d seen it before. She’d seen the whole routine before.
“I’m on the job. You’ll blow my cover, for God’s sake. I told you what would happen if you started following me again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His injured air had worked on her once. More than once.
“You listen to me.” She stepped close, jabbed a finger in his chest. “Listen hard, Dennis. We’re done. We have been done for months. There’s no chance that’s going to change, and every chance, if you keep hassling me, I’ll slap a restraining order on your butt and make your life a living hell.”
His mouth thinned, his eyebrows lowered, the way she knew they did when he was backed into a corner. “This is a public
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