Read Online Wickedly Dangerous by Deborah Blake - Free Book Online Page B

second like wherever people in heaven went on vacation. “Ah,” he said with a sigh, “that’s better.”
    â€œA good beer is one of the great blessings of the universe,” Baba agreed, taking another swallow of her own.
    â€œYou’ve got that right,” Liam said, making the “two more” gesture at Tyler when he could catch the bartender’s eye. The tall, skinny man with fading red hair moved so fast, pouring drinks and uncapping beer bottles, his hands were a blur of syncopated motion.
    The tip jar in front of him held a mountain of change, and he smiled cheerfully all night long, no matter how rude or drunk anyone got. If they hadn’t attended the same grief support group for a couple of months, Liam would never have guessed that old sorrow wormed its way through Tyler’s bones like bindweed in a field of corn. Losing a child would do that to you. Liam knew that better than anyone.
    â€œHere ya go, Sheriff,” Tyler said, full bottles dangling from one large, big-knuckled hand. He winked at Baba. “Nice to see you finally hanging around with a better class of people.”
    Baba bit her lip, clearly amused.
    Liam just rolled his eyes. “I’m a policeman. I usually spend my time with either criminals or lawyers. Hard not to improve on that company.”
    The bartender grinned, working some sort of alchemical magic with orange juice, vodka, and about six other ingredients. “I heard there was a commotion over at the fracking meeting. Did somebody finally take a shot at Peter Callahan?” His freckled face looked mildly hopeful.
    â€œNot this time,” Liam said. “Just high tempers getting the better of folks. No big deal.”
    Tyler nodded and moved off, taking his potent elixir with him.
    â€œYou know that wasn’t just high tempers, right?” Baba asked, a serious look replacing her amusement at Tyler’s good-natured ribbing.
    Liam sighed, draining the rest of his first beer and plunking the bottle back down on the bar. On the other side of the room, the band surged enthusiastically into an Elvis medley.
    â€œWe’re not going to be able to hear ourselves think in here,” he said. “I don’t suppose you play pool?”
    One corner of Baba’s mouth edged up, and she put her own empty bottle down decisively next to his. “I have been known to knock a few balls around, from time to time,” she said. An evil glint flitted into her eyes and then vanished before he could be sure he’d actually seen it. “I find it mildly entertaining.”
    They picked up their full beers and made their way through to the back room, where the repetitive clicking of hard-plastic balls could be heard over the blessedly muted noise from the front of the bar.
    Liam grabbed a pool cue off the wall and racked the balls while Baba chose her stick. He pondered the many questions he’d like answers to, trying to figure out which one to start with—and whether there was any point in asking any of them, since his companion seemed as disinclined to give him straight answers as the wind was to blow on command.
    He jiggled the rack a little until the balls were all sitting the way he liked them, then removed the white triangle and hung it back in its place on the wall. Across the table from him, Baba looked as cool and implacable as always.
    â€œSo,” Liam said, his tone studiously casual as he chalked the end of his cue. “How about some stakes to make things interesting?”
    One dark eyebrow rose. “Gambling, Sheriff? I’m surprised at you.” She applied the blue cube of chalk to her cue, blowing the excess off with a gentle puff of breath that did risky things to the neckline of her top. “I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of carrying much cash.”
    He shrugged. “I was thinking of something less tangible, actually, but more valuable to me. How about for every ball I