“She did for a while. Guess it was too hard commuting back and forth with her daughter up here in the Horseshoe Bay region with her parents. Getting to British Columbia was no longer an easy three-hour drive over the border.”
“But she and Zoe were together. I heard she was … trying to make a go of it with Zoe’s father again.” At least that’s what his sister-in-law had told him. Part of him just wanted Lily happy, but another part of him desperately wanted—Don’t go there, he reminded himself. Don’t do it.
Santiago shrugged. “I don’t get involved in my staff’s love lives. I’d need a damn social secretary for that. I’m just glad she’s back.”
My God, given this new DB intel, he’d have been keeping tabs on her had he known she was back in the area. “Does she know about this new threat against Trackers? She’s not going out alone, is she?”
“She’s in charge of on-the-job training for the rookies coming out of Tracker Academy. So, yes, she knows about the threat and, no, she’s not alone. Jesus, Alfonso, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you still had a thing for her. Still wish she was your Agency contact? Your handler? I’m sure we can arrange to have her handle something of yours, if that’s what it’d take for you to join the team.”
Alfonso’s gums ached as his fangs threatened to elongate. Santiago had no idea. The guy could laugh all he wanted, but he had no fucking clue. Not even Lily knew the truth about why he’d left her. He grabbed a saw blade off the shelf and shoved it into the cart.
“So what do you say? Can I count on you this time, Alfonso? Can we make an honest man of you yet?”
“On the contrary, I’m afraid you’ve given me the best reason of all not to come back.”
Santiago raised his brows, clearly clueless.
Alfonso pushed the cart toward the checkout stands. “Lily.”
CHAPTER THREE
“WHAT’S so interesting on the other side of that window? You’ve been staring outside all night.” Although Mel had first served the guy almost an hour ago, she’d not had the gumption to strike up a conversation with him till now.
Not that she was timid or anything—far from it—but he had that don’t-mess-with-me vibe, and she did her best to respect that. As a bartender in this joint for years, with the gray hair to prove it, she’d learned who was approachable and who wasn’t into chitchat. He fell into the latter crowd. But something about his expression made her ask tonight.
He pulled off his knit cap and ran a hand through his hair. Right now it was mainly dark blond, but some strands were much lighter. She’d be willing to bet that in the sun, it’d bleach out to a surfer’s golden blond.
She cracked open the longneck—only his second since he’d arrived—and slid it toward him, the wisp of escaping carbonation evaporating into the air. The guy nursed his alcohol like a first-time mother did her baby.
Not really expecting an answer to her question, she wiped a small water spot from the polished oak bar and grabbed his empty. But as she turned away, she was shocked as hell when he replied.
“Just keeping an eye on an old friend.”
She retrieved a fresh bar towel from the stack under the counter and flipped it over her shoulder. His leather bomber jacket, worn to a lighter shade of black around the wrists and neckline, creaked just a little when he lifted the beer and took a long swallow.
“Friend, as in friend? Or friend, as in an enemy you want to keep tabs on?”
“A friend.”
Having just tossed the bottle into the recycle where it rattled with the rest, she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. She lifted her eyebrows, waiting for him to say more.
Somehow he didn’t seem like the type to be pining over some woman, nor could she picture him as a stalker. More like the other way around.
The guy was working-class handsome, with rugged hands that no doubt knew how to swing a hammer and a slight limp he tried to conceal. He definitely wasn’t an accountant. A light stubble covered his jaw, and his eyes, despite their crystal-blue color, were intense and hinted at something a little frightening. Yes, his picture could seriously be in the dictionary next to dangerously handsome. She prided herself on being a pretty good judge of character. No, the guy wasn’t a stalker. But a heartbreaker? Oh, yeah.
He saw the question in her expression and tipped the bottle toward the window. “A woman I used to know is over there. In the Pink Salon.”
Ah, but maybe he was jealous. The Pink Salon wasn’t a place people went for a dart tourney with coworkers. “How long ago did you two break up?”
He narrowed his eyes. So her guess had been accurate. “Last year.”
“And she’s out with someone else?”
“No, working.”
“Yo, Mel,” called one of the guys at the far end of the bar. “Show us a little love down here.”
She filled a couple drink orders, and when she returned, Mr. Not-An-Accountant was still looking outside. Several club hoppers stopped on the sidewalk in front of the window. He scooted his barstool a few inches to the left to get an unobstructed view of the garish pink sign across the street.
As she polished nonexistent water stains, Mel scrutinized him further without making it appear she was. She knew if you looked a reluctant guy in the eye, he’d clam right up. But keep your gaze focused elsewhere, and he’d yap like an ankle-biter when the doorbell rings.
“She a bartender like moi or a waitress?” she asked, somehow doubting his ex was one of the high-priced hookers who frequented the place.
The left side of his mouth twisted up slightly, revealing a fleeting dimple. “No.”
“A cop then?”
“Sort of.”
She was dying to ask him what a sort-of cop was, but didn’t want to continue pressing her luck.
Noticing the time, she flipped the channel on the small flat-screen that hung at an angle on this end of the bar. One of the local stations replayed last week’s high school football highlights at midnight. She was a sucker for anything that reminded her of being younger, and watching those fresh faces who thought they were grown-ups always brought her back. She took a drink order from one of the waitresses and filled two glasses with Jack and Diet, but when she glanced at him again, she couldn’t resist another question.
“Some bad stuff went down over there the other night, but I heard they caught the guy.” What kind of a twisted SOB would have the cojones to kidnap a woman in front of all those people anyway? “Your ex involved in bringing him down?”
“It’s my understanding that she was. The main thing is, he’s off the streets and won’t be seeing the light of day for—let’s just say a long time.” There was that dimple again. But it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Mel nodded and turned back to the TV, still listening.
“She’s doing routine stuff tonight.”
One of the kids on the highlight reel caught a flea-flicker, broke an almost-tackle, then ran it in for a touchdown. Beautiful. A little thrill shivered down her spine and the guys clustered at the other end of the bar cheered with gusto. Yeah, she wasn’t the only one who vividly remembered those Friday-night games, although from the looks of it, those guys weren’t going to be remembering much of anything tomorrow. She should probably consider cutting