“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Fiona swallowed as she crossed the parking lot with Jenny. It was dark, but that wasn’t the reason she was afraid she might trip. It was the nerves. The ones skittering through her belly, causing her knees to feel weak and her ankles to wobble. Because this was the bar where, a little over a month ago, she’d been grabbed in the bathroom and dragged out by a criminal with a gun.
She swallowed. “I’m okay.”
It was a half lie. She had been feeling okay. Right up until the building came into view and nightmarish memories started to taunt her. But that was exactly why she needed to do this. Why she’d asked Jenny to come get a drink with her. She hated feeling weak or like she couldn’t do something. Yet, every time she passed this bar, that was exactly how she felt. The fear, the nausea…the helplessness. Yeah, there was definitely a bit of helplessness. It sucked. Hell, she’d even started taking longer routes to get places just so she didn’t have to pass this bar.
Nope. All of that needed to stop, and it needed to stop now.
“Okay,” Jenny said carefully, watching Fiona closely from behind her large frames and bangs. “But if you’re not okay, we can go at any time. Really. Just say the word.”
Jenny had only moved to Cradle Mountain after that terrifying night. Fiona had told her bits and pieces, playing it down like the entire event hadn’t left her traumatized. But the night had been plastered all over the news and social media. Some people in the bar had even taken videos during her traumatic ordeal.
People were sick.
She swallowed as they stepped inside the bar, then paused.
Interesting. No pounding heart. No shortened breath or trembling limbs. She just felt…normal. In fact, the hum of people talking was almost soothing. The clinking of glasses against tables. The beat of the music.
A small smile curved her lips. See, this is why she’d needed to come here tonight, to show herself it was a safe place again.
She linked her arm through Jenny’s, a new lightness in her chest. “Come on, let’s get a drink.”
She weaved through the crowd, only coming to a stop when they reached the bar. Jenny tugged at her skirt, and Fiona felt a flash of guilt for bringing her here. She hadn’t been against it, just hesitant. Fiona had a feeling she didn’t get out much.
A man with a lip ring stepped in front of them from the other side of the bar. He had a sleeve of tattoos down his right arm and piercing blue eyes.
“What can I get you, ladies?” His gaze paused on Jenny, one side of his mouth lifting.
Her friend blushed, and it made Fiona grin. She raised her voice so the man could hear her. “Whiskey sour, please.” It was her go-to.
Jenny wet her lips and took a moment to respond. “I’ll have the same.”
The second the bartender moved away, Fiona nudged Jenny’s shoulder. “He’s cute.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“You should talk to him.”
Her friend’s brows rose almost to her hairline. “No, I couldn’t.”
“Why not? He was looking at you like he’s interested.”
She lifted a shoulder, glancing at him, then back. “Because I don’t do that.”
Fiona frowned. “Talk to cute guys?”
“Yeah.”
The bartender returned and mixed the drinks in front of them before handing them over. Fiona went to pay, but the guy shook his head, eyes only for Jenny. “It’s on the house.”
Fiona’s grin widened, but too quickly, Jenny mumbled a barely audible, “Thanks,” and turned.
Fiona followed, lowering her head to Jenny’s ear. “Just my opinion, but I think you should make talking to cute guys a thing. He’s hot!”
And she didn’t blame the guy. Her friend was cute. Tonight she’d put some waves into her bob and shadow on her eyelids, making her blue eyes look huge behind her frames. Plus, she wore a short skirt that showed off a hell of a lot of skin, paired with a tight black top that was low cut and made her breasts look amazing.
“Maybe after I have some liquid courage,” Jenny said, stopping at a tall bar table. “And what about you? Are you going to talk to any cute guys tonight?”
She scoffed. “I don’t think so.”
“That wouldn’t be because you’re thinking about a certain tall, dangerous ex-Marine who saved your life, would it?”
Fiona gaped at her friend. She hadn’t even told Jenny about that, though the news had spread like wildfire amongst the older librarians. “Absolutely not. Because I know nothing will ever happen there. I mean, you’ve seen the man. He’s six and a half feet of drop-dead gorgeous. My ex wasn’t half as good looking as him, and you know how that ended? In heartbreak. The next man I date will be short and chubby with a little bit of balding on top of his head.”
Jenny made a face. “Really? He has to be chubby and bald?”
“Yep. He’ll treat me like a queen.”
“Hmm. Okay. So, Callum doesn’t tempt you because you’re waiting for short, chubby and bald.”
“Yep.”
“And if you saw him here tonight, you wouldn’t be affected?”
“Absolutely not.” She could coexist with the man and not turn into a puddle on the floor in his presence. She sipped her whiskey sour, almost wanting to give herself a pat on the back at her confidence in the matter.
“Great, because he’s sitting over there in a booth, looking directly at you.”
What? She whipped around so fast, the whiskey spilled onto her hand. When her gaze collided with Callum’s heated light brown eyes, she almost spat out her drink. He wore a white shirt that pulled far too tightly across his chest, and his powerful fingers circled his glass, the veins in his hands standing out.
Oh, hell no. This was not how her night was supposed to go. Although, was it surprising he was here? He’d been here that fateful night she’d been taken hostage too. In fact, he’d driven her home that night. Was he always here? Was this his usual hangout?
God, she needed to find a new bar, because everything she’d just said to Jenny was a lie.
One big. Fat. Lie.
One side of his mouth lifted. The smile was almost mocking, like he knew exactly what effect he had on her, and he enjoyed it.
Argh. She tugged her gaze away to find Jenny with a knowing smiling and a raised brow.
“Don’t say a word,” Fiona warned.
“Okay.” She sipped her drink, and her nose scrunched in distaste.
“Not a fan of whiskey sours?”
“No, I’m a beer girl through and through, but that guy had me in a fluster and I just ordered what you did.”
Fiona laughed, even though she probably shouldn’t have. “I’m sorry I’m not a beer girl. Although, I pegged you as more of a chardonnay-in-the-bath-with-a-book girl.”
“I guess looks can be deceiving.” She took another sip, yet again scrunching her nose. “Do all cocktails taste like this?”
Fiona chuckled again. “No. I’ll get you a sweet one next.”
They spent the next hour talking and laughing. In that time, Fiona did everything she could to not look over her shoulder at Callum. Every so often, the urge got the better of her and she peeked over her shoulder. And each and every time, the man’s gaze went straight to her, like he could feel her eyes on him. Dammit.
On the third gaze collision, she looked away and threw back the last of her whiskey sour before stepping away from the bar table. “I’m going to pop over to the bathroom. On the way back, I’ll grab us some more drinks. Beer or sweet cocktail?”
“No, actually, this is growing on me. I’ll have another.”
“Are you sure?” Jenny’s nose scrunches said otherwise.
Jenny took another sip—and yep, another nose twitch. “No, you’re right. I need a beer.”
She thought so. “Sure.”
She weaved through the crowd to the bathroom, brushing against heated bodies. God, it was busy tonight. It had been busy the last couple times she’d come too…before the incident. Not that she was surprised. It was a Friday evening, and this was probably the most popular place in town.
She stepped into the bathroom—and immediately stopped at the tightness in her chest. It wasn’t expected, because she’d been doing so well. Maybe she should have seen it coming, seeing as it was the bathroom where the guy had grabbed her.
Her gaze rose to the window on the back wall, near the ceiling. It was closed, hopefully locked. That night it had been open. The breeze had brushed over her skin…a breeze she nearly swore she could feel in this moment.
She almost stepped back out…almost.
No. She was safe. Any feelings of panic or fear were in her head and not based on the reality of her moment.
Straightening her spine, she moved into a stall. When she stepped out, she turned on the tap, letting cool water rush over her skin.
A large, cold hand slipped over her mouth, rough and calloused, then she was pulled back against a hard stomach.
Fiona closed her eyes, her breaths coming too quickly. No. She was not back there. No one had a hand over her mouth. Nobody stood behind her.
She turned the tap off and grabbed some paper towels.
The muzzle of a gun pressed to her temple. Her stomach dropped. Her world stopped.
She stumbled back.
Stop it, Fiona.
“Hey, are you okay?”
A hand touched her shoulder, and she spun around so fast the towel slipped from her fingers. A young woman with bleached-blond hair stood beside her, hand on her shoulder.
She gave a quick, jerky nod. “Yes. I’m fine.”
Quickly, she grabbed the paper towel, threw it into the trash, and walked out of the bathroom. She brushed someone’s shoulder, and they gasped when their drink spilled.
Blood roared between her ears, but she still heard the gasps of the people around her. The rush of footsteps as people shuffled back, to get away. Because they saw what she felt. The muzzle of the pistol to her head.
She stopped, pressing a hand to her chest, trying to force air in and out of her body. But it wasn’t just her lungs that felt tight, it was her throat too. The air itself was too thick to breathe.
The music had stopped. Everyone stared. Then a girl was talking to the man holding the gun to her head. The woman’s words were too quiet to hear over the roar of blood between her ears.
She tried to pull herself back to the present. People hadn’t stopped. The music still played. And there was no man behind her with a gun.
Two more steps.
The pressure of the gun to her head began to lessen. Was he letting her go? Would he release her? Her knees began to tremble with relief.
Then the sound of a gunshot cracked through the rush of blood between her ears. For a single heartbeat, she wondered if the bullet had hit her. If the shock and fear were numbing her from the pain of it cutting into her flesh. Then the body behind her disappeared, thudded to the floor.
The man who’d held her had been shot…not her.
Her gaze lowered to her shoulder to see wet, crimson blood. It coated her. Bathed her. Choked her.
