Chapter 7

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about that phone call?” Skeeter shouted as he barreled around the corner toward me.

The bartender jumped at the sound of Skeeter’s voice, his eyes widening in fright. He ducked behind the counter, grabbed a laminated menu from the counter, and held it over his head. One of the guys at the pool table in the corner froze while his buddy jerked his shirt sleeve, trying to get him to take cover under the pool table.

Taking a deep breath, I wiped my face and turned to look at him. My phone vibrated in my hand, but I stood and shoved it into my pocket.

“Because you were too busy treating me like your property,” I said.

He paused in front of me, his upper lip curling in a sneer. “Have you been sitting out here crying?”

“Cry over you?” I asked. “Don’t flatter yourself. I have far bigger issues than your PMS.”

The exasperated look in his eyes told me that he wanted to counter my insult, but instead he motioned to my pocket and growled. “Did Simmons call you back?”

“No. I called Mason—not that it’s any of your business. I wanted him to know about J.R.’s threat.” I could see a tantrum brewing, so I cut him off at the pass. “Calm down. He’s not going to tell Joe.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“Because he won’t. He knows Jed is more qualified to protect me, so he doesn’t feel he can risk it. You know I’m right. Mason came to you last week.”

He studied me for a moment before nodding his head. “We shouldn’t be discussing this out here. Come back to my office.”

“What?” I demanded, putting my hands on my hips. “And risk getting thrown out?”

His eyes darkened. “Rose.”

I pointed my finger at him. “Don’t you Rose me. There’s nothing more for us to discuss, so I’m going back to work.”

I started to spin around, but he snagged my arm and lowered his face to mine. “We’re not done,” he said.

“Says you.” I shook off his hold.

He tilted his head and gave me a look that told me he expected me to fall in line. “I’m taking you under my protection. I don’t give a rat’s ass what the D.A. says.”

My mouth dropped open. “Wait. You discussed me going into hiding? With Mason?”

His forehead furrowed. “We need to have this discussion in my office. Anyone can hear us.”

I wasn’t sure who he thought was listening. The only patrons at the moment were the statue in the corner and his buddy, who was about to tip him over if he kept pulling on his shirtsleeve. “Answer the question, Skeeter!”

“Yes, we had that discussion last week. He wouldn’t even consider it.”

“Oh, my word!” I groaned. I spun away from him and shook my head in disbelief.

Thinking better of it, I turned back and poked my finger into his chest. “Let me make something perfectly clear, Skeeter Malcolm.”

He took a step back, his eyes wide in surprise. But I kept jabbing as I spoke. “I am my own person. You do not own me. Mason Deveraux does not own me. I own me. Do you get that?”

A sly grin spread across his face. “If I say yes, will you stop poking me with your scrawny finger?” he asked.

I gave him one last poke for good measure. “I expected better of you.”

He rubbed his chest, wearing a smirk that made him look like a cat who’d caught a barn full of mice. But when that grin faded, it was replaced by a seriousness I’d only seen a few times. This was the real Skeeter Malcolm, the man hiding behind the bravado, and I was fairly certain he didn’t show it to many people.

“You’re right. I should have discussed this with you, not him.”

I nodded sharply, then pushed out a breath. “Thank you.”

“But I really do think you should let me put you up in a safe house.”

“For how long? J.R. could be a threat for years.”

He shook his head. “No. Simmons will be dealt with sooner rather than later. The real question is whether or not your boyfriend will let you go.”

I narrowed my eyes. It was easier to mask my pain with anger. “In case you haven’t realized, this is the twenty-first century. This is my decision, not his. And I’m not going. I could be there for years. I don’t have time for that nonsense.”

He leaned closer again, his voice low. “I could protect you better there.”

I looked up into his dark eyes. “Are you going, too?”

Skeeter snorted as if I’d asked him if he were joining a mime troupe. “Hell, no.”

I shook my head and took a step back. “Then neither am I.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “You don’t make things easy for me, do you?”

“No one asked you to watch over me.” When he started to protest, I scowled. “I never asked you to watch me.”

“If you think I’m leaving you alone, then you’ve got another think coming.”

The fact that he cared made me feel better, a little less broken, like spackle over a gaping hole, and when I spoke again it was in a softer tone.“I really do need to get back to work.”

He looked like he was wrestling with something, then said, sounding gruff, “Now that you know we’re watching, it would be helpful if you gave Jed your schedule.”

“Fine,” I said in an angry huff, even though I agreed that it was a good idea. Right now it felt easier to be adversarial.

Skeeter shot Jed a laser-focused stare, then disappeared into the back. The bartender’s head poked up from behind the counter like Punxsutawney Phil, the menu still lifted over his head. The man frozen in the corner looked like he’d actually turned to stone, but his friend, who was staring at us with a mouth like a guppy’s, had finally stopped pulling his sleeve.

“What was that about?” I asked, walking to the exit.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “So are you really going back to work?”

“That’s my plan. After that, I’m heading to the farm with Neely Kate.”

“No dinner?” he asked smugly.

I narrowed my gaze, my jaw set with irritation. “You might want to rethink that gloating, or I’ll make it ten times harder to follow me for the next few days.”