Judging by the yipping noise, Nyria appreciated the irony.
West sniffed around the door in a decidedly inhuman way before carefully easing it open. Whoever had run down there had either skipped the lock, deeming it pointless, or had left it undone in hopes of tricking someone into running into a trap.
“Come down here and I’ll shoot her!” The voice was male, high-pitched, and full of fear.
Bingo.
Chapter Two
Branch, Nebraska
Cara
For only the third time this evening, an incoming customer set off the cheerful chimes. It was almost never this quiet. It wasn’t the good kind of quiet. It was the something-bad-is-brewing quiet. “Be right there!” I called out, picking up the pace. Of course someone came in just as my boss, Dorothy, stepped out to smoke and I was wrestling with a replacement beer keg in the basement.
“No rush,” came the answer.
My stomach twisted. Sheriff Whitmore. I dropped the keg immediately and texted Dorothy the classic warning code, a single ‘X’. There weren’t many rules that the old gal had about her bar. Show up ready to work, treat the good customers as you would family, and if you were a woman, never, ever, ever allow yourself to be caught alone by the sheriff.
I thought about dawdling downstairs, but if he decided to come down here to “make sure I was okay” that would be even worse. I sprinted up the basement stairs and darted behind the bar just as Dorothy came stomping in from the back door, a half-finished cigarette still caught between her fingers.
Sheriff Whitmore sat in his favorite spot by the bar, and his gaze dropped to Dorothy’s hand. “Why don’t you finish up your smoke. Cara here’s got me covered.” His voice was as smooth as his slicked-back dark hair. The first time I laid eyes on him, I caught him staring at the other waitresses’ asses like he owned every woman within a mile radius of him. He came into the bar at least once a week.
Whenever I was forced to interact with him, I always wanted to shower off the resulting layer of grease that seemed to coat my skin every time he spoke to me. I had no doubt that some of the shady shit that went on in this town did so with his blessing.
“I’m trying to quit,” Dorothy lied cheerfully, glancing around. She saw the same thing I did—a random trucker passing through wolfing down dinner, a local drunk sitting in a corner nursing a whiskey, and now Whitmore. Not much of a buffer if things got ugly. During other months, there were always more travelers and the occasional group of students, but with the holidays just around the corner, this place had been near-deserted all week. “What can I get you, Sheriff?”
“I want Cara here to pour me my favorite.” His eyes were flat and cunning, calculating and cold. “You know just what I like, right, Cara?”
I did my best to keep my hatred off my face. “On the rocks or neat?”
He scowled at my non-reaction. “Neat.”
I quickly grabbed a bottle of our finest and poured a generous finger into a glass. More often than not, Dorothy let him have it on the house to keep his ruffled feathers soothed when his flirtations failed, and a high-quality pour never hurt. Hell, I’d chip in to cover the costs too if Dorothy would let me. She never did, though. What’s an old lady like me gonna do with the money? she’d rasp out. Keep it. Save it. Get the fuck out of here.
I was trying. I really was. One more semester at the community college one town over and I’d be free to go wherever I could get a job. One with real benefits and a future that didn’t involve getting harassed by men with too much power.
When I slid the drink his way, I didn’t withdraw my hand fast enough and he grabbed it, flipped it over to where the band-aid was. “What happened here?” he asked. His thumb brushed over my palm. Once. Twice.
I tried to yank my hand away as non-aggressively as possible. He just squeezed harder. “Papercut from a textbook.” Total lie. I cut it trying to fix a broken cabinet in my shitty apartment, but if I told him that, he’d probably treat it as an invitation to show up at my home to “help” me fix the problem.
We all know how that would end.
“You study too hard,” he said. He still hadn’t let go. “You studying to be an accountant, right? Are you planning to leave us after you graduate?”
“Might try to get a job in town. Stay with my dad.” Another lie.
“I could help you get a job,” Whitmore offered. “Could always use more help at the station. Why don’t you give me a try?”
We stared at each other, both of us knowing the other person’s pleasant expression was only skin deep.
“Shit!” Dorothy cried out seconds before a huge crashing noise echoed around the room, and it startled us enough that he dropped my hand as we spun toward the noise. She stood at the far end of the bar, horror on her face, shattered glass around her feet.
“Dorothy!” I leaped into action, grabbing a broom and dustbin. The sheriff didn’t move, frustration clear as day on his face.
“I put the damn cups here after running them through the dishwasher and…” Dorothy trailed off. “That’s gonna cost as much as we’ve made so far today.”
Actually, I’d put the cups on the counter, and there was no way she could have knocked them over without doing it on purpose. Bless her soul. “I’ll take care of it,” I said, and Dorothy quickly stepped over to where I’d been moments ago, asking Whitmore all about his day and latest case updates while I took as long as possible to clean up the glass.
“When you’re done, how about you whip the sheriff up something to eat,” Dorothy ordered when she noticed I was running out of things to do. “He’s on shift tonight and needs a hot meal to keep him going.”
Translation: he’ll be leaving soon, hang in there.
“Coming right up,” I said, and slipped into the kitchen. Our cook had the week off to spend with his family, and things were quiet enough that Dorothy hadn’t bothered asking anyone else to fill in. For the past year, I’d been available for all holiday shifts in exchange for an easier work schedule around midterms and finals. What would I do over the holidays, anyway? Drink myself into a stupor next to my father?
A moment later, a cell rang in the other room, and after a moment of silence, the sheriff laughed and said, “I’ll be there straight away. Cara, just get me a cuppa coffee to go.”
I did so quickly. “Double-cupped it and taped down the lid so you don’t burn yourself in the car,” I said with a well-practiced smile. “Hope you have an uneventful night.”
The sheriff smiled. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve got something…big coming up.” He winked at me as he got up to leave, like I was supposed to understand the joke. I didn’t, and it worried me.
“Well, good luck,” I said awkwardly, and Dorothy and I watched as he headed out, the chimes swaying merrily as the door swung shut behind him.
“Jesus,” Dorothy whispered under her breath. “Can you hurry along that degree? Never seen him grab one of my girls in front of me like that while sober before. I got a cousin out in Seyville if you ever need a place to hide—cops are good there. Well, better than here.”
“Doesn’t take much,” I murmured.
The door swung open again, and an exhausted-looking with four rowdy kids spilled in. “Y’all open for dinner?”
Dorothy gestured for me to take the lead, vanishing into the kitchen. I grabbed a handful of menus and led them to a spot smack in the middle of the restaurant, so that if the sheriff came back, he’d have a bunch of kids to deal with. “Welcome to Dorothy’s. I’m Cara, and I’ll be your server tonight,” I chirped, and let myself get lost in the hustle that followed.
Just as I was bringing the last of the dirty dishes into the kitchen an hour later, my phone went off. I set the dishes down quickly and fished my phone out. Unknown number. “Hello?” I asked, and a moment later, felt the blood drain out of my face.