Grady’s
emerald eyes held a glint of excitement but also warned her of the dangers of
falling for him. She heeded that warning and would never take him seriously. At
the moment, she was in his world, and she took him extremely seriously.
His
eyes turned cold and flat, as if part of him were a million miles away.
“What
do we do?”
“We
do nothing,” Grady told her. “You go home. I’ll phone Uber.”
“I
can help.”
“You’ll
help more by leaving.”
“Sorry,
partner.” She blocked his route back to the bar and felt for her holstered gun.
“I can get a message to Guhleman. No one in the bar has seen me before.”
Grady
laughed. “What? You’re going to walk over to him in your picnic clothes?”
“These
are my serving-food-from-my-truck clothes. T-shirt. Capris. Sneakers.”
T-shirt.
Tori looked back down the hall toward the bar, and then toward the ordering
station where the waitresses came to pick up drinks and drop off empty glasses.
“You
stand out in this shithole as much as I do in a sports jacket and khakis.” Grady
scowled. “More in fact, if you walk up to Guhleman the way you’re looking.”
There
was a stack of small serving trays, right there, by the bartender’s cash
register. Tori said, “He needs to be warned.”
She
pulled off her T-shirt, unsnapped her bra, and handed them to him. “What should
I tell him?”
Grady
looked at her, looked down at the shirt and lacy bra dangling in his hand. “Jeez,
Tori.”
She
felt the heat in her cheeks as much as the coolness from the air-conditioning
against her bare back and shoulders. “What message do I give him?” she asked
again.
No comments:
Post a Comment