Braving the Heat Page 11

  “Well, keep it up anyway,” Grant repeated, pulling her attention back to the conversation. “The narcotics unit is having an easier time without him in the way.”

  “Good to know.” She suspected that if they cleaned up the area, he’d give up his dangerous hobby and everyone would be happier.

  Grant turned away from the river to face her. “Now, let’s go over the television interview this morning.”

  She didn’t bother trying to smile. “I was with my lawyer,” she replied. “He said he was heading to the courthouse to ask the judge for a gag order.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. This civil suit is the definition of frivolous.”

  “If only the judge agreed with you,” she muttered, watching a tour boat chugging upriver. That recurring urge to leave town rose up again and she punted it away. She was sticking it out right here, for Stephen as well as for her case. “Paul keeps telling me these cases usually settle and often turn one way or the other on the smallest detail.”

  She just wasn’t sure it would turn her way.

  “Sounds right,” Grant agreed. “I was given the option of filing a civil suit against the man who shot me.”

  She’d never heard that part of his story. “But you didn’t, did you?”

  “No.” Grant sighed. “What was the point?” He shrugged. “Wasn’t like a billionaire shot me,” he quipped. “My expenses were covered and I wanted to find a new place to fit in. Felt like if I’d had to tell that story one more time I’d lose my mind.”

  She could sympathize with that. Unless Murtagh dropped the suit she was doomed to relay the events of the rescue a few more times, until the case was settled. “Stephen’s bruised ribs are healing,” she said, in an obvious change of topic. “He’s moving better around the shop.”

  “Good.” Grant’s gaze followed the boat, as well. “I saw the Mustang Jason bought. If I have to invest in a car restoration to keep that boy in his garage, I’ll do it. Just say the word and I’ll convince my wife it’s a midlife crisis.”

  Kenzie laughed, the sound accompanied by a grin that felt completely natural this time. “You’re such a soft touch, Sullivan.”

  “You think so?” He arched his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  She raised her hand as if taking an oath. “If news gets out, it didn’t come from me.”

  They returned to the club and she felt remarkably lighter as she tied her apron and headed onto the floor to take care of customers. Although Grant didn’t have live music lined up for this time of day, they were doing steady business, which kept her mind away from her troubles.

  She was ready for her break when the first of the two bands on the schedule arrived for their setup. Carrying two sandwich platters to the end of the bar, she encouraged Jason to take a break with her and fuel up for what was sure to be a packed house tonight.

  “How’s the Mustang running for you?” she asked.

  “It purrs,” he said, a glint of pride in his eye. “Best investment I’ve made in a long time. I love it.”

  “Mitch and Stephen do great work.”

  “And Mitch drives a hard deal,” he agreed with a distracted smile.

  She was curious what kind of a deal he’d worked with Mitch. She didn’t want to snoop into Galway business, but wanted an opening to ask how Jason had come up with the money for such an exclusive car.

  The female vocalist did a mic check and Jason watched her, mesmerized.

  Kenzie glanced over her shoulder to the stage and then back to him. “You know her?”

  “We’ve met once or twice,” he said.

  A story there, she thought, though she didn’t pry. When Jason dragged his attention back to his food, she pulled up her courage and asked another question she’d been wrestling with recently. “Why did you move to the academy so early?”

  “It was a chance to advance,” he replied. “Not an easy choice, but the right one at the time.”

  “What made you decide to give it up to work for Grant full-time?”

  “I still teach classes at the academy,” Jason answered.

  “You do?” Of course, she wouldn’t have that sort of career option. If Murtagh won his case the PFD wouldn’t risk taking her back in any capacity.

  “You’re a great firefighter, Kenzie,” he said. “And I believe the civil suit will go your way. That said, there are plenty of other career options for you within the department and outside it. It’s comes down to whether or not you want to look at them.”

  The only viable option she could see was at Stephen’s garage. Becoming a receptionist/mechanic didn’t feel like a new career as much as it felt like hiding. And that was completely discounting Stephen’s preference to keep his business limited most days to a one-man operation.

  “Right now, I only want to get back to life as it was and forget Murtagh ever existed,” she admitted, keeping her voice low.

  Jason took a long drink of water, then reached over the bar to refill his glass. “That’s understandable.” His gaze drifted back to the stage and the petite vocalist with the dark, glossy hair gathered high on her head in a messy knot. “You have a good sense of self, Kenzie. If there comes a time when you need to make a change, you’ll recognize it and it will feel right.”

  His sandwich half-eaten, he picked up his dishes and left the bar.

  She finished her meal quickly. Yes, she had options. Firefighting wasn’t her only career path, just the one that fitted her best. Despite the support from so many people, she didn’t feel entirely whole during these days away from the firehouse. It wasn’t all about missing the action of riding out to calls to the shrill music of the sirens. Her team was her family and she missed the camaraderie and unified purpose they shared.

  Jason claimed she knew herself, but she wasn’t so sure. Did she even have a purpose away from the PFD? The question drifted through her mind as the Escape Club filled with summer concert patrons. Soon she was too busy to think about the myriad what-ifs if the case went against her. The atmosphere was fantastic, with the music flowing over a teeming dance floor. The general lighthearted happiness was a wonderful balm after her stressful morning. And tomorrow, she worked only the night shift, so she’d be able to be at the garage all day.

  Her mind on the progress she could make on her own car while enjoying the tantalizing views of Stephen working nearby, she was slow to recognize the middle-aged man standing at a high-top table at the end of her section.

  She dutifully stopped to greet him as she would any other customer.

  Randall Murtagh’s eyes were mean as his gaze raked over her from head to toe. “This is where you belong,” he said. He wore a Hawaiian shirt splattered with obnoxious orange flowers, and loose cargo shorts that left the fresh scars from his burn visible on his calf. A complete departure from the understated charcoal suit he’d donned for his interview.

  She held her body stiff when she wanted to squirm out of his view. She would not let him see her flinch or cower. “Welcome to the Escape Club,” she repeated, determined to maintain her professionalism here as she had in the fire. “Would you like to hear the drink specials?”

  Maybe if he had a drink or two, Grant could make sure he got pulled over once he left the club. Although if that happened, Murtagh would probably file harassment charges and pile that on to her civil suit somehow. Well, even the brief fantasy had been a nice respite.

  He sneered at her. “I’ll have a citywide special. Your treat, right, honey?”

  “I’m sorry. According to club policy I can’t treat you to anything but a glass of water, sir. Would you prefer water?”

  “Sir.” He gave a humorless chuckle and his beady eyes lit up in his fleshy face. “That sounds good coming out of your pretty mouth.”

  Kenzie barely suppressed a shiver. The way he’d said that, with his eyes on her mouth, creeped her o
ut. She wanted to kick him and worse. It took every ounce of willpower to assure him she’d return momentarily with his order.

  She managed not to break into a panicked run as she arrowed to the service end of the bar, prepared to report the situation to Grant. He was up onstage with the band. No problem. Jason could lend her a bouncer to escort her through her section until Murtagh got bored and left. She didn’t want him tossed out; that would give him too much power. No, she just wanted someone to hang close so the man couldn’t do anything other than toss insults at her. Although, if she asked for help, wasn’t she proving Murtagh’s point that she couldn’t even handle a tough job as a waitress?

  Logically, she knew that was baloney. Teamwork made everything work, from a busy nightclub to a three-alarm fire. He hadn’t done anything more obnoxious than be himself, and if he was in here bugging her, he wasn’t outside vandalizing someone’s car. To cover her bases, she sent her lawyer a text message about the situation while she waited for Jason to give her the beer and shot Murtagh had ordered.

  “Slow at the waitressing, too, I see,” he said with a sneer when she returned.

  Kenzie smiled and gave the man his drinks. “Would you like me to start a tab for you?”

  “Not on my dime.” He raised the shot of whiskey. “Let’s consider this a good-faith marker for what you owe me.”

  There was no sense repeating the club policy on staff buying drinks for customers. Murtagh probably thought he could get her fired from this job, too. She started a tab, noting that the customer did not give her a credit card. Documentation would give Jason or Grant room to work if he became more belligerent or tried to leave without paying. “I’ll need a credit card or permission from my manager, sir, before your second round,” she said, with as much sweetness and light as she could squeeze into her voice.

  Moving along, she worked through the rest of her section, clearing empties and taking new orders. As she passed him again, Murtagh caught her in a bruising grip, his hand a painful hook at her elbow. “You need to release me right now, Mr. Murtagh.”

  Kenzie noticed heads turning as customers nearby sensed trouble.

  He jerked her back, hard enough to make her wince. “Can’t you take the heat, tough girl?”

  That he’d made her wince had her temper leaping into high gear. She refused to give him further satisfaction by struggling. “This is the age of cell phones,” she said with a tight smile. “If you make a scene, you undermine that woeful victim image you had going on TV this morning. Your legal team won’t like that.”

  His fingertips dug into her skin before he let her go with a little shove. She caught her balance and walked away as quickly as possible. She gave brief reassurances to the few people who asked if she was all right. It wasn’t easy to pretend the incident was nothing, but she managed. On her way back to the bar, she gave herself a mental pat on the back for not needing any help to put Murtagh in his place.

  Her hands shook as she filled her tray.

  Naturally, Jason noticed. “You okay?”

  “I’m good.” She took a deep breath, smoothing back a few strands of hair that had worked free of her braids. “You know jerks happen occasionally.”

  “Where?” Jason’s gaze roamed through her section. She assumed spotting Murtagh was what made him swear. “How the hell did he get in?”

  She shrugged. “Let him have his delusions of importance,” she said. “It’s not as if he can do anything to me here.” Her arm would be bruised by morning, but that would be a problem for later.

  “Grant would want him out of here,” Jason said.

  “Then tell him once he’s done. It’s not worth interrupting his set.” She checked the orders on her tray. “He’s claiming I’m buying his drinks. I’ve only served one round and I’ll probably need some help with that issue before he leaves.”

  “You got it,” Jason promised.

  “Thanks.” Coaching herself to keep calm, she picked up her tray and turned, coming face-to-face with Stephen.

  She absorbed the view of him, let it ease the rough edges seeing Murtagh had caused. In dark khaki shorts and a pale blue untucked oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows Stephen was as tempting to her now as he was in his grease-stained work-clothes at the garage. She could tell he’d been running his hands through his hair and she almost reached up to smooth it into place.

  “Hi,” he said. His mouth tilted up at one side, as if his lips weren’t sure about giving her a full smile or not.

  “Hi.” That half smile was nearly as sexy as the scowl she’d come to expect on his face. What was wrong with her?

  His eyebrows dipped as he studied her face. “You’re pale.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s just bad lighting.”

  He stepped aside to let her pass. “Something happened.”

  “Nothing new,” she replied. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Murtagh had been a persistent problem in her life since the day she’d rescued him. “I wasn’t expecting you,” she added brightly, in an attempt to shift his focus. “How was your day?”

  “Great.” That underused, subtle smile made another appearance. “Which section are you in tonight?”

  “I’m way out tonight,” she answered. “This is a much better spot for you to enjoy the band.” From this vantage point she almost couldn’t see Murtagh’s balding head. If Stephen sat down, he wouldn’t see Murtagh, either. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She didn’t wait for a reply, eager to get the drinks delivered and get back to Stephen before this first band of the night finished. During the break there would be a flurry of people settling tabs, leaving, and new customers coming in. With luck, Murtagh would be one of them and she could enjoy the rest of her night in peace.

  She purposely went the long way through her section. Deftly avoiding a difficult customer was part of doing the job well, by preventing trouble-causing opportunities. By the time she approached Murtagh, she had only a tray full of empty glassware and bottles. Pausing, she gave him the smile she saved for surly drunks. “Do you need another round, sir?” she asked, pitching her voice so he could hear her over the band.

  “As long as you’re buying, girl.”

  “That’s against Escape Club policy,” she reminded him sweetly. Giving him his total for the special, she waited expectantly, her hand open to accept his cash or a credit card.

  He grabbed her hand hard enough to have the bones grinding together. “One way or another, you’re paying for what you did to me, little girl.”

  She barely suppressed the reflex to defend herself. A stomp on his instep, a kick to his knee and this would be over. That kind of negative reaction would likely play right into his hands. If she lost her temper, he would twist it to his advantage in the lawsuit.

  “We do reserve the right to refuse service,” she said. His grip on her hand tightened and the sharp pain brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away, determined to hold her own. “You should leave, sir.”

  “If you’re so damned capable of handling anything a man can do, make me leave.” He upended her tray, smashing glassware against her body and sending the empty beer bottles to the floor.

  “Allow me,” a rumbling voice said from behind her.

  She recognized it was Stephen a split second before his fist connected with Murtagh’s jaw. The older man staggered back, releasing her hand. She shook it automatically, more concerned with stopping Stephen as he hauled Murtagh upright by his shirt and reared back to punch him again. Kenzie latched on to Stephen, holding him back as the muscles of his arms bunched and flexed, ready to dish out more punishment.

  Cell phones were pointed at the scene from every angle and a few customers had pressed closer, protecting her. The expressions on the nearest faces behind Murtagh ranged from morbid curiosity to disgust. She understood the curiosity and hoped the disgust was aimed at Murt
agh rather than her. The Escape Club didn’t need any drama or bad publicity, and she knew her lawyer wouldn’t want to give the Marburg legal team more ammunition.

  A bouncer waded into the fray from his station near the door and Grant was coming from the direction of the stage, slicing through the crowd like a freighter through the water. The music skidded to a rough stop.

  “Let him go,” Kenzie said to Stephen. “Grant’s here. He’ll handle it.”

  Stephen stepped back, his hands raised in surrender as Grant and the bouncer took control of Murtagh.

  Grant snapped orders for the mess to be cleared and Kenzie immediately got to work, but her left hand wouldn’t cooperate. “Not you,” Grant said, with far more gentleness than she’d ever heard. “Jason, take names and numbers of witnesses.”

  “On it, boss,” Jason said.

  “Galway, get her to the back. Take pictures first, then help her clean up.”

  Kenzie knelt down once more, ducking under the threats Murtagh was spewing, to pick up broken bottles and glassware. The pieces kept slipping from her grasp. The vocalist said something, a few patrons laughed and then the music flared to life. It all sounded fuzzy around the edges, as if she had cotton in her ears. What was wrong with her?

  “Let the others do that,” Stephen said, drawing her to her feet. He tucked her against his side, and she cradled her aching hand close to her stomach.

  “But...” She noticed a trickle of blood on her arm as he guided her away from her section. If he didn’t step back it was likely to stain his shirt. “Stephen...” Her voice trailed off. He wouldn’t let her move away from him. “You should be careful,” she murmured.

  “I’ve got you,” he said. “Lean on me.”

  “I’m fine.” She willed it to be true. Every time she twitched a finger, pain lanced up through her arm, burning deep in her shoulder. It couldn’t be unbearable pain because she was tough. “Do you know why I’m bleeding?”

  * * *

  Stephen swore as Kenzie swayed. Done playing around, he scooped her up and barked at people to clear a path. Though she protested, it was weak, and he didn’t set her down until he reached Grant’s office.