Travis (Pelion Lake) by Mia Sheridan

“Ah. Well, I understand. You were focused on scantily clad women. They’re difficult to miss.”

“No.” His head turned slightly as though following someone’s movement. “I was focused on revenge.”

“Revenge?” I laughed but he did not. “Revenge?” I repeated.

He tapped his fingers on the counter as he looked back at me. “Yes. What’s wrong with exacting revenge when a wrong is done to you?”

I considered that. “Well, it depends on the circumstances I suppose. It just sounds so . . . melodramatic. But if it’s vengeance you seek, I have faith you’ll achieve it.”

His fingers stopped drumming. “Do you? Why?”

“Because as someone who works for the Pelion Police Department, you certainly yield considerable power . . . have weapons of mass destruction at your disposal, friends willing to assist you in making others disappear. Your enemy doesn’t stand a chance.”

He grinned that brilliant grin again. And again, it didn’t affect me whatsoever. This man was gorgeous, yes, but he was obviously petty, prone to rudeness, definitely on a power trip, and God help the person who had wronged him, whoever that was. “I’m the chief of police, not a mob boss.” He paused. “But you obviously recognize importance when you see it. You’re very observant.” The corners of his eyes crinkled very subtly, and I resisted a laugh.

“I have to be. It’s part of the job description—knowing just what combination of grass and birdseed will benefit my clients the most.”

“Sounds tricky.”

“It can be. Some cases are harder than others.”

“I bet. In that case, I would like to order one of your blended concoctions. Surprise me.” He held his hand out. “We met on unfortunate terms the first time. I’m Travis Hale.”

Travis. I wondered if he was the Travis the two women at my bar had just gossiped about. What had they said? He’d broken up with—and likely cheated on—his girlfriend and that, shamed and heartbroken, she’d hurried off to Florida to . . . tan?

I wondered at the combination of fact and fiction that might be contained in their casual remarks. He wasn’t one of those smarmy, cringe-invoking flirts I’d seen here more than once. Although he was clearly self-assured. He was more difficult to peg than most, I’d give him that. Eventually, though, one side or the other would assert dominance. Time would tell. Although I only had a finite amount of that, so perhaps I’d never know.

Whatever.

I wiped my hand on my apron and gripped his. “Haven. From California. As you know. And I think I have just the thing for you, Chief Travis.” I walked over to my blender and began adding ingredients. “Protein powder with collagen for those . . . bones you’re so fond of.” I was rewarded with his soft chuckle from behind me. I added some fruit and almond milk and then I used my scissors to snip one of the plants. “Wheatgrass for stealth so that your enemy may never see you coming. Spirulina to give fortitude for when the fight grows difficult, and carrot juice for clear vision so that you might see when this revenge you speak of is no longer worth your while.”

I pushed blend, poured the smoothie into a glass, stuck a straw in it, and turned and placed it on the counter in front of Travis. I was rewarded with an amused smile. But his expression dropped when he eyed the—admittedly—murky-green smoothie. “Looks can be deceiving,” I reassured. “Try it.”

He screwed up his face as he lowered his lips to the straw, squinting one eye as if bracing for the possibility that he might be about to sample sewer runoff. He sucked in the barest amount, his eyebrows shooting up, and his lips tipping. He took a bigger swallow. “That’s good.”

“You feel stronger already, don’t you?”

He raised a brow. “Strangely enough, I do.”





CHAPTER FIVE




Travis



“Travis Hale, you didn’t eat half of your breakfast. Is something wrong with Norm’s cooking all of a sudden? And what about that?” She pointed at the blueberry muffin sitting next to my plate, sugary-cinnamon crumbs covering the top. “Bree brought those over just this morning. They couldn’t be any fresher.”

I took a swig of coffee and then rubbed at my stomach. “It’s not the food. I think I might be coming down with something, that’s all.”

Maggie frowned, leaning over the diner counter where I sat at my regular seat and putting the back of her hand to my forehead. “You don’t feel feverish. Maybe you should go home. When was the last time you took a sick day?” She nodded at my new recruit, sitting next to me, shoveling Norm’s O’Brien potatoes into his mouth as if this might be the last meal he’d ever eat. “Spencer can handle things for one day, right, Spencer?”

Spencer nodded, but before he could speak and show us a mouthful of chewed food, I intervened. “No. I’m fine. Just something that needs to run its course.” The truth was, my stomach felt fine, but my appetite was still affected by the sour mood I’d been in since I’d walked in on my girlfriend in bed with another man.

The picture was burned across my retinas and there was a strange pinching feeling in my gut that wouldn’t recede.

Maggie studied me for a moment and despite being a grown man with a gun strapped to his hip, I almost squirmed under her perusal. “I heard you and Phoebe broke up.”