Search and Rescue by April Wilson

Chapter 27

Killian Devereaux

 

It’s nearly nine o’clock when we’re on our way to her friend Ruth’s tavern. Most of the businesses in the little downtown strips are closed for the night. Only the bar, the diner, and a laundromat down the street remain open for business. Still, the street is lined on both sides with parked cars. It looks like this is the place to be on a Saturday night in Bryce, Colorado.

Since street parking is full, I drive around to the back of the building where there’s some available slots. I hold her crutches as Hannah lets herself drop carefully to the ground.

When she’s steady on her crutches, I lean down to kiss her. Technically, I’m on duty, but I’m not here tonight as her bodyguard. I’m here as her boyfriend. That’s a helluva big difference.

I take a second to slip my earpiece in and clip the attached radio to my belt. The wire is pretty well concealed by my jacket. I coordinated with Owen, who’s going to be here with Maggie tonight. He’s wearing his earpiece as well.

We enter through the back door and walk down a dimly-lit hallway to the front of the bar, passing the door to the kitchen on our left and two unisex restrooms on our right. The bar itself is packed tonight. To our right are the tables and booths—most of which are occupied. Over to the left are pool tables and dart boards—all busy. There’s a small dance floor in the center of the room where half a dozen couples are dancing to some honkytonk song being played by a five-piece band on the stage. It kinda reminds me of home. You can’t step foot in a Cajun bar without hearing live music, and of course folks are dancing.

Hannah waves at a corner booth. “There’s Maggie.”

As we make our way over there, sidestepping tables and servers rushing back and forth from the kitchen and bar, I survey the room, noting all the points of egress. Several people stop Hannah to say hello. A few of the women give her hugs. One guy—a blond cowboy—tries to give her a hug, but I stare him down, and he thinks better of it and goes on his way.

Hannah glances back at me and shakes her head with a laugh. “That was Steve Evans. He’s harmless.”

“Didn’t look harmless to me. He looked grabby.”

Maggie and Owen are seated on one side of the booth, the other side being empty. A woman with a long braid of straight black hair stands at their table, her hands on her hips. She’s wearing blue jeans, well-worn cowboy boots, and a long-sleeve blue-and-white plaid shirt. I’m guessing she’s Ruth, the owner.

When we reach the booth, I take the crutches from Hannah so she can slide into the seat. I lean her crutches against the wall near our table.

The woman with the braid eyes me blatantly as I approach, as if she’s sizing me up. She has a stunningly beautiful oval face, high cheekbones, eyes dark as midnight, and dark lashes. Her skin is a warm brown. Clearly, she’s Native American. “You must be Killian,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am.” I offer her my hand, and we shake. She’s got a firm grip. Yeah, she’s the boss around here. It’s written all over her.

“Pleased to meet you,” she says as I slide in beside Hannah. “I’m Ruth. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Is that so?” I ask. “Seems I’ve hardly been in town long enough to be talked about.” I know how small towns work.

Ruth winks at Maggie. “A little birdie gave me an ear full.”

“He got me out of that ravine in one piece,” Hannah says as she hands me a menu.

Ruth pats me on the shoulder. “So I heard. Supper’s on the house tonight, big guy. As a token of my appreciation for what you did for our Hannah. In case you weren’t aware, we’re pretty fond of her around here.”

“I understand it’s your brother we have to thank for flying Hannah out of that valley.”

Ruth nods. “Micah flew choppers in the Army. He now runs an auto repair shop here in town, but in his spare time he runs a helicopter tourism business. His chopper comes in hand on occasion.” She nods to the menus. “I’ll send someone over to take your orders.”

I look to the others—Maggie’s sitting against the wall, Owen beside her. Owen hasn’t said a word, but when we make eye contact, he nods in greeting. He’s not one to talk a lot. I notice he’s got his earpiece in, as I’d asked him to.

After we look over the menus, a young woman comes to the table to take our orders. She’s young, blonde, bubbly, and all smiles.

Hannah orders a burger and fries, along with a bottle of Fat Tire. “I have a designated driver tonight, so I can drink.”

I order the same, but without the beer. A soft drink instead.

Maggie orders a grilled chicken sandwich without the bun, and Owen orders a steak.

“How’s your ankle?” Maggie asks Hannah.

“Good. I should be running again in no time.”

I make a scoffing noise, and Hannah rolls her eyes at me.

Our server brings us our drinks.

Maggie takes a sip of her dark ale. “I guess dancing is off your itinerary tonight.”

“I don’t know,” Hannah says as she sips her beer. “If I’m careful….” She looks my way.

“No dancing,” I say, shaking my head emphatically.

“I don’t know about that,” Maggie says with a devilish grin. “Bella danced with Edward with a broken leg. I’m sure Killian can keep you from face-planting.”

I look to Hannah. “Am I supposed to know what she’s talking about?”

Laughing, Hannah bumps my shoulder with hers. “I can see we need to watch Twilight soon.”

The whole time the girls are yammering, I continue to scan the room, getting a feel for the place and doing a bit of surveillance. I find Owen doing the same thing. I guess we can’t help ourselves. It’s second nature for both of us.

The blond guy who attempted to hug Hannah earlier stops by our table. “Hannah! How’s your ankle? I heard you took a bad fall while hiking.”

That’s the official story. The local police recommended that we keep any details about the poachers out of the public news while the investigation is ongoing.

“Hi, Steve,” she says, smiling up at the guy. Obviously, she knows him. “Steve and I work together,” she says to me.

I reach for my Coke. “I see.” But I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. Or the way he’s eyeing me, like he’s trying to size me up. Don’t even go there, pal.

When our server returns with our food, I glare at Steve, and he gets the picture. “Well, I’ll see ya later, Hannah, okay?”

She waves goodbye as she sticks a fry in her mouth. “Okay. See ya.”

I glance down at Hannah. “So, how many men here have crushes on you? What’s the total number?”

She laughs. “None of them. You’re too sensitive.”

“Hardly.”

Owen catches my gaze and quietly says, “Check your nine o’clock.”

I shove a fry in my mouth and casually glance to my left. There’s a guy seated alone at a table for two. No food. Just a couple of beer bottles in front of him.

I continue to watch him out of my peripheral. Dark hair, dark eyes, about five-ten. He’s too far away for me to see if he has a scar on his face, but he sure matches Hannah’s general description of one of the poachers. The one she said was the boss.

I turn back to face Owen, who’s sipping his soft drink. He’s not drinking either tonight. I shrug. “Could be,” I say quietly. “He meets the description. I need to get closer to see if he has a scar above his lip.”

“He’s watching her,” Owen says quietly.

I grab Hannah’s hand beneath the table to get her attention. When she’s looking at me, I murmur, “The guy sitting alone, near the stage—do you recognize him? Could that be one of your attackers?”

She frowns. “Possibly. I can’t see his face clearly enough to see if he has a scar.”

It seems unlikely that we’d just happen to run into one of the chickenshits here in a public place, but I can’t take any chances. It’s entirely possible, especially if they’re actively looking for Hannah.

Owen nudges my boot under the table. “He’s on the move.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the dark-haired guy is walking toward the bar. “Be right back,” I say abruptly, giving Owen a signal to keep an eye on Hannah. 

I approach the bar, coming up alongside my target as he’s ordering another beer, I slip in on his right side so I can get a good look at his face.

Bingo! He’s got a scar on his right cheek, exactly as Hannah described. When he notices me looking, I nod and do my best to sound friendly. “How’s it goin’?”

He doesn’t respond, though. Instead, he walks away from the bar and heads down the hall toward the rear door.

Well, shit.

Before I can follow, a woman behind the bar says, “So, you’re the mysterious Cajun Hannah’s been telling us about.”

I turn to see Ruth standing across the counter from me. “I guess that’s me, as I’m pretty sure I’m the only Cajun Hannah knows.”

She looks me directly in the eye, both her stance and her demeanor radiating confidence. “What are your intentions regarding Hannah? I warn you now, she’s got a lot of friends here. Any one of us would be happy to run you out of town if you get out of line. Starting with me.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Hey, did you happen to notice the guy who was just here beside me?” I draw my finger down my right cheek, tracing the path of the guy’s scar. “Scar?”

She nods. “What about him?”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Sorry, no. I’ve never seen him before. Why?”

“He fits the description of one the men who assaulted Hannah. I just wondered if you knew him. The sheriff is trying to ID them.”

Another bartender yells down the line at Ruth, asking for a draft beer. She grabs a tall glass from a rack overhead and pours it, then sends it sliding down the bar to a customer three seats away. “I’ll ask around,” she promises. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Thanks, but no. I’m not drinking tonight.” I glance back at our table to check on Hannah. She and Maggie are laughing uproariously about something, probably something to do with Owen, as he has a rather dour look on his face.

I realize I’m right when Maggie bumps her shoulders into Owen’s, grinning at him, but he doesn’t even crack a smile. That makes the girls laugh even harder, and Maggie throws her arm around Owen and gives him an apologetic squeeze.

“I’ll let you know if I see him in here again,” Ruth says.

“Thanks.” I return to our table and slide in beside Hannah. “He could be our guy. He has a scar just like the one you described.”

Hannah shudders. “If his friend shows up, we’ll know for sure.”

The band starts playing a slow song, and couples take to the dance floor. We’re done eating, so I hold my hand out to Hannah. “Would you like to dance?”

She grins at me. “Really?”

“Sure, why not?” The truth is, I love to dance. You can’t grow up Cajun and not love dancing. It’s in our blood. You get a group of Cajuns in one place, add a band and some live music, and everyone ends up dancing.

“Okay.”

I slip out of the booth and grab the crutches, then I help Hannah to her feet. Once we’re on the dance floor, I grasp her around the waist while she balances herself with the crutches.

“You really like to dance?” she asks me. “Most guys act like it’s torture.”

“I’m Cajun, love. It’s practically a requirement.”

One song turns into two, and we’re swaying together to the beat of a slow song. My hands are on her waist, but I’m ready to catch her at a moment’s notice.

“Do you really think that was him?” she asks. “The lead chickenshit?”

“Might have been. I guess we’ll find out when we leave.”

“You think they might follow us home?”

Home. I love the way that sounds. “Yes, if it’s really him. He won’t recognize me, but he’ll recognize you.”

She shivers. “Maybe coming out tonight wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

“I’ll alert Nelson, just in case. We’ll be prepared. Plus, we’ve got Owen for backup. Hey, the sooner these guys crawl out from under their rock, the sooner we can put an end to this cat-and-mouse game.”

Hannah frowns. “What happens then, Killian?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Once they’re caught and the danger is over, what’s next?”

“You mean what’s next for us?”

“Yeah.”

I bring my hands up to cup her face. “I guess that depends on you. If it’s up to me, I’m staying.” Her lips tremble, and I suspect she’s fighting a smile. “Do you want me to stay, Hannah?”

As she nods, her dark eyes fill with tears. “Yeah, I do.”

“Okay. Then it’s settled.” And to seal the deal, I lean down and kiss her. “I’m staying. I’ll call Shane in the morning and give him my resignation.”

I laugh at the panicked look on her face. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I’ve got some money saved up—and I’ll figure out something else to do for work around here.”

“This is what I was afraid of—you uprooting yourself because of me and walking away from everything you’ve built. Your friends, your job.”

I slide my arms around her waist and draw her close. Her head fits perfectly just below my chin as I hold her to me. “I’m not losing anything, Hannah. I’m gaining something priceless.”

That idiot Steve bumps into me. “Oh, sorry,” he says, as if it was accidental. Yeah, right. “Hey, Hannah, how about letting me cut in?” He holds his hands out to her. “I promise I won’t let you fall.”

“Sorry, pal,” I say. “She’s spoken for.”

“What?” Steve looks a bit dumbfounded as he stares at Hannah. “Who is this guy?” he asks her.

She grins. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend?” Steve looks devastated. “What the fuck? Since when?”

“Since now,” I reply. “So back off, buddy, or you and I are gonna have words.” Then I make eye contact with Hannah. “I told you so.”

Hannah shoves me playfully. “Oh, stop.”