Page 329 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

“You’re not here to meet your friends to plan your next vacation either, I take it.”

“I don’t know if I can plan next week’s groceries. My boss was just indicted on federal charges of financial fraud.”

“Ouch.” He winced on her behalf. “They don’t hand out those out lightly. My cousin is a day trader on the floor in Chicago. I’ve heard his stories about guys who thought they could do a few backroom deals and cheat the system. Never goes well.”

“Guess not.” She took a liberal swallow, letting the booze create a trail of warmth down to her hollow stomach.

“If you don’t mind me saying, you’re gorgeous.”

A surprised laugh bubbled from her, and she blushed at the random compliment. “Um, thanks?”

He rubbed his ear. “I meant, if you’re hard up for cash, you could pick up shifts here with me. I wouldn’t mind splitting tips. The regulars would love you. A pretty girl bartender always draws a crowd. I could put in a good word for you.”

“That’s sweet, Ray.” She licked the sugar on the rim of her glass. “I’ll get back to you on that.” She should keep her options open.

Suddenly she realized she’d just shared gossip-worthy details she should’ve kept to herself. In small towns, people ate that up. Sometimes she missed her vast hometown of Las Vegas. Its bawdy outrageousness deflected attention, providing easy anonymity.

Ray bent to retrieve a beer from the glowing, waist-high fridge beneath the shelves showcasing rows of liquor bottles, their reflections dancing in the mirrored backsplash. He set it in front of a regular and then exchanged a low-spoken conversation with the barback. Had she sparked the flames of a rumor mill that would rage out of control by morning?

Oh, hell. She rubbed her forehead, remembering her boss’s explicit instructions: Go straight home. Talk to no one.

But how could she process the shitstorm of today without telling a single soul?

Landmark Financial had been swarmed by SUVs with tinted windows, anchored by local police with blue and red lights flashing. Word would likely spread fast, regardless of her one-martini confession to a local bartender.

Pained by the uncertainty of her situation, she glanced forlornly out the wide storefront window facing the parking lot of the strip mall. Suspicious activity caused her to pause.

She narrowed her eyes. Wait—is someone breaking into my car? My brand-new car!

Slamming down her drink, she shot off the bar stool and raced toward the window. She’d heard about a recent rash of car thefts in town but wasn’t about to confront a hoodlum alone. Grabbing her phone from her purse, she was about to dial 9-1-1 when the guy ran in the opposite direction.

Relief washed over her. Before she made it to the door to see if her car was okay, an ear-splitting explosion rocked the parking lot.

Flinching at the catastrophic sound and the white-hot burst that singed her retinas, she reeled back. She held up her arms in defense as if she’d viscerally felt the impact.

The violence of the blast had shattered her car windows. The turquoise shards ringed her vehicle like a macabre necklace against the black pavement. Flames devoured the seats, scorching the red exterior.

A sound of horror scraped from her throat.

The deafening blast and her guttural cry drew other patrons to the window, flanking. Some took out their phones to capture video and pictures of the flames now engulfing the car, while others dialed emergency numbers.

The blaring noise and shouts around her sounded muted, far away.

“This is unreal,” she whispered to herself, staring unblinkingly at the carnage. She felt this on a deeply personal level.

Had that man been planting a bomb? But no, he was clearly trying to break in. Maybe he’d accidentally sent it off…which meant…

Go straight home… Her boss’s direct order.

What if she had? Would she be engulfed in flames right now, along with her car?

Dark inklings registered in her mind—things she’d passed off as insignificant about her boss’s unusual dealings and behaviors in the past six months, ever since she returned from her Hawaii trip.

Should she have paid more attention? Asked more probing questions? Or would that have only gotten her into trouble, perhaps even accelerating what had just happened in the parking lot?

Worst-case scenarios darted like poison-tipped arrows through her mind. She hated to think Mark would cause bodily harm to anyone—least of all her, his devoted office manager of the past four years…

No. No way her boss would plot something that diabolical… Would he? To get rid of the one person who might unsuspectingly possess intel on him that could land him in federal lockdown?

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