Page 28 of The House Beyond the Dunes

“A hotel down the street.” She grabs a bowl of peanut shells and dumps it. “He wants to see me again.”

“Do you not hear the warning bells?” I ask. “They’re clanging in my ears.”

“Why are you so worried about this guy? He treated me well.”

I can’t explain why I don’t like Bourbon. But I can smell trouble. “I have a soft spot for people who need protecting.”

Nikki laughs. “I can take care of myself.”

I’d said the same once. And that lesson gave me real appreciation for pain, so I try to steer others away from it if I can. In Nikki’s case, I sense it’s a never-ending job.

Nikki fills five iced mugs and loads them on a tray. “Bet you five bucks Blue Button-Down goes for the redhead.”

I smile. “Sure, I’ll take your money.”

Nikki chuckles as she hefts the tray and moves toward a collection of guys sitting in a corner booth.

To my surprise, Bourbon returns to the bar and takes the same seat he had last night. While Nikki lingers at one of the booths, I grab a tumbler and the top-shelf bourbon. Without saying anything, I set the glass down and fill it.

“Good memory.” He’s staring at me when he speaks.

His vibe is still off, and there’s something worrisome about him. Can’t nail down the feeling, so I smile. “The best.”

More customers pull me away, but my thoughts never linger far from Bourbon. Nikki flirts with him every chance she gets. Maybe the kid will be fine. Lying in the back seat of my car all night while hugging a baseball bat tends to make a person paranoid.

Each time Nikki moves toward Bourbon, he smiles. He seems to enjoy it when she laughs. However, when she turns away, his smile vanishes, and his jaw pulses. Something has changed. A switch has flipped.

While Nikki closes out a tab, I hold up the bourbon bottle, and when he nods, I refill it. “Any plans for the holiday?” I ask.

He grins. “Maybe fireworks, you?”

“Behind the bar until closing time and then rinse and repeat.”

“No family gatherings?”

“Nope.”

He regards me as if being a solo is a good thing. I hold his gaze, letting him know this lone deer knows how to fight. “What about you? Family?”

“No family. Just vacation for a few days. Then back to work on Wednesday.”

I nod. “No rest for the wicked, right?”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Exactly.”

Another guy raises his beer mug and I take it, smiling as I refill it from the tap. He was here last night. Didn’t say much. Name’s Sully.

Tonight, I’ve found a rhythm, so I have time to really look at Sully. He’s in his late thirties, salt-and-pepper hair, collared shirt, rolled-up sleeves revealing muscled forearms and the bottom edge of a sleeve tattoo. He’s some variation of a cop because, remember, I’m good at spotting trouble. And for me, cops generally mean problems.

“You’re back.” His conversational tone is sprinkled with a couple of beers’ worth of sincerity. It’s almost Fourth of July, and everyone—including me on rare occasions—wants to have a good time. Oddly, I don’t mind making conversation with him.

“My second night,” I say. “You come here often, Sully?”

He smiles. “You remember.”

I tap my finger against my temple. “It’s a steel trap.”

Grinning, he shakes his head. “My second night, too. You going to be working here now?”

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