“Well, that’s nice of you to offer?—”

“No.” Damon’s chest pressed against her back, both arms landing solidly on the bar in front of her, caging her between him and the bar. “She’s not interested in a drink.”

She caught a glimpse of Lacy’s wide, shocked eyes and tried to send her a reassuring smile. But she didn’t know what to do between the detective, still holding onto her hand, and Damon, staring him down.

Slater slapped Detective Moore on the back. “What are you doing here, Jeff? I don’t remember you needing to meet with me.”

“You know.” Detective Moore dabbed at Ella’s finger and ignored that Damon growled behind her. “Asking a beautiful woman out for a drink. Watching a man answer for her.” He lifted his eyebrows, giving Ella another chance to answer.

Damon set his hand on her waist before gliding it across her midsection, his fingers skimming underneath the bottom edge of her shirt.

She swallowed down the gasp from the contact and shook her head no.

Detective Moore smiled. “And being late to the game, it seems. Put pressure on the cut.” He formed her hand into a fist. “Keep it like this for a few minutes. And if you ever change your mind, let me know.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, looking down at her hand and away from him.

Damon hauled her back and into his chest. He led her out the other end of the bar, toward the booth the guys normally occupied, and then down the hallway. “Are we leaving?” she asked as they approached the employee entrance. They passed the bathrooms and stopped at the door before the exit.

“No.”

“What’s this?” Ella asked, not trying to leave the shelter of his arms. His tight hold had quelled most of the shaking, although the fear still swirled through her body.

“An office. Sort of.” He pushed open the door. Various boxes sat around the room, a few covering the desk near the back. “We have a first aid kit behind the bar, but I’d rather not give Jeff more time to check you out.”

“I was worried about that. Do you think he recognized me?”

Damon pulled out the kit behind the desk and straightened, meeting her gaze. “I wasn’t talking about that.”

She swallowed as he continued to stare at her. “Oh.”

Crossing the room, he took her by the arm and guided her to a chair. After moving a box, he insisted she sit down.

“I’m sorry about breaking the glass. I can buy you a new one.”

He shook his head. “The glass is the last thing I’m worried about. This wasn’t a good idea. You need to stay at the apartment.”

No!

That was the last thing she wanted to happen. Sitting alone, relying on other people, was miserable. “Does Detective Moore come in here often?”

“No. I haven’t seen him here in at least six months, and only then there was a meeting prearranged with Slater. We work with him on the runaways if they’re local, but he doesn’t simply show up here.”

She peeked inside the napkin at the cut. “Then maybe he won’t come back.”

Damon stared at her for a long moment before his hand holding the bandage dropped to his side. “You’re serious? You’re willing to risk your freedom and your life if they pin this on you, to play bartender?”

“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds?—”

“Stupid?”

She sat up straight. “Don’t call me stupid.”

He closed his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. Sorry.” When he opened them, she saw the worry. “You can be a little more patient. Wait it out. Let us develop a plan.”

“I loved tonight,” she blurted out.

He took the napkin away and studied her cut. “Glad you enjoyed yourself, but that’s no reason to risk it.”