Page 2 of Forbidden Fruit

"Word travels fast," I quipped, leaning against the bar, my fingers absently polishing a glass that didn't need cleaning. "Question is, why didn’t you order one?”

The man’s lips curved into a smile, reminding me of the slither of a rattlesnake.

“I preferred to check out the person responsible for everyone’s guilty pleasure.”

The hairs on the back of my arms bristled, and I cleared my throat.

“Please excuse me, I've got other customers."

"Of course," he said, but there was a weight to his words that lingered like the scent of heavy cologne in an empty room.

Turning to other patrons, I busied myself with orders and laughter, letting the rhythm of the bar soothe the unease that had settled in my chest. But every time I glanced back at Burt, there he sat, observing, waiting.

The night waned, and after last call, I tossed my apron aside and slipped out the back door into the alley. The cool air was a slap to my senses, and I welcomed it. I needed to clear my head, to shake the feeling of being watched.

"Raya Kinkaid," a voice echoed off the brick walls, sending a jolt through me.

Burt stepped out from the shadows, the dim light glinting off his badge. "FBI. I’m Agent Burt Stamford."

I stumbled backward, my hand searching for the wall to steady myself. "What do you want?"

"Let's talk about those raspberries you’re using to make your martinis, shall we?" He advanced, each step measured and deliberate.

"Look, if this is about some health code violation…"

"Cut the crap, Raya." His tone was sharp now, no longer the playful banter from before. "I know about your little forays onto Evans' land. I'm also aware of your...colorful history in Texas."

My blood ran cold. "That's in the past. And what do you mean my forays onto Evans’ land? What land are you talking about? Have you been following me?"

"Don’t play dumb with me, little girl. Nothing stays buried forever," Burt said, and the threat in his voice was unmistakable. "But I'm willing to overlook certain indiscretions if you help me."

"Help you with what?" I asked, though I already dreaded the answer.

"Maxwell Evans,” he replied. “Or at least that’s what he’s calling himself these days. He owns the private land on which you’ve been trespassing to collect your signature fruit.”

“What?” I gasped, clutching a hand to my chest. “I’ve been trespassing? I didn’t know, I swear! I discovered the raspberry bushes one day while hiking in the woods! I thought they were just growing wild!”

Burt chuckled and then spat onto the pavement. “Yeah, right. Even if you are telling the truth, no one would believe you once they learn who you really are.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked, leaning back against the rough bricks, wishing they’d fall away to reveal some secret escape.

“Like I said,” Burt continued, “Maxwell Evans, the landowner. I know he wouldn’t be happy to learn that you’ve not only been sneaking onto his private property, but also making money off his fruit. Let’s just say there's more to him than reclusive billionaire antics. The FBI has their finger on him, and I need someone on the inside."

"Blackmail isn't my style," I retorted, but the resolve in my words faltered under the gravity of his proposal.

"It's not blackmail; it's an opportunity." Burt's eyes bore into me. "Get close to Evans. Find out what he's hiding. I want to know who’s in his inner circle, who he does business with, where all his money really comes from. Get me the intel I want, and your secret stays safe."

"Or?"

"Or Sweet Cocktails loses its star bartender to a scandal. I suspect the media would have a feeding frenzy with what I know. Can’t you just see your photo plastered all over the entertainment rags?"

"Dammit," I muttered under my breath. My mind raced, but the path forward was as clear as the gin in the bottles behind the bar.

"Fine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do it."

"Smart choice." Burt's lips curled into a semblance of a smile. "Welcome to the game, Raya. It's going to be one hell of a ride."

I attempted a deep breath, willing myself to remain calm. I’d been through worse, after all. But the alley was a cold slap of reality, the stench of garbage a stark contrast to the lingering scent of raspberries on my hands. Burt's words hung in the air like the low fog, chilling and omnipresent, a reminder that no matter how far I ran, my past would always be there like a hidden mine. One misstep was all it would take, and the beautiful new life I’d work so hard to create would go up in smoke.

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