“Well, that, too…” she tells me, looking down.
Those blue eyes seem a shade darker, laced with sadness.
While I think about how to steer the conversation back to happier places, I decide another round can’t do us any harm.
Glancing at the bar to get the waitress’ attention, instead I see a big man waving.
Grady. He’s staring right at us, motioning me over.
Odd.
He wasn’t there earlier when we walked in, and the serious stone-like expression behind his thick, dark beard already has me concerned.
He’s probably just curious who’s with me tonight, I tell myself.
It’s not like I bring women around here regularly.
“Hold that thought and let me get us a couple more beers,” I say, sliding out of my seat.
Tory nods as I stand.
Feels bad because I sense there’s more behind her dancing issues, something she wants to open up about, but Grady won’t look away. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.”
I walk to the bar and ask the waitress to take two glasses of beer to our table before heading over to where Grady is near the end of the bar.
“I tried calling you earlier, Faulk,” he says, his voice a low growl.
I recall my phone going off, vibrating while I’d been checking out at the grocery store. I’d forgotten about calling him back and my voicemails.
“Sorry, man. Busy day. What’s up?”
“I see that.” He nods at Tory. “Listen, the last thing I want to do is get between you and a date, but—”
“She’s an old friend. Nothing crazy. You know Granny Coffey? Of course you do. That’s her granddaughter, Tory.”
“Got it.” He takes another long look, nods thoughtfully, then leans across the bar. “Well, a couple dudes dropped by here earlier. Stopped in for burgers around lunchtime, but they were asking about you. They were awful curious if you were here in Dallas.”
My gut churns, tossing my brain into confusion.
What he just said doesn’t make sense. Unless…
Oh, fuck. It can’t be. It better not be.
“Me? You’re sure, Grady? Why?” I whisper, running a hand through my hair.
“Can’t say for sure, but I got a bad vibe off them the second they started asking questions. My gut says someone’s fishing for info on you, Faulk. Maybe even trying to buy it. I told them I’d never heard of you, but I’m sure they’ll be back. They seemed pretty damn confident you’ve got roots here.”
Shit.
My blood ices over. “Did they say a name? Who’s trying to get in touch with me?”
“No, but it’s not good news, is it? If you need help, I’m right here.”
Guilt rocks through me in a sudden flash so hard I lay my hand on the countertop for balance.
“Nah, nah, nothing like that. I’ll follow up, though. Don’t you worry, big guy,” I tell him, forcing a smile as I slap a friendly hand on his shoulder.
He’s always been good to me.
Grady’s a solid friend, a single dad to two girls, a person I know I can trust. And someone I don’t want to see hurt.
Not by skeletons hell-bent on crawling out of their closet.
There’s only one thing that makes sense with men asking around.
It’s the whole reason why I left the FBI—so no one else would get hurt thanks to my botched job—and it needs to stay that way.
There’s only one asshole I can think of who’d be after intel on me.
Bat Pickett.
Angry regret sours my blood as I glance over my shoulder at Tory.
Like it or not, if this is what I think it is, I have to take her home right now.
And then I have homework, making sure Bat’s still rotting away in an Oklahoma prison where he belongs. He’d sworn revenge the day he found out what happened to his brother.
I just didn’t think he’d ever be in a position to make good on it.
3
Goat To Be Kidding Me (Tory)
I have no good reason not to trust Quinn Faulkner.
He’s Quinn for crying out loud, the most honest man I’ve probably ever known, but somehow…
…I still have this ragey-sad-awkward pit in my stomach.
It started when Granny nearly put me in his grocery cart along with the fruits and veggies back at Filmore’s grocery store.
Poor Faulk didn’t have much choice in buying them.
He also didn’t have much choice in bringing me here tonight.
And maybe when I saw that brand-spanking-new bridge stretched over mini Royal Gorge, the pit in my stomach got bigger.
I know he was just being nice, but I wonder…did he ask Ridge to build it so he wouldn’t have to help me load the goats up once they’re finished clearing that field?
If so, I can’t totally blame him.
He’s a busy man who’s clearly done big things with his life, even if I don’t understand why he’d ever go on sabbatical from something as intense and prestigious as the FBI.
The last thing he needs is helpless old me calling him up, begging for a hand like some kind of demented Bo Peep with scraggly goats instead of adorable sheep.