across the room to where Tom and Pedro were playing pool. They would be no problem. In fact, most of the Daonain wouldn’t care what species the waitress was so long as the drinks arrived in an expeditious manner. They might even be pleased since he’d been short-handed since Tiffany had returned to college last month.
For the human haters… It helped she was female. With the scarcity of female Daonain, women were revered, and that regard would likely be extended to this human.
“Miss Waverly,” he said, drawing her attention. “I don’t have any need for kitchen help. However, although I already have a waitress, I could use a part-timer.” He hesitated and cautioned, “The bar can occasionally get rather rough. Perhaps-”
“It sounds perfect.” She toasted him with her bottle. “Waitress and bouncer combined in one.”
His jaw dropped. “You do not understand. That was a warning.”
She tilted her head, and her lips quirked.
He brought to mind the efficient way she’d dealt with the trucker. No noise during the altercation, no hysterics after. “Indeed, what was I thinking? Your hours would be seven to eleven on Tuesday and Wednesday, four to two- thirty on Friday and Saturday. I pay standard wages; you keep all your tips.”
She held out her hand. “Works for me.”
He took her hand, feeling the calluses on the delicate fingers. She was no stranger to work…or to fighting. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“I studied martial arts for a while.”
“Apparently you were an excellent student. Yes, I believe we have an accord. You may start Friday.”
“Great. Now that’s out of the way-is there any chance I can borrow a book?”
What an excellent day-some fun beat-up-the-bad-guy exercise, a new job, a good book. With a wiggle of content, Vic settled herself in the comfortable swing on her front porch and picked up her paperback. A Clancy. Amazing how much the author knew, considering he’d never done covert ops. Maybe she should take notes.
She put her good leg up on the railing with a grunt of pain and sat back carefully. Her ribs were fine until she moved, then it felt as if someone was shoving a buck knife into her side.
Oh, well. She had coffee steaming on the adjacent small table, a book, a comfy swing, and the sun was warm on her legs. The scent of damp grass mingled with a cool piney breeze off the looming mountain, and she didn’t start work until tomorrow. Aside from the fact she had a battered body, had lied to her boss, still had to tell some old guy his grandkid was dead, and needed to investigate weird beastie things that looked the same as normal people, life was perfect.
Taking a sip of coffee, she swirled it in her mouth and hummed in pleasure. Coffee and chocolate-the inventor of mocha should be sainted.
As she tipped the cup up, movement in the big oak tree caught her attention, and she tensed, then relaxed. Not a sniper-branches weren’t thick enough-but what was it? No flutter of wings, no bushy tail. Maybe a cat?
Keeping a wary eye on the tree, she set the swing to gently rocking and dropped the book into her lap. Despite all her preparation, she couldn’t concentrate on reading. Too much hung over her head.
Could Lachlan’s remains have been returned to his family? The local police and ambulance crews had been on- site, so she doubted Swane could spirit Lachlan’s body away. The coffee turned bitter on her tongue as guilt slashed through her.
But she wasn’t a Marine now. In black ops, there were no teammates.
Concentrate on finding Lachlan’s grandfather. Surely the people here would talk about the kid, whether they thought he was missing or knew he was dead. So just listening might work, even if it took longer.
And what better place for gossip than a bar? She grinned. That had been righteous good luck, being in the right spot to play hero and score a job. It had been good luck for the little girl as well. Vic’s gut tightened at how the trucker had swung at Jamie.
Forcing the tension out of her muscles, she tilted her head back. The puffy white clouds above were piling up against the mountains and growing darker. Probably would storm tonight. Did werecats run around in the rain?
She sure didn’t know.
Hunting cougars in the woods is out.
How about searching for shifters in their human form? Not much easier. Like she could run around with a cattle prod and zap townsfolk until one turned all furry? She snorted. Aside from upsetting the local populace, that overly clever sheriff might not warm to the idea. He was already too focused on her and her business.
She remembered too well how he’d studied her with those dark green eyes… Hell, he’d watched her like a kitten watched an ant, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
She pulled in a long breath at that thought-the sheriff pouncing on her, pouncing and then bouncing, that firm mouth on hers, that long muscular body. Just the way he moved-like a warrior-set her insides quivering. Guys like him were hell in a fight and totally the best in bed.
After a sigh, she sucked down some coffee.
Funny how that worked. A close call left her with this…need…to prove she was alive. And nothing demonstrated that faster than sex.
But not this time. A quick fuck with the sheriff might win some information, but would be as dangerous as poking at a rattlesnake. She had a feeling his curiosity wouldn’t diminish with a bout in bed. Probably the reverse.
Ah, well. With a disappointed sigh, she picked up her coffee. Damn but being a good soldier sucked sometimes.
Okay, cougar baiting, whether human or kitty, was out. She’d just have to treat this as a straight information- gathering mission. Let the gossip, the facts, everything flow in without trying to divert it in any one direction, and then filter out the good stuff and see where it led. Lachlan had said there were more shifters here. If so, eventually she’d get an idea how to track them down.
So. I have a plan.
And hey, she had an actual job too. She glanced over at the mountain and tried to locate where the tavern perched just above the town. It was right about-Something in the oak tree rustled the leaves again. The nearest branches bent down, almost touching the porch, and as she watched, a tiny hand the size of a dime snatched an acorn and disappeared.
Chapter Four
Late Friday afternoon as the sun sank behind the mountains, Vic hurried across the sparsely filled parking lot and shivered as the frigid wind went right through her clothes. Damn cold town, especially after sunset. She needed to buy herself a jacket.
She pulled open the heavy oak door of the Wild Hunt, and groaned happily as warmth wrapped around her. The room wasn’t too crowded yet. A few scattered people sat at tables. The small couches by the fireplace were both occupied. She gave the blazing fire a wistful look before scanning the right side. Three skinny guys with spiked hair and untucked T-shirts acted goofy by one pool table; two older men with John Deere caps and plaid shirts were at the other. The sound of a ball hitting the pocket was drowned out by a whoop of joy. Looked like the tavern wasn’t all that busy, despite it being a weekend. Good. How long had it been since she waited tables?
Her new boss stood behind the bar, mixing a drink with his back to the room. His shoulder-length, raven-black hair was tied back with a leather cord which was a pity. Looked like it’d be fun to play with. He had a really nice ass
