Chapter 22
“Beer.”
Will thought about ordering a dozen the minute he sat down. Even the words “keep ’em coming” wouldn’t do it. Not after the day he’d had. Thank God for the Nail and Bail, nasty little roadhouse that it was. And, correspondingly, thank God for Whalen. Chilling thought, but because the bar and the town existed, he could hunch his shoulders, rest his elbows on the varnished wood, and suck back his alcohol in peace without worrying about any of his neighbors walking in.
Here it was, Christmas Eve . . . eve, and it wasn’t enough that he had to deal with last-minute shoppers clogging the sidewalks and irate diners being shut out of Café Olé because the staff was busy making food for George and Casey’s wedding. No, it was Nate and Ray who had driven him completely around the bend. With time running out in the season, they’d both pulled out all the stops on their second-last day of the Christmas Wars. Zombie snowmen roamed the block outside Nate’s storefront. An elf followed Ray wherever he went, kicking him in the seat of the pants. Eventually the zombie snowmen plaguing Nate were replaced by a panhandling Santa. (Will suspected it was Burt Womack under the beard, because it was nowhere near as white as it should have been, but Heather came on duty, so he let her get to the bottom of it.) A sign appeared outside Ray’s, announcing a “ninety percent off sale” on every item and service he had to offer. Ray never had a sale, let alone ninety percent off. He must have had a similar idea, because an ad for Nate’s prefab home business appeared in the local newspaper: Purchase an actual home for a dollar. Will had to hand it to Nate—he’d kept his cool and offset the stampede by accepting dollar bills and, in return, handing out tiny plastic homes from a scale model of his subdivision. Will considered Nate the winner of the prank war for that gesture alone, but dispersing the crowd had been exhausting.
How long had he been sitting here? Could he order another beer? Wait—yes, he could, because he wasn’t driving tonight. He lifted a hand to signal the bartender, who nodded and popped the top off a fresh bottle.
He’d been so caught up in police business he hadn’t even had time to worry about Jordan. What was she up to, had Summer contacted her about helping with the teens, and did her recent silence mean she’d decided not to accept his invitation to the wedding after all? He checked his phone constantly. No word from her. Now he figured it was a lost cause, what with the wedding being tomorrow night and all.
He checked his phone now. No voice mail, no texts. Damn, when Jordan disappeared, she really disappeared, even when she was still in town. He opened his contacts and hit Cam’s number. “Where the hell are you?”
“Sorry. I’m running late—”
“So glad this was your idea. You getting here sometime this year?”
“I’m working on it.”
“I have had a day. I intend to drink quite a bit.”
“I’ll text you when I’m on my way, all right?”
Realizing he didn’t have much choice in the matter, Will grunted and ended the call, drained his beer, and signaled for a third. Cam was right; it didn’t matter if he had company or not. He felt plenty comfortable at the Nail and Bail all by himse—
“Hey, stranger.”
Oh no.
Will braced himself before turning to the person leaning in next to him. “Kyra. How’ve you been?”
“Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve been busy. How about you?”
“Totally not busy. Work, party, pass out, repeat. You know.”
He really didn’t want to spend any time with Kyra tonight. His unfailing politeness surfaced anyway, so he tried to make some requisite small talk before sending her on her way. “Ready for Christmas?”
“Got an empty space under my tree, waiting for a real nice gift,” she said in the “special” husky voice she trotted out when she wanted only one thing. “Maybe you could fill it.”
Will did everything in his power to keep from flinching when Kyra ran a finger up his forearm. Good lord. Had it really been as recently as a few months ago that he’d considered . . . ? What had he been thinking? Kyra was certainly attractive—that wasn’t the issue. It was just . . . what? He hadn’t had a problem with her before. But now he had no interest. He paused to double check. Nope, he determined. None. He felt nothing.
And now she was draping her arms around his neck, oblivious to the fact that his opinion of her had changed drastically. He leaned away, trying to politely disengage from her grasp.
“Um, hey, Kyra? Do you . . .” He was forced to physically lift her dead-weight arms off him. Apparently Kyra had been at the bar for quite a while, probably ever since her shift at the fruit cannery ended. “Do you mind? I’m going to hang out with my brother tonight, and—”
“I don’t see any brother.”
“Yeah, he’s running a little late. Anyway, you know how it is. Family and all.”
“I hate my family.”
“Ah.”
“And they hate me. Good for nothing sonsabitches.”
“Okay . . . so anyway, do you mind—?”
Suddenly Kyra stumbled into him instead of away from him, her drink spilling, the booze spreading across the bar. A dark head popped up over Kyra’s shoulder.
“Gosh, so sorry. I really gotcha there, didn’t I? Yeah, it’s gonna leave a mark. Yikes. You’ll want to put some ice on that. Oh hey, Officer! Didn’t see you there! Wow, long time, huh? Hey, blondie? Do you mind if I just . . . get in . . . here . . .”
And Jordan elbowed Kyra out of the way so effectively that before the other woman knew it, she’d been pushed behind the bar stools, completely blocked by Jordan’s blank back. Jordan fused herself to Will’s side to form an impenetrable wall.
“Excuse me!” came Kyra’s plaintive wail.
“Are you still here? Oh right, you need your drink. Dude?” Jordan called to the bartender. “Can you replace this lady’s drink? She’s having it over there.” She pointed to the far end of the bar, or more likely the dark corner booth so far away from the rest of the bar and its patrons it might has well have had a sign that read “Here be dragons.”
“What are you doing here?” Will asked, also ignoring Kyra, who was up on her toes, trying to see over their shoulders and stay in their conversation.
“I heard it was a good place to pick up off-duty cops.”
“Very funny.”
“Okay.” The meaningful look she gave him finally sank in to his slightly buzzy cranium. She wasn’t kidding.
“Who told you . . . ? Cam,” he muttered, answering his own question. Then another light dawned. “He’s not coming at all, is he?”
“Nope.” Jordan winked at him over her glass, then pulled out her phone and texted someone with just one thumb.
Within seconds, Will got a text from Cam: You’re in good hands now. I’m bowing out. Will you please go for it! He sighed heavily and put his phone in his pocket.
“Okay, what’s all this about?”
“I said I’d go with you to the wedding if you did one thing for me, right?”
“What . . . you mean the whole ‘lighten up’ thing? Are you serious?”
“Totally.” She reached out and nudged Will’s beer toward him.
“I am not getting drunk with you.”
“It’s only fair. The first time you came on to me, you were drunk and I was sober.”
“I did not—”
“Shut up. Yes you did. That time, I sent you home. Then, when I came on to you, you were sober and I may have been a little tipsy. I blame a very small amount of alcohol without food, thanks to your mom’s cooking. That time, you sent me home.”
“What about the time . . . you know. Halloween. We were both sober.”
“And it worked out so well, didn’t it? So drink up. It’s time we level the playing field.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bad sign if all this requires alcohol?”
Jordan shook her head. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, and again, and again. You think too much. I am trying to turn off the filter that keeps you from doing anything without running all the different possible scenarios first.”
“And you have no filter.”
“Darn right.”
“Hey,” Kyra snapped from behind them.
Jordan casually looked over her shoulder at the irate woman. To Will, she said, “She never takes a hint, does she?” Will hid his smile while Jordan grabbed Kyra’s new drink the bartender had placed in front of them, despite Jordan’s instructions to serve it far away, and slid it the length of the bar with a practiced arm. “Fetch!”
Kyra did.
Jordan lifted her glass and held it in the air, waiting for Will to clink it with his beer bottle. “Let’s get cracking.”
He started to toast her but hesitated at the last minute, tipping his bottle backward instead of forward. “On one condition.”
“Oh my Goooooddd what is it with you?” she groaned. “No! No conditions.”
“One condition.”
Rubbing her forehead tiredly, she muttered, “What?”
“Swear you’re not doing this to get me drunk and take advantage of me.”
“. . . I can’t swear to that.”
“You’d better, or I’m outta here right now.”
“Fine, Galahad. Your purity is safe with me. I swear,” she added, making a dopey face, which completely negated her promise immediately.
Still, she looked so darn cute sitting there, waiting not so patiently for him to agree, that he found himself grinning and tapping her drink with his. “Okay, then. I’m holding you to it.”
“That is so not the thing I want you to be holding me to.”
“Keep it clean, now, lady.”
“Not a chance.”