Quentin had his hands on his hips, the jeans he wore riding low on lean hips with a plaid shirt and a V-neck sweater over it. The shoes he wore probably cost more than her monthly car payment. He’d clearly been in a fight, then he’d rolled around in busted glass and spilled liquor to save her ass,and he still looked like he’d stepped right out of a men’s fashion magazine. She hated him for that—more than a little.
“I got into a fight with my brother,” he replied evenly.
“You and Clayton? That’s hard to believe.”
“Not Clayton,” he answered. “Myotherbrother…the new one.”
She wanted to know more, but given what she already knew of Samuel Darcy, she was a little afraid to ask. The Darcy family drama was way more high-end than her own homegrown variety, but that didn’t make it any less toxic. The degree of Quentin’s inability to commit to anything other than running away from relationships was proof positive of that.
On the surface, Quentin appeared to have it all together. He dressed nicely, drove a nice car, went to work every day, and while he drank more than he should, he never got sloppy. And if the day ever came where he couldn’t just drop the bottle without looking back, she knew he’d quit or die trying. Quentin Darcy was too determined to never need anyone or anything to be an addict. But he was still a hot mess on the inside, and that son of a bitch Samuel Darcy was one hundred percent responsible for that. Good Lord, did she really want to go down that road again?
Parts of her said yes. They said it eagerly and with great enthusiasm. He wasn’t the only lover she’d had since her divorce, but he was certainly the best. No one had ever made her feel the way he did or made her feel the same kind of intense need that he did. Recalling just how good it had felt, how dazed and desperate he could make her with nothing more than a touch, Lowey knew that her willpower had no chance of outlasting her need for him. She’d cave. It was just a matter of time.
The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than the sound of approaching sirens filled the bar. Gravel spewed as they flew into the parking lot like a bunch of stunt drivers, or more accurately, like a bunch of overgrown adolescents in cars they didn’t have to pay for.
“If they scratched my paint…” he muttered.
Lowey rolled her eyes. He babied his car. She was pretty sure he petted it and called it pretty names when no one was looking. “It’s fine. I’m sure your car is fine. If it’s not, either your insurance or mine will cover it.”
“That’s not the damn point, now is it?” he asked.
The door, or what was left of it, flew open with enough force that it banged against the wall. One of the already fragile hinges simply gave way and it listed to one side a little asSheriff Silas Barnes strutted in. Like the cock of the walk, as her grandmother would have said, she thought bitterly. God, she hated him—him and his whole damn family.
“Looks like you’ve had a rough day, Lowey. But it’s never an easy thing…running a low-rent establishment like this. Especially when it caters to the lowest population in the town,” Silas said.
“My patrons did not shoot up my bar, Silas,” she snapped. “Your cousin did…the one who is onparoleand who I was supposed to be notified of his release since he tried to kill me and all.”
Silas smiled. “We’re behind on paperwork. Budget cuts. Besides, there’s no way to say for you to be sure that Joey did this. Why, I just talked to his mama, and he’s sitting at home on the couch right now. Been there all day.”
Lowey laughed. “His mother who is so cowed by every single bullying man in your family that she wouldn’t even sneeze unless one of y’all gave her permission?”
The smile never left Silas’s face, but there was a coldness in his gaze that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. He was just as cruel and vicious as Joey. He’d just gotten better at covering it up. “I don’t like your tone, Mrs. Barnes.”
“Tate,” she snapped out the correction with a little more heat than was wise when dealing with an officer of the law. More calmly, she continued, “My name isMs.Tate. I took it back the second I shed myself of your worthless cousin…he was here. He shot up my bar. He could have killed any one of us!”
“You’ve got no proof,” Silas said. “I’ll be happy to take a statement and write up a report for your insurance company that an unknown assailant allegedly damaged your property.”
Quentin wanted to strangle the smug bastard. While he knew that Lowey wanted to handle things on her own, he also knew that because of her history with Barnes, it would never be handled fairly. Silas Barnes was as crooked as a dog’s hind leg, to quote Evelyn’s favorite phrase. She’d been with the Darcy family for a generation, so clearly, she’d know.
“I saw your cousin’s truck driving away, Silas. Cut the bullshit, and go pick his ass up!” he said.
“But did you see my cousin?” Silas shot back.
Silas Barnes was a first-class asshole, Quentin thought. But there was no way to answer that question to their benefit without lying. His fists clenched at his side, Quentin kept his tone cool. “No, only the vehicle. But I imagine it would beeasy enough to ask around town and see if anyone else saw Joey driving it in the last half hour or so.”
Silas wasn’t smiling. He looked like he was choking on something. “Don’t you tell me how to do police work, Quentin. The Darcys might have the run of everything else in this town, but they don’t own the law…not yet anyway.”
Quentin knew better. Samuel had been paying Silas off for a decade, ever since he took office. He’d overlooked, covered up, blatantly ignored, and pinned shit on other people to benefit Samuel for years. But pointing that out wouldn’t help Lowey. So Quentin did something he hated more than he hated the bastard in front of him. He swallowed his pride. “Just a thought, Sheriff. No offense meant.”
“Well, there was plenty taken,” Barnes replied. “Make a list of the damages and get it to me, along with a written statement of what happened. I don’t need to tell you that naming a suspect without any proof would not go well for you, do I?”
Lowey sighed. “No. You don’t have to tell us anything, Silas. You’ve made yourself very clear. I’ll have the list and the statement to you tomorrow morning.”
“You too, Darcy,” Silas added. “Being local gentry doesn’t get you out of your civic duty.” The last was utteredwith a smirk and a tip of his hat as Silas turned and headed for what was left of the door.
When the man had left, Quentin looked straight at Lowey and said, “I hate that fucker.”
“Yeah, well, find me someone who doesn’t.”
