The back door rattles again, sending a sizzle of adrenaline-fueled fear over my skin. Maybe the nipple thing is fear.
Jake shoves the bat back into my hands. “Lock yourself in the office. Call 911,” he mutters, low, before striding empty-handed down the hall to the back door.
I don’t move. All I can do is stare at his wide back, the T-shirt stretched tight over places I didn’t know muscles grew. His stride is long and heavy and fearless, his spine straight. He turns the lock, then works at what looks like a second one, then flings open the door and I don’t have time to wish he’d kept the bat for his own protection. All I can do is watch as he jerks someone inside, one-handed and without apparent effort, then pins him to the wall, his meaty forearm pressed to the intruder’s throat.
“What the fu?—”
The words cut off sharply when Jake leans in.
“Who’re you?”
“Keith?” I come up behind Jake and stare at the man I employed for four years, currently hovering a good six inches above the ground, his hands struggling to release the bar of human muscle that’s got him in a headlock. “What are you?—”
“This the guy?” Jake’s blank-eyed stare meets mine over his shoulder. “The one who stole from you?”
I nod, dumbfounded.
Jake turns to look at Keith, head tilted at a curious angle. “You here to ask for your job back?” I’d almost think he was joking if his low voice wasn’t so deadpan. “Position’s been filled, asshole.”
“Bitch owes me money,” Keith says, tearing off another little chunk of my heart.
How many days did we work together? How many hours? Exhausting double-shifts that felt like triumphs when the last person left and the door closed and we’d served every one of them above and beyond. Working together in a place that gets packed every weekend is like putting on an amazing show or, I don’t know, fighting a fire. Anyone who’s worked in food service knows that the right staff, thrown together under pressure, bonds as tightly as a family. I’d trusted Keith, gotten close to him,caredabout him.
“You call the cops?” Jake’s deep rumble cuts through the pain of betrayal.
I shake my head.
“Good. Give me a minute.” With brutal efficiency, Keith is dragged outside. The door closes behind them.
I’m left standing stunned in the silent back hall, wondering what, exactly, I’m agreeing to by leaving Jake alone with my ex-employee.
Will he hurt him? Dispose of the body, mob-style? I don’t even know what Jake went to prison for. I figure it couldn’t have been worse than my brother, since Frank’s spent the last decade inside.
Crap. I’ve got to stop him. I throw open the door in time to watch Keith, bent double, stagger down the alley and disappear into the street beyond.
When I face Jake, he’s looking my way, his eyes in shadow.
“What did you do?” I ask, filled with a weird, light-headed trepidation.
3
Jake
“He won’t be back.”
Kitty watches me with those big, tragic eyes and for a handful of seconds, I consider going after the little prick and finishing the job.
“Did you hurt him?”
I shake my head, walk to the door and hold it wide, waiting for her to go through before I pull it shut behind me.
“Did you somehow know he was coming tonight?” she asks. “Is that why you stayed late?”
Another head shake from me. She doesn’t move, just stands there in the shadowed hall, craning her neck to look up at me, probably waiting for more of an answer.
“Just fixing the shelves.” It’s not a complete lie. I’m working on the shelves. But I also stuck around last night and fixed the baseboards in the kitchen. The night before, I installed the extra lock back here. Then when she was about ready to leave, I went out and waited in my car until she drove away.
Her stare moves from me to the door and back. “Did you install that? The dead bolt?”
