“I’ll wait here instead. Parking’s crap over there. Pick me up?” The truth was she didn’t trust herself to drive. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was racing.
There was the slightest hesitation before he replied, “Sure. Sure I will, Camellia. I’ll be there soon.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Wolf
Wolf had pulled the phone away from his ear when Camellia had answered it the way she had. Who the hell had she thought he was? She’d sounded furious, and then, after she realized it was him, shaky. She was scared.
He drove to the library. He’d already been in town, so it wasn’t far. He didn’t even park, just pulled up beside her car.
She got out the driver’s door and re-locked it. Then she hopped into his passenger side quickly and gave a good look around them before she focused on him.
Her eyes didn’t look right—wide with pinpoint pupils. He put the truck into gear, but he didn’t drive around the block to Joe’s. She sent him a question with her eyes. Dang, those eyes hit him hard every time they latched on. He thought there ought to be a ricochet sound effect.
“I thought of a better spot. The Dark Pony. Out of town, quieter.”
“Okay.”
“Because you seem nervous here.”
“Do I?”
“Your head’s on a swivel like you’re a war vet with PTSD.”
She finally looked at him and some of the fear left her eyes. She closed them, then took a deep breath and released it. “Well, the PTSD part’s right. Just hasn’t acted up in a while.”
“And why’s it acting up now, Camellia?”
She pressed a hand to her chest, tucked her chin, and took slow, measured breaths, blowing each one out through pursed lips. After several of them, she said, “My ex called.”
“The stalker?” He went dark. That was the only way to describe the feeling that descended on him.
“I don’t know how he got the number. It’s unlisted. I answered, not knowing it was him.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘who is he?’”
“Who is he,” Wolf repeated. To his own ears, his voice had gone an octave lower.
“I think he meant you. I haven’t been around any otherheof late. I hung up, but he called right back. I was about to block his number when you called.” She lowered her head. “Sorry I yelled at you.”
“I just wishhecould’ve heard it,” he said. “I wouldn’t mess with a woman who sounded like that, nossir. So you finished blocking the number, right?”
“Yeah, and I’ll have to change mine. I know the drill. This is a violation of the restraining order, too, so I’ll report it.”
Wolf’s emotions were more tumultuous than their short acquaintance called for. He couldn’t sort that out and didn’t try, because he needed to focus on Camellia. He could deal with his own feelings on his own time. She’d seemed really scared. But also appeared to be getting past her panic. “Does he know where you live?”
“I didn’t live with Mom when we broke up, but he knows whereshelives.” Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she frowned, then said, “I was thinking the same thing, then remembered she’s not home. She and her bestie are shopping for their group cruise, then flying to Galveston to spend the night in a fancy hotel. They board the ship tomorrow morning.”
“Are you saying you have the place to yourself and your mom is out of town?” He asked the question with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows he instantly regretted. No flirting. She’d drop him like a hot potato. “Just kidding.” It sounded lame, tacked on the end like that. “Here we are.” He steered the old truck into a packed-dirt parking lot with only a handful of vehicles in it. The building was a slab-sided rectangle, and music spilled from its swinging doors. In a wide front window, a neon sign said “Dark Pony,” and the Y’s tail flickered like a signal light with a broken fuse.
“It’s quiet enough here,” he said. “You can see everybody in the place, and sit with your back to the wall. Okay?”
“Perfect. Thanks for being so thoughtful.”
“Sure.” He opened his door and got out, then went around to open hers, but she was already hopping to the ground. They headed inside. It was dark and cool, and a thin band of tobacco smoke hung low. The hardwood bar was short, backed by a shelved mirror where the bottles lived. A Mexican woman stood behind it, filling a stein with beer from a tap. There were six stools in front and little round tables all around. The jukebox to the left of the entrance was silent. Another woman moved around the floor, delivering orders to the folks at the handful of occupied tables.
