Page 4 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

That’s it. For the rest of my shift we keep playing this bizarre little game. He stares. He drinks. He orders another, and every time I set the glass in front of him he looks up and says the same thing.

“Thanks, doll.”

No conversation, just two words and that damn look. It’s creepy as hell.

Near the end of my shift, I notice him lift his hand slightly from the corner booth. It’s just enough to catch my attention across the crowded bar. I assume he wants another whiskey, so I grab the bottle and make my way through the maze of tables toward him.

“You ready for another?” I ask when I reach the booth.

He glances down at the empty glass in front of him and then back up at me.

“No.” He nudges the empty glass aside with his fingers. “Go ahead and bring me the bill.”

“Sure,” I say.

When I come back with the check, he pulls a black card from his wallet and places it neatly inside the folder without even looking at the total. I take it, run it through the register, and return a minute later with the receipt and a pen. He signs it quickly and then slides the paper back toward me.

“Thank you,” he says.

I nod and pick up the slip. As I turn to leave, his voice follows me across the booth.

“Have a good night, doll.”

A few minutes later, when I circle back to wipe down the table, it’s empty except for the glass and the folded receipt sitting on the napkin where he left it. I pick it up to throw it away but glance down at the total out of habit. The bill was thirty-seven dollars. The tip line reads $200.00. I stare at it for a second before looking toward the door he walked out of.

“Sarah,” I call across the bar. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Chapter 2

Katie

By the time my shift finally ends, my feet ache, my hair smells like whiskey, and my brain feels stuffed full of cotton. I wipe down the last stretch of the bar, toss the rag into the sink, and glance around the quiet room. The TVs are still playing, but the volume is low now.

“Lock up behind you,” the owner calls as he heads for the door.

“I know,” I mutter.

Sarah left almost an hour ago, which means I’m the last one here. The second the crowd thins out, everyone else disappears, leaving the unlucky closer to deal with the silent aftermath. I shut off the last row of lights, grab my purse, and push out the back door into the alley. The door shuts behind me with a heavy click that echoes off the brick walls.

Downtown Los Angeles never really sleeps, but the alley behind the bar is its own strange pocket of quiet. The distant noise of traffic and music from nearby clubs drifts between the buildings, softened by distance, while the narrow strip of pavement itself sits mostly empty. My car is parked where I left it earlier that afternoon, squeezed between the dumpster and the wall.

I unlock it and slide into the driver’s seat, tossing my purse onto the passenger side. For a moment, I sit there enjoying the quiet before turning the key in the ignition. The engine coughs weakly and dies. I frown and try again. The same pathetic sputter answers me before the car goes silent.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter, turning the key once more.

The engine groans and gives up completely. I lean back against the seat and stare at the ceiling while the reality of the situation settles in. It’s two in the morning, I’m sitting in a dark alley behind a bar, and my car won’t start.

“Fantastic.”

I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, debating whether it’s worse to wake someone up or call a tow truck and sit here alone until someone shows up. I’m still staring at the screen when headlights sweep across the alley, bright enough to make me look up. A black SUV turns off the street and glides into the narrow space behind the building. My tiny Honda looks ridiculous next to it. The glossy paint reflects the yellow streetlight as it rolls forward almost silently before coming to a stop beside my car.

For a moment, nothing happens, and then the rear passenger window lowers slowly. Sitting inside is the man from the bar, looking exactly the same as he did earlier that night.

“Need a ride?” he asks calmly.

My brain takes a moment to catch up. “You followed me out here?”

“No,” he replies easily. “I waited.”