“Don’t worry about me,” she says sweetly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Of course I’ll worry about you.  But I think I’ve figured out a way to ensure your safety. If you’re agreeable to it, that is.”

“What is it?”

She looks suspicious, which I think is kind of funny.

“It doesn’t involve you being locked in a room anywhere, if that’s what you’re thinking.”  The look on her face tells me that’s exactly what she was thinking.  “In fact, this is something you’ve done before.”

“Which is…” she prompts when I don’t finish.

“How about working a shift tonight?  I think behind a bar with hundreds of people watching you is just about the safest place I could keep you.”

“That’s fine.  Why didn’t you just say so?  You had me worried.”

“Because I don’t want you to think I’m an insensitive asshole.  You’ve had a shitty day.  A really shitty day and—”

“Not all of it’s been shitty,” she says, looking up at me from beneath her thick lashes.  Takes me right back to having to work to think of things other than her riding me like a prize stallion.

“Well, bad enough. Let’s just put it that way.  Anyway, asking you to work sounds like something a selfish bastard would do and I don’t want you to think—”

“You’re not a selfish bastard.  Didn’t you hear a word I said to my mother?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts.   Cash, I love you.”

Like the dumb ass that I am, a fact that I blame solely on my possession of testicles, I freeze.  I say nothing.  I don’t tell her all the things I’m feeling. I don’t say all the things that need saying. I just look at her.  Like an asshole.

I can see the disappointment on her face and it kills me to watch her fight through it.  But she does.  She comes out on the other side, smiling and swinging, even though her heart probably feels like neither.

“Besides, I think work will be good for me.  Keep my mind occupied.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” she says agreeably, heartache oozing through the pleasant exterior of her expression.  “I’m gonna get a shower.  A real one this time,” she teases, trying her damnedest to project lightheartedness.  She stretches up on her toes and brushes her lips across mine.  “Thank Gavin for bringing my bag.”

“Did he bring your stuff?”

“He must have.  I just noticed it sitting in the corner a minute ago.”

“Hmmm.  Okay, I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks,” she says with a smile before she moves around me and heads for the bathroom.  Meanwhile I’m left standing in the same spot, watching her go, feeling like a steaming pile of crap.

********

“You’re not going without me,” Nash barks adamantly.

“Or me,” Gavin chimes in.

“The hell I’m not!  Somebody has to stay here and keep an eye on Olivia. And it can’t be me.”

“Then it’s gonna have to be Gavin, because I’m not staying here to be grilled by some female Johnny Cochran.  I’m not answering questions Marissa should be asking you,” Nash gripes.

It wasn’t easy to talk Marissa into coming back to the club at a later time. I promised she could talk to Nash all night if she wanted to, but that now just isn’t a good time.  She left, albeit grudgingly.  I have no doubt she’ll be back the instant the club opens.  Obviously Nash thinks the same thing.  Seems like he’s still a pretty perceptive guy. Having only just met her, he was able to tell that Marissa’s as tenacious as a pit bull.  That’s probably one of the reasons she’s such a good attorney.

For a few seconds, I consider letting him come along. With the exception of a couple of disastrous worst-case scenarios (like this mystery guy putting a bullet in both our heads), it’s probably a good idea for him to come no matter how I slice it.  Having some backup is never a bad thing.

“Fine.  Nash and I will go.  Gavin, you stay here and watch out for Olivia.”  I can tell he doesn’t like it, but he’ll do it.  He nods curtly.  “Man, you know I don’t trust anyone else to protect her.  And knowing what you’ve already done for her…”

That softens him up a little.  All us men have our egos, after all.  “I know, mate.  I’ll keep her safe.”

“I hope you do a better job of it this time than last,” Nash injects snidely.  Gavin gives him a smile, but it’s a chilly smile.  Nash doesn’t know him well enough to know he’s treading on dangerous ground.  Gavin can give a person that same smile right as he puts a gun to their head.  My father used to talk about his demeanor.  “Cold as ice,” he’d say of Gavin.  But in every other way, I find him to be a nice guy.  He’s just a nice guy that would kill you if you crossed him or his friends or family.  That’s all.

“My advice, Nash,” I say, looking at him seriously.  He raises his eyebrows in question.  “Don’t piss him off.  You really don’t want to do that.”

He nods casually as he glances sideways at the still-smiling Gavin.

“All right, so that’s the plan.  Nash and I will go to the meet, you stay here with Olivia.  I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

“I’ve got it covered.”

********

Nash and I decide to drive separately, just in case.  It’s impossible to anticipate everything, but I can’t help but be a little suspicious of…well, everyone really.  I’m trying to be realistic about the likelihood of the person I’m about to meet being a criminal.  And criminals are very unpredictable.  And if this one decides to pull something, having a second means of escape is wise.

Before we left, I punched the number of the guy who called into one of the burner phones I’d bought. I’m in the car so I can hear him clearly.  Nash is following on my bike.

When we’ve been on the road for a couple minutes, I dial the number.

He answers on the first ring.  “Meet me at the Ronin Shipping Company’s boat yard in twenty minutes.” He hangs up.  Again.

Damn, that irks the shit out of me.

I grit my teeth and suck it up, though.  I don’t have much choice.  I try to keep one eye on the road as I input the information into the car’s navigation.  It reroutes me back toward the club and beyond, so I find the first place I can to do a U-turn.  Nash is right on my heels.

Just under twenty minutes later, I’m pulling up to the gated entrance of what looks like a huge cemetery for commercial boats.  I can see their enormous shapes like black ghosts in the fog.

I stare at the closed gate and tall perimeter fence, wondering how the hell we’re supposed to get inside.  Before I can get out to talk to Nash, however, the gate clanks just before it slides slowly to the left.

I roll my window down.  On high alert, senses reaching out for everything from sound to movement, I edge the car into the crowded lot.  The fog only adds to the ominous feeling of the meet. My headlights cut through it, but still only give me visibility for a few feet in front of me.  Add to that the claustrophobic sensation created by the looming ships on either side of me and it’s downright creepy.