Judge did not like being told what to do by someone wearing a fucking uniform. But he bit back what he wanted to say and said, “That’s the plan,” instead. Even though he had no plan to head home. At least, not yet. He wasn’t a kid anymore, he no longer needed to stick to any curfew. So, Dunn could go fuck himself.
Then the cruiser was gone and the two of them were bathed in the dark once more.
“How do you know my name?” came from behind him.
Jesus fuck. He screwed up. “Told it to me when Daisy introduced us.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He turned to face her. “Yeah, you did. How else would I know it?”
Cassidy chewed on her bottom lip as she studied him in the dark. “Are you stalking me? Should I be calling those cops back here?”
“Like I fuckin’ said, ain’t gonna hurt you.”
“I’m sure serial killers tell their victims that, too.”
His lips flattened out.
“If I would have told you my name, I would have said Cassie. No one calls me Cassidy except my parents. And my grandparents, when they were alive.”
Cassie. Fuck.
“So, you want to tell me how you know my name?”
Sometimes lies are necessary.
And sometimes those lies come back to bite you on the ass.
Suddenly, sharp teeth gripped his ass cheek. “Small town. Everybody knows everybody.”
She tilted her head. “No, that isn’t it.”
“Yeah, it is. I asked around.”
“Why?”
“Asked you twice and you didn’t answer.”
“Maybe there was a reason for that.”
“Afraid of me, that’s why.”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I could lie like you are right now and say I’m not.”
“But you are.”
“I just...”
“What’d I do to make you scared?”
“Nothing.”
“Right,” he said softly.
“So, even if it was true that you asked around about me, why would you do that?” she asked.
“Just curious.”
“What else did you hear?”
“Nothin’,” he echoed her.
“Bullshit,” she repeated his earlier response. Then she gave him a sharp nod and headed back to her Honda. And Judge watched her hips rock and roll even in that winter coat.
“Wanna tell me why you were cryin’?” he called out.
“If you tell me the truth on how you know my name,” she called back.
Judge stood there and watched Cassie climb into the old CRV.
Cassie.
“Tell you over a beer.”
“I don’t drink beer.” Her door slammed shut and she drove the Honda in a circle and headed out of the lot.
Cassie Lange.
Only problem with that was the last name belonged to someone else.
And the person it belonged to probably wouldn’t be happy that Judge wanted way more than to share a beer with Cassie Lange.
Way fucking more.
Chapter Five
Cassie opened the heavy wood door and stepped inside.
She had seen the ad in the local penny shopper looking for servers or a bartender. She’d never done either, but she was pretty sure she could learn.
She’d prefer to get a job at the local vet and use her skills, but she knew there’d be no way the vet would pay her under the table. And that was what she needed, a job that could pay her cash for now. At least until the divorce.
Until she scraped off all of Dennis’s shit.
Until then, her job prospects were limited.
She only hoped the owner of the bar would be willing to pay her in cash along with any cash tips she made.
It would be something. And anything she made, even a little bit, would be better than nothing. She needed to put cash aside so she could settle somewhere by getting her own place and finding somewhere to raise her daughter without the stench of the crime Daisy’s father committed.
She could never take Daisy back to Rochester.
If she could get a permanent job in Manning Grove, she’d consider staying. If not, she’d move on. In the meantime, she needed money and a plan. And right now, she had neither.
To make things more difficult, she needed shifts in the evening and weekends when Tyler or Heather could watch Daisy for her. She hated to burden them with that, too, but right now, she had no choice.
She let her gaze slide through the bar. The music in Crazy Pete’s was loud. It was surprisingly busy for a Thursday night and the tables were about half full. A couple of guys were throwing darts in one corner, and, in another area off the main floor, were two occupied pool tables. The clack of pool balls could be heard just over the music, which was rock.
Cassie recognized the song. Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones. She hadn’t heard that song in so long, it made the corners of her mouth curl up just slightly.
A man was hustling behind the bar and a woman with long black hair and blue stripes, dressed like she belonged on the small empty stage in the corner singing her own song, was carrying a couple of full pint glasses to a table near the jukebox.
The woman’s open smile was large as she set them down, said a few words to the patrons, then laughed. She patted one guy on the shoulder before heading back behind the bar.
Cassie had no idea who the owner was, the ad had only said to show up anytime they were open. No resume needed.
One empty stool remained along the long wood bar, so she headed there, settling on it.
The bartender quickly stopped in front of her and tilted his head. “New in town, right?”
What? How did he know that?
“Saw you on Sunday. You and your girl. Ended up talkin’ to Judge.”
Jesus, she couldn’t escape that man.
Cassie’s eyes slid over him. While she didn’t recognize his face, she recognized the black leather vest he was wearing since it was similar to Judge’s. Only his name patch said, “Dodge,” instead.
Dodge.
That was odd. But then so was the name Judge.
“Yes. That was me.”
“Girl’s real cute. Just like her momma. What can I get you?” He threw a paper coaster on the bar top in front of her and it was hard to miss some of his tattoos. Heavy silver rings donned a few fingers and wide black leather cuffs circled each wrist. She also couldn’t miss the huge bulky belt buckle that consisted of two letters: HD.
“The owner.”
He pulled his chin into his neck and just about looked down his nose at her. “There an issue?”
“No, I... I saw the ad. I’m looking for a job.”
He loosened a bit as he repeated, “What can I get you?”
“I... I don’t... Water?”
Dodge shook his head and tapped a ringed finger on the shellacked bar top. “Nah. It’s a bar. Beer?”
“I don’t drink beer.”
“Whiskey?” he suggested, his dark eyes twinkling.
“I don’t,” the rest of the words spilled out from her quickly, “have any money.” Heat slid up her throat and into her cheeks. “Dodge, right? I just need to speak to whoever’s in charge.”
“Yeah. Dodge.” He jerked his chin to the black-haired woman who was wearing a long-sleeved tee advertising Crazy’s Pete’s Bar. “Stel’s half owner.”