Jackson released his grip on the pulley, and the rhythmic whir of the machine faded away. He wiped off the seat and crossed to where she stood by the long rack of free weights, his focus fixed on her as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
Something in his voice made her doubt he was referring to food.
Testosterone practically oozed from his pores. Bad ideas filtered into her thoughts. Spending so much time together was making her feel so many things she’d forgotten how to feel. During times like this, with him standing close enough to touch, it felt almost overwhelming. But she didn’t trust those emotions, at least not anymore, so she stuffed those feelings into one of those tiny compartments inside her brain and forced her gaze away.
“Starving,” she said, but then quickly added, “I got busy with work and forgot to eat lunch.”
Disappointment darkened his eyes. “Give me ten minutes to shower and get dressed. Then I’m taking you out to dinner. There’s a Cuban restaurant not far from here that makes a wickedropa vieja.”
Forty minutes later, Jacksonpulled into the parking lot of Havana Cabana. The place was busy, which was par for the course during happy hour. Most of the spots were already taken, and Jackson made a beeline for one of the few open spaces in the back corner of the lot by the dumpster.
Essie unfastened her seat belt. “I don’t think this qualifies as not far from Six Points.”
“Sure it does,” Jackson said as he shut off the engine. “With Orlando traffic, everything is at least a thirty-minute drive.”
Clearly fighting a smile, she shook her head and reached for the door handle.
Inside was even more crowded than the lot, with the bar packed shoulder-to-shoulder and every table occupied. Luckily, they only had to wait a few minutes before a table not far from the bar became available. The waitress—one of the few he didn’t know by name—handed out menus, took their drink orders, and disappeared into the crowd.
“It’s nice to see it this busy,” Jackson said. “The owners are really good people.”
Essie glanced up at him as she unwrapped her silverware. On the surface, she appeared at ease, but she’d probably already mapped out the building and identified what she could use as a weapon if necessary, utensils included. “Have you known them for long?”
“A couple, three years.” The waitress returned with their drinks—beer for Jackson and mojito for Essie—said she’d come back in a minute to take their food orders, and hurried off to the next table. “I was part of the crew who installed their security system. They treated us well, fed us lunch. And since the food was so damn good, I’ve been coming back ever since. Aren’t you going to look at the menu?”
As she shrugged, her gaze flicked to the right. It was the third time she’d done it since they were seated, but he didn’t know what it meant. “Why bother? I already know what I’m ordering. We’ll see if theirropa viejais as good as—”
“You!”
A harsh male voice cut through the crowd and carried across the room. Senses snapping to full alert, Jackson’s hand instinctively reached for the knife on the table. His eyes tracked toward the sound and spotted a tall man in business attire cutting a path toward them.
It took a few moments for Jackson to recognize Bubba from the redneck bar. Yeah, he remembered the guy’s real name, but as far as he was concerned, Bubba suited the asshole better. Though he looked a lot different in a dark-blue suit and his hair slicked back with so much product the tracks from his comb were still visible. The only punch of color came from his tie, a wide stripe of garish red that was meant to signify power but made him look like a lame wannabe.
“You’re that bitch from the Salty Dog,” Bubba snarled when he reached their table. Either he didn’t recognize Jackson, or he was too pissed off at Essie to notice he was there. “You spiked my drink and screwed with my phone.”
Confusion crinkled Essie’s forehead, though Jackson was willing to bet his next paycheck she knew exactly who he was. The woman never forgot a face. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”
Bubba’s eyebrows snapped together over his nose. “Don’t play dumb with me, bitch. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
“Hmm, let me see.” Leaning back in her chair, she tilted her head a little to the right and tapped her index finger against her lips a few times. “Oh yes, I remember you now. You’re the weasel who tried to blackmail your soon-to-be ex-wife with dirty pictures. How’s that working out for you?”
The guy towered over her, his eyes thinned to slits and his hands half-curled into fists at his sides. “You think this is funny? My lawyer’s going to hear about this.”
“Oh yes, please contact your lawyer. While you’re at it, why don’t you call the police? I’m sure they’d love to hear all about your failed extortion attempt.”
Essie’s smile faded, and the icy steel in her eyes made Jackson wonder again how many people she’d killed in the line of duty. There was a reason she’d refused to keep count. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn it was more than Navarre, but it was probably best he didn’t know.
When she spoke again, her voice was deathly calm. Shit was about to get serious. “Go away while you can, little man. I’m busy.”
It didn’t take a brain surgeon to realize this wasn’t going to end well for Bubba if he didn’t back the hell off, which he clearly wasn’t going to do. For any other woman, Jackson would have already been out of his chair, ready to give the asshole the heave-ho right on out the door. But he knew from experience that his woman was more than capable of fighting her own battles. In fact, she preferred it that way and would chew him a new one if he interfered with her business.
“I’ll leave when I’m finished,” Bubba spat, his face a shade of red reminiscent of a baboon’s big behind. If he didn’t chill out soon, he might stroke out or something. “You tell that fucking cow if she thinks for one second—”
When he jabbed Essie’s shoulder with his index finger, she grabbed his tie and yanked his head down to the table. There was an audible thud, and people all around them turned to see what the ruckus was all about. With her free hand, she jabbed her fork under his chin, and his whole body went rigid.
“Not to be rude, but my drink’s getting warm, so let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” Now that Essie had his undivided attention, she leaned a little closer. “You’re an abusive douche bag, and I’m simply amazed that it took your wife as long as it did to leave your sorry ass. Personally, if I’d been in her shoes, I would have doused you in kerosene while you slept and lit a match, but she’s obviously a far better person than I am. So let me make something abundantly clear, because I’m only telling you once. If you bother her again, if you show up at her house, if you harass her at work, if you damage her property, if you call, text, email—hell, if you so much as breathe in her general direction—I’ll pay you a visit in the middle of the night, and then we’ll have some real fun. Do we have an understanding?”
