In reply, he fixed her with a dirty look. Good Lord, he hated when unconvincing liars told him stories. If you’re gonna make up shit, at least be good at it.
“Alright, it ain’t fine, but it’s a long story. And I promise it won’t happen again—I’ll handle it.” Vick stood straighter. “By the way, Jasper and I grabbed the cameras from Jane’s place this afternoon. I’ll start reviewin’ the footage tomorrow mornin’.”
“Good, let me know what you find. Gotta hand it to you.”
“What?”
“Your attempt at a distraction—almost got me sidetracked. But back to the matter at hand, do you need help?” Byron placed a fingertip beneath her chin and raised her gaze to meet his own.
She pulled away. “No, I can take care of it. Will you…can you keep this to yourself, please?” Vick clasped her hands together and raised them to her lips. “I don’t want Jasper, er, I mean…everyone to know.”
Another poorly constructed lie.
Vick cared more about Jasper’s opinion of her than anyone else’s. It was what she was really worried about. He should make her tell him everything, but Vick was a big girl, and she hadn’t confided in him, so he’d leave her be.
“For the moment, but if he gets demanding with you again, you’ll tell me.” It was an order, not a suggestion.
“Understood.”
“Then have a good night.” Matter settled, Byron marched to the door. “And Vick?” he called over his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Ask Jasper for a lesson or two in self-defense.” Byron would’ve offered himself as a trainer, but she was more likely to accept help from her little boyfriend. “You should practice with a weapon. It don’t gotta be a gun, but you need somethin’—a knife, a Taser, some pepper spray, or a night stick. Pick your poison and don’t leave home without it.”
“You really think he’d hurt me?” Vick shivered.
He didn’t even have to ponder it. “Yeah.”
“I’ll talk with Jasper tomorrow.”
Nodding, Byron left Vick in the parking lot, alone with her own thoughts. He made a mental note to tell Ten about Simon from the parking lot. Maybe he could ID him from the security camera footage, although Byron would make up something about a disgruntled loan recipient—and he’d make it believable. If Simon showed his sorry ass here again, he was in for a nasty surprise.
Byron had never much cared for Poison Fruit.
An old rustic barn had been converted into the bistro portion of the operation. It still had the high rafters and wood, but it’d been modernized inside. In the center of the dining room, a brick well-like structure surrounded a large apple tree. The branches stretched up to the stained glass windows above, which portrayed Eve and the apple, along with a slithering serpent. Twinkling Christmas lights lining the walls and tea lights on the tables, gave the room a warm glow.
He found Ten playing “Moonlight Sonata,” seated at a piano in the corner of the room, oblivious to everyone watching him. His eyes were closed, fingers moving over the keys. The man couldn’t have picked a more depressing tune. Well, maybe a funeral dirge.
Byron had made arrangements with Ten earlier; he’d take Mansfield home with him after he and Jane left tomorrow morning. While they were away in True Love, Byron didn’t want the cat scratching up his curtains or some such. Knowing Ten, he’d try to keep the damn thing, though.
Shaking it off, he located his lady lawyer at a table for two. Byron sat across from Jane, who was peering at the wine menu.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Now, it is.” He opened his own menu.
All the vineyard fruits were utilized in the wine, not just grapes—blueberries, strawberries, peaches, and apples too. Ten wasn’t kidding when he named the joint Poison Fruit. The wines had lethal names—Toxin, Contagion, Venom, and Nightshade, among others.
Personally, Byron preferred his family’s moonshine—but when in Rome. The server came to the table, and he ordered wine with his meal, while Jane chose grape juice.
“About this road trip….”
“You mean fact-finding mission.” Jane lifted her chin, daring him to say different.
Lord, she didn’t give an inch. If a man got in good with her, he’d earned the privilege, that’s for damn sure.
“About this fact-findin’ mission, we’ll need to keep it hushed, so we’ll need a cover story.”
Byron rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He intended to throw himself into the James Bond role. Spending a long weekend with Jane while they hoodwinked some townies into coughing up info would be fun in a warped way.