“A whiskey sour.” She preferred sticking to the same drink. “Easy on the ice.”
The waitress smiled and headed for the bar. No Trust started a new song with a haunting bagpipe solo. She watched in amazement as the redheaded lead singer hummed into his microphone while taking center stage, his dark blue and black checkered kilt showcasing a set of muscular legs. A girl could dream…Then a violinist joined in—the acoustics in the bar were amazing—the crowd silenced by the music.
“Did I do something to offend you, Ms. Bethel?”
Obviously the asshole didn’t take rejection well. Tina peered up at him, his expression indiscernible. “I thought I made myself clear, Mr. Barnes.”
“Did you?” His eyes widened in challenge. “Women typically say one thing but mean another.”
Though she was exposed to a lot of unsavory characters in her profession as a junior associate attorney, Kline Barnes made her skin crawl more than most. Privileged and educated, there was no excuse for what he’d done. “Shall I speak in plainer terms?” she asked, irritation setting in. “Get the hell away from my table.”
Her harsh tone didn’t have a visible effect.
“Pretty sure I’m well within my rights to stand here.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
She would have loved to smack the smug look off his face; his behavior bordered on harassment. But she preferred to leave than deal with it. She knew she should have trusted her gut the minute she parked and reconsidered going inside. Sometimes she didn’t like spending time alone at home, though. Whenever she did, her overactive imagination caught up with her and she’d remember all those failed relationships. Fifteen boyfriends, three marriage proposals, and one cancelled wedding. Not exactly a winning record. In fact, her win/loss record as an attorney was more impressive, and it was not something to brag about.
She unzipped her purse and grabbed a five-dollar bill from her wallet. She slapped it on the table for the waitress, then stood up, avoiding Kline.
Without a word, she rushed for the exit, happy to call it a night.
Fifteen minutes into her drive home, lights reflected back at her from her rearview mirror; a black Mercedes tailed her dangerously close. Traffic on South Padre Island Drive was light, as most people were still out partying at the clubs. She signaled to change lanes, slowing down to forty-five miles per hour. The sedan did the same. Then she switched to the fast lane, accelerating to seventy-five, well over the speed limit. Again, the Mercedes kept pace behind her.
“Shit!” No doubt Kline was following her.
She decided not to lead him to her apartment complex. And what would she tell a 911 operator? Unfortunately in cases like this, the police were seldom able to do anything preventive. Fear and paranoia didn’t constitute the right to arrest somebody for a crime the person hadn’t committed yet. One of the fatal flaws in modern law.
With Lily and Lang out of town, and her officemates gone too, her options were limited. Lily’s husband was the former president of the Sons of Odin, a 1%er motorcycle club based in Flour Bluff. It had been months since she’d visited the club-owned bar, Valhalla. But Tina knew some of the Brothers and their old ladies. And Lang had extended an open invitation. An offer she couldn’t pass up right now.
She checked her rearview again; the black car was still in pursuit.
Speeding all the way down Laguna Shores Road, a long, curvy two-lane street that ran adjacent to the water, she finally pulled into a parking lot, then checked her rearview again. Gone—the Benz was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she should wait a couple of minutes and make sure Kline had given up, then drive home—problem solved. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and gazed at the bright neon sign on the familiar white brick building—Valhalla. It had never looked so good.
Lust spiked inside her. Every time she thought about the Sons of Odin or this place, she remembered Vincent—Lang’s best friend. A man she could never get enough of. After experiencing someone as creepy as Kline Barnes, she needed someone as big and strong as him to scare the shit out of Kline. If she were being honest, she’d admit how nervous she was knowing he might be here. But Tina had a way of ignoring her fear. She jumped out of her car, all attention focused on the front doors.
“Tina?” Kline’s voice sounded from somewhere behind her.
Tension set in. How did he beat her here? Or was she imagining it? Her gaze zigzagged around the dark parking lot. No one. Blame it on adrenaline.
She’d had her fair share of problems with men but hardly qualified as a trouble magnet. Blessed with a quick mind and a gift for sarcasm, she usually deflected unwanted attention with ease. Not this time. Was he a serial stalker? Did seeing her trigger some kind of psychotic break with reality? She’d technically won his case, sparing him the usual two-year prison sentence for the assault charge, so he had no reason to be angry.