Reluctant Suspicion

Chapter One-2

It would be too much for her to hope that this guy wanted a job. He was probably from the brewery looking to settle up. Although he didn’t look like the brewery type. But he certainly fit the thug stereotype, on the lookout for his boss’ debtors. He was all intimidating height and practiced muscle. His leather jacket hung loose. The definition of his broad chest and flat stomach were visible through his straining white tee-shirt.

While hooking his thumbs into his faded jeans, one side of his stubbled jaw twitched, and Molly realized that there was a hint of a smile on his face. Not a smile of joy, his expression betrayed a subtle satisfaction that she couldn’t pinpoint.

Molly wasn’t one to loiter long, but the place still appeared to be on pause. Even the couples weren’t moving. The men glared as the women salivated. Putting the dirty glasses on the tray the wine had been on, Molly lifted it and went back toward her station, hopping up the step to ensconce herself behind the bar again.

The slow heavy thump of the new arrival’s boots on the floor dominated the space, echoing through it ominously. If it wasn’t her establishment Molly would be intimidated by the ownership this man exuded. She knew for a fact that he had never been in here before. But if she didn’t know any better, Molly would say it wasn’t her establishment at all, but his.

“What can I get you?” Molly called to the guy, as he approached the bar.

“You,” he said.

The gruff, low tone that he released sent tingles from her toes to her skull. “I’m not on the menu,” she said. “But nice try.”

“I’m serious,” he said, and slid himself out of his jacket, only to lay the apparel on the stool beside him. Then one of his sculpted forearms relaxed along the edge of her bar.

“Barking up the wrong tree there, dude,” Joel said from his position further along the bar.

“Excuse me?” the stranger asked.

“Our Molly isn’t one for dating customers. She’s not one for dating at all,” Joel said, and slurped his beer. “Trust me, I’ve tried it.”

The attention of the dark stranger moved from Joel back to Molly. “Do you want a drink?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I saw the sign in your window.”

“What sign?” Molly asked, wondering why a man such as this would come to a bar and not have a drink.

“About the job.”

“What? You want a job?” Molly said, her eyelids had never been so far apart. Maybe there was hope yet. The idea of a guy like this wanting to work behind her bar was exactly what she’d needed. No one would mess with him.

“Yeah,” he said.

“You’re hired,” Molly blurted out.

“Wow,” the stranger said. “That was the easiest job interview I’ve ever had.”

“Sorry,” Molly said, with a faint blush in her cheeks. “We’ve had a bit of bad luck with staff recently.”

“Why are you so desperate?”

“You must have heard about the murders,” Molly said.

“What’s that got to do with you?”

“We lost one of our bartenders, and it spooked the others.”

The stranger’s lips sloped lazily upward. “I’m not easily spooked.”

“I can tell,” Molly said, as she drank in all she could see of his powerful demeanor. “You look like the type who does the spooking.”

His hand left the bar and came toward her. “Blake.”

“Molly,” she said.

Her hand appeared tiny when she wrapped her fingers around his. His rough grip swaddled hers as he shook her hand.

“I was just saying how I needed someone who could handle disruptive customers, a security type as well as a bartender.”

“I can do that,” Blake said, looking around at the customers. “Doesn’t look like you have many scuffles in here.”

“You’d be surprised, under normal circumstances, but with the murders and the loss of Steven… people are staying home.”

“Except me,” Joel grinned, and lifted his glass. “I’m always here.”

“Yes,” Molly said. “We can’t get rid of Joel; he’s a regular.”

“Molly and me are tight; we’ve been friends for a lot of years.”

“For better or worse,” Molly said. “But I do trust him to keep an eye on things for me. He’s pulled a pint or two behind this bar in his time.”

“You didn’t want to help out?” Blake asked Joel.

“I would. I’ve offered,” Joel said.

“Joel would prefer to be on that side of the bar with his glass,” Molly said. “I prefer my employees sober. But Joel can help you out if you need it. He’ll always watch my back too. He knows how things work around here.”

“Got you,” Blake said. “He’ll always be looking over my shoulder.”

“Exactly. When can you start?” she asked.

“Whenever you need me,” he said.

“There’s a keg that needs changing… Do you know how to do that?”

“I grew up around places like this,” Blake said. “I’ve been doing it since I was five.”

Molly didn’t have to say a word, her expression betrayed her smirking disbelief. “A yes would have sufficed. I’ll show you.”

Experience worked in his favor. If he’d seen the notice after walking by, he had to be connected to someone or something local. No one else would have a reason to be walking these streets on a Friday night. A tough guy with connections locally, that was pretty much all she needed from her newest recruit.

Nodding him toward the door to the back, she walked around the curve of the bar with him mirroring her locomotion on his own side of the bar. Their gazes caught, but Molly quickly looked away, knowing that it was ridiculous for her to find this short walk awkward. As they headed for the door, he watched her, scrutinizing her every move as they moved in sync toward the other end of the bar.

“It’s back here,” she said.

Blake stepped up behind the bar beside her, and she was cast in the shadow of his looming form. Ignoring the awareness shimmering in her, Molly threw her shoulder against the door in front of them. It had a horrible habit of sticking in the frame, so she was used to giving it a good thump.

“There is a trapdoor behind the bar,” Molly said. “But we never use it.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“We just never do. It’s relatively terrifying and has serious accident potential.”

Molly searched her apron for the cellar key when they stepped into the rear hallway. In front of them were the stairs that led up to her apartment. To their left was the staff restroom and kitchen. The cellar entrance was on the right-hand side, on the same wall as the bar door. Perpendicular to that, at the bottom of the stairs, was the external residential access, which led out to the street.

The cellar door was waist high and angled against the stairs it led to. Retrieving the key from her apron, Molly dug it into the lock, and twisted it back and forth, shaking the lock until she heard the unfastening snick.

“Everything sticks here,” Molly said, choosing to ignore his last question.

His blank expression didn’t register, and for some reason Molly suddenly became aware of how little she actually knew about this guy. Stepping over the kickboard, she rested her foot on the top stair, then froze.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, crowding in behind her, ready to descend into the murky cellar.

“Do you live around here?”

“Excuse me?”

“Where do you live?” Molly asked, turning her attention to him. His exhale rustled the hair over her forehead, which sent hot tickles downward.

“Over on Willow Bank,” he said.

“Are you married?”

“No,” he said.

“Kids?”

“No.”

“Live alone?”

“Yes,” he said. “Why all the questions?”

“I’ve never employed a stranger before,” she admitted. “I’m used to being able to trust whoever walks through my door, so just supposed I could trust you. I’m pretty desperate, and I was so amazed that you wanted the job.”

“I do want the job. But if you’re having doubts…?”

“If there’s going to be trouble in here, it will be on a Saturday night. You showed up right on time. I kind of need a bouncer in here tomorrow night no matter what.”

“Do you think we’re going to go down into the cellar and I’m going to attack you?”

“No,” Molly said, but tipped her chin toward her chest. “But I need to know that I can trust you, and putting myself in a vulnerable position of being alone with you in a secluded place…”

“Do you think if I was planning to r**e or rob you that I would tell you?”

“No,” Molly said, seeking out his dark chocolate eyes. “But I wouldn’t look as dumb to the cops if I could at least say I asked.”

“I think the cops would think that you would only ask if you were suspicious. And if you were suspicious, then you should never have put yourself in the vulnerable position in the first place. They would expect you to have trusted your instincts…” he said, not retreating from their proximity. “Despite that, you have a bar full of drinkers. Everyone has seen both you and me tonight. If you don’t come back, they’ll notice. They would also all be able to identify me.”

“I haven’t even seen any ID,” Molly said. “I have no idea if you are who you say you are.”

“I wouldn’t think that my name was relevant to my intention,” he said, but retrieved his wallet from his back pocket to show her his driver’s license. “Rapists don’t usually have that label in their name or as a title.”

Molly needed a male bartender. This guy could keep the peace, which would minimize the chances of her needing to have any involvement with the cops in the event of patrons getting out of hand. Much as she didn’t appreciate his sass being directed at her, he had a good point. She checked the ID and handed it back to him, satisfied that he was at least who he claimed to be.

“I don’t think that you want to r**e me,” she said, then lifted a shoulder in confession. “But this place is my life; I have to be able to trust you.”

“I can give you references.” He put his ID and wallet away. “Are you still suspicious?”

“I watch a lot of scary movies,” Molly said. “And a lot of thrillers. I’m the girl behind the pillow screaming ‘Why are you running up the stairs?’”

“You’re not the rom com type?”

Molly snorted, but her hand went to her mouth as she composed herself. “Men are a waste of time and energy. Whoever writes those scripts has had one too many happy pills or knocks on the head… in my opinion.”

“The guy at the bar is starting to make sense now,” Blake said.

“I could be a nymphomaniac, and I still wouldn’t sleep with Joel. I wouldn’t even go out for coffee with him.”

“Why not?” Blake asked. “He seemed okay, and you said that you trusted him.”

“Joel likes… stuff.”

“Stuff,” Blake repeated, with the crook of an eyebrow. “What kind of stuff?”

“Him and Vanessa had a thing a while ago. She said he had a penchant for… kinky stuff.”

“I’m intrigued. Who’s Vanessa?”

“My barmaid,” Molly said. “The only one I have left.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Blake said.

Molly rolled her eyes and started down the stairs. “Vanessa will definitely sleep with you,” she said over her shoulder, and gripped the wooden rail at her side as she descended the stairs while taking long breaths.

“That’s good to know,” Blake said.

“I love her to pieces, and she is great with the customers. So don’t scare her away or be scared away.”