Night Watch (Kendra Michaels #4)(48)

“Of course not. I know you’re doing it for them,” he said quietly. “It’s just a fortunate side benefit that it also helps you.”

“And just how am I supposed to treat myself here?”

To Kendra’s surprise, Lynch suddenly hopped onto the small stage. He whispered to the guitarist, who nodded. Lynch stepped back toward Kendra.

“What the hell did you just do?” she said with ice in her voice.

Lynch smiled, but didn’t answer.

The musicians finished their song, and the guitarist spoke to the crowd. “Okay, we’re going to have a smoke break, but while we’re gone, we’ll leave you in some very capable hands. Be back in a few.”

He stepped off the stage, handed Kendra his acoustic guitar, and clasped hands with Lynch. She watched in amazement as the musicians disappeared into a back hallway.

She held up the guitar. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“What you always do. Play it. Connect.”

“You play it.”

“This is how you used to earn your living, wasn’t it? Playing clubs during your so-called wild days?”

“I wouldn’t call that a living. Scraping by is more like it,”

“Okay, then scrape on up to that stage. Your public is waiting.”

Kendra glanced around the crowded bar, where several patrons were indeed looking at her. It still would have been a simple matter to place the guitar on its stand next to the stage microphone and walk away.

She turned back. Lynch was wearing a borderline-cheesy, self-satisfied smile. The bastard was practically daring her to do it.

Fine.

She gripped the guitar and stepped behind the microphone. She leaned toward the mike to make an introduction, but she stopped.

Not necessary. The music would speak for itself.

She leaned back and strummed the guitar, feeling the pull of the strings beneath her fingers. Nice.

She closed her eyes, as she often did while playing any musical instrument she’d mastered during her years in the dark. She played a few chords, still not knowing what song she’d play. She had an instinct for what chord progressions would work in this bar, on this night, and she knew the right song would soon follow.

That song was James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.”

She wasn’t sure she’d actually sing it, but again, it felt right. She let herself feel the words and music, allowing them to become extensions of her as her voice warmed to the soulful lyrics.

When she finished, she opened her eyes. Most of the bar’s patrons were now staring at her, having put their beers, darts, and conversations on hold.

They erupted into cheers and wild applause. She merely nodded her appreciation, put her guitar down, and left the stage. The crowd was still applauding as Lynch mouthed a single word.

“Wow.”

She walked toward him and stopped just inches away.

A long moment of silence.

She kissed him squarely on the mouth.

Again, not something she’d planned. It just felt right.

He smiled. “What was that for?”

“For knowing what I need. Before I even knew it myself.”

He nodded. “My pleasure. You want to get out of here?”

“Yes.”

They moved through the bar and stepped out onto the street, which had become busier in the short time they were inside.

“Are you okay?” Lynch asked. “You seem a little…”

“Buzzed?” Kendra finished for him.

“I was going to say woozy.”

“Definitely buzzed. And I mean in the best possible way. It felt wonderful.” And all the jagged edges of anxiety that had been lacerating her were magically smoothed away. She knew it was temporary, but she’d take it. “I’ve never had any desire to perform in front of people again. And it may be years before I do it again. But right now, it’s just what I needed to—”

She froze.

“What is it?” Lynch asked.

“Keep walking. Act normal.”

His brows rose. “That’s exactly what I was doing before you stopped dead in your tracks.”

They continued down the busy sidewalk.

“She’s here,” Kendra said in a low voice.

“Who?”

“Motorcycle woman. I think she followed us into the bar.”

“Did you see her?”

“No. But I’m willing to bet she’s following us right now. Don’t look back.”

“That’s probably the most insulting thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Sorry.”

“What makes you think she’s here?”

Kendra nodded toward the strip of fine dirt running between the sidewalk and the street. “Those damn Fusion Lei riding boots again. I just spotted a relatively undisturbed footprint heading in the direction of the bar.”

“Other people wear those boots, right?”

“Of course. But they’re rare enough that I’m willing to bet that it’s more than just a coincidence. She’s here.”

Lynch thought for a moment. “Okay. I want you to walk four blocks down, just past the Western wear store. Then take a left and keep walking.”

“And what exactly will you be doing?”