Reaper's Stand (Reapers MC, #4)(75)

“Coffee?” a waitress asked, smiling down at Nate. He flashed her a flirty grin, reminding me so much of the night I’d met him that it might’ve hurt, if I still had the capacity to experience more pain. Lucky me—I’d already topped up on suffering for the day.

“Decaf,” he said. “London?”

“Just water, please.”

She nodded, although I could see a look in her eyes that said she didn’t appreciate me taking up table space if I wasn’t going to order anything.

Shitty to be her.

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to spit it out,” I told him. “There are some bad guys down in California who have Jessica, and they’re going to kill her unless I commit a murder for them.”

I expected to startle him, maybe have him question whether I’d lost my mind. Instead he just smiled.

“Yeah, I know.”

It felt like someone had hit me in the stomach with a baseball bat. Guess I could still feel more pain after all.

“What?” I whispered.

“I know all about it,” he said casually. The waitress came back and handed him his coffee.

“You want anything with that?” she asked.

“Slice of pecan pie would be great,” he said, winking at her. “With a scoop of ice cream?”

“You got it,” she said, glancing over at me again. “Hey, are you sick? You don’t look so good.”

I managed to shake my head.

“No,” I said, my voice hoarse and weak. “I’m fine. I just . . . need to talk with the deputy, okay? Can you leave us?”

She sniffed, then strutted off, smacking her little order pad down on the counter as she passed into the back.

“Now you pissed her off,” Nate said casually. “If she spits in my pie, I’m making you pay for it. In fact, I think I’ll let you pay for everything anyway. So was that all?”

“Was what all?”

“Was that all you wanted to talk about? If that’s it, you should probably get going. Sounds like you got your work cut out for you. Good luck with that.”

“You’re a police officer,” I said, still stunned. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he replied, taking another sip of his coffee. “Well, I guess I’m a little bored right now, but I love pie. I should eat up, sounds like it’ll be a long night. Crime scene to process and all that.”

“I can’t believe you—what’s wrong here? Is this some kind of joke to you?”

Nate smiled, so much hatred in his eyes that it scared me. Had I ever known him at all?

“No, Loni, this isn’t a joke. You’ve got a job to do, and if you want that little cunt Jessica to survive, sounds like you better stop dickin’ around and get it done. Oh, now don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I want her dead—kid’s f*ckin’ great in the sack. Wouldn’t mind another run at her.”

I reeled. My brain seemed to shut down, incapable of accepting any new data.

“You were sleeping with Jessica?”

He rolled his eyes.

“God, you’re stupid,” he muttered. “Someone had to give her enough money to get down to Cali when you had your little fight. This whole thing was a lot of work to set up, but I have to admit that screwing her tight little ass was the fun part. Christ, you didn’t actually think I was into you, did you? You’re too old, used up . . . And now it’s time for you to go and take care of your business. Don’t bother trying to call the cops before it’s done, either. Nobody’s going to help you.”

Somewhere in the middle of his little speech, I shut down. I could still see everything, hear everything . . . but it all felt distant and unreal.

“You’re an evil person,” I whispered.

“I’m a man with a goal,” Nate replied, his voice serious and his eyes hard—nothing like the person I thought I’d known. He leaned forward, his words precise and clipped. “I know what I want, and I’m willing to do anything to get it. I f*cked your girl and convinced her to go to San Diego, Loni. I rigged your house to blow so Hayes would take you in. Now you’re right where I want you, and you’ll f*cking dance because I told you to. No more questions.”

“Here’s that pie,” the waitress said, walking toward us.

“Thanks, hon,” Nate replied with a smile. She leaned in to him just a little, her body language making it clear she had more than pie to offer.

They ignored me when I pushed up and out of my seat, trying not to stumble as I walked out of the restaurant and back to my van. I sat in the driver’s seat for several minutes, trying to process what the hell had just happened. But some things don’t make sense no matter how you look at them, so I turned my key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot, because I still needed to hit the grocery store. I had a list of things to buy and I was running out of time to get dinner on the table.

Why was I fixing dinner? I don’t know.

What I do know is that by the time I paid for the food, my side hurt where my purse kept thwacking me as I walked—the gun threw it off balance, I guess. I ignored the small pain as I drove home to cook dinner for Reese. Not like killing a man is less awful if you’ve fed him first, but what else was I supposed to do for the rest of the afternoon?