Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths #3)(62)

She hasn’t answered my calls, though the florist confirmed that she received my flowers this morning. I’ve never sent a woman flowers. I hope it wasn’t too much. I hope she didn’t think it was tacky. I’m still at a loss for what to say, what to do, how much time and space I should give her.

What if she won’t want me once she knows what I’m all about?

My hands find their way behind my neck, where they clasp tightly. How is this going to go? Will she see me as another Ronald Sullivan? Or someone as violent as her father? Or some other guy who’s probably taken advantage of her in the past, who may still be doing so?

Maybe she will see me as any or all of them. Maybe I’ll spill my guts to her and she’ll run away from me and into the arms of a normal guy with normal parents and a normal career. Maybe that would be for the best.

I’m sure my body visibly slackened the second I walked out into the club earlier tonight, to see Charlie behind the bar. I had convinced myself that she wasn’t coming in, but she’s here, mixing drinks, smiling at customers.

Avoiding me.

She immediately shifted to the opposite end of the bar when I approached her. I’m not going to lie—that felt like a punch to the heart. I fought the urge to throw her over my shoulder and demand we talk. I had to hide out in my office to calm myself.

But now I’m back, because I can’t stay away from her. It’s ten o’clock. I’m just waiting for her to attempt to get up on that stage again. I will throw her over my shoulder if she tries that.

“Cain!” a familiar voice calls out, a second before a hand smacks my shoulder. It’s Storm’s fiancé, Dan, and Ginger is lining shots up in front of him.

In my peripheral vision, I catch Charlie looking up at the sound of my name being called, but her eyes are already down when I try to make eye contact. With a sigh, I turn my attention back to Dan for the time being. “What are you doing here?” I am genuinely curious, given that he’s not the type to frequent strip clubs. He hated Storm working here—rightfully so—and was only too happy the day she quit.

A guy behind him, who’s obviously part of Dan’s group, slaps his back and shouts, “Celebrating! You’re looking at Special Agent Dan Ryder.”

Dan just shakes his head, but he can’t keep the wide grin from escaping.

And I can’t help but match it, announcing, “Next round’s on me!”

When John did the background check on Dan—of course I had Storm’s guy investigated—he came back stamping Dan as the last true boy scout. And everything Dan has done since that day has only strengthened the claim. The guy inherited a shitload of money a few years back from his oil-tycoon grandma. Enough that he could be spending the rest of his life lying on a beach, fishing . . . doing anything, really. Instead, he kept chasing criminals, holding out hope to join the DEA. And he finally made it. He’s about to be chasing dangerous lowlifes, making a big difference.

Dan’s one of the few good guys. And being friends with him has helped me out greatly. For years, I’d routinely have cops at my door, looking for reasons to shut me down. I’ve been hauled into the station, questioned for hours, tailed around the city. I did get shut down once for a few days, until my lawyers worked their magic. Since Dan started dating Storm, though, I’ve had only a handful of issues. Everyone loves and respects the guy. Sure, I still get the odd threat, but all I need to do is give Dan a call and the threats seem to disappear on their own.

“What about a dance for the special agent?” one of Dan’s friends shouts.

I’m already shaking my head, a laugh escaping. “Storm would have my balls in a sack if she heard that anyone touched him.”

The friend—drunk and clearly not interested in spousal approval—waves his wallet toward China. “We’ve got a grand. She’ll take that!”

Dan gives me an almost imperceptible head shake, his eyes widening as he takes in China’s electric-blue dress. There’s no need. With a wave, I catch Nate’s attention and, pointing at Dan, I mouth, “No dances.” It’s not worth being murdered by a pregnant woman. Or more likely, her best friend and henchwoman, Kacey.

To Dan, I ask, “So, does Storm know?”

“Yeah, Nora knows.” Dan still refuses to acknowledge her by the name everyone else calls her, even though she doesn’t mind it. “I just got the call at the end of my shift. The guys decided to bring me here to celebrate.”

“When do you start?”

He takes a long sip of his drink. “Next week.”

“New job, wedding, baby on the way . . . You’re going to be busy.”

“Yeah.” Dan’s head bobs up and down as he scratches the back of his neck, adding absently, “And it’s about to get a lot busier from the shit we’re hearing on the streets.”

Another one of Dan’s officer friends lifts his shot glass in the air, saluting, “To Special Agent Dan Ryder, newest member of the DEA!” A loud cheer explodes from around us.

Seconds later, I hear a squeal of panic. My attention flies to the bar to find Ginger hovering over where Charlie was just standing. Looking down.

Chapter twenty-two

CHARLIE

“Charlie?”

I open my eyes to see a masculine furrowed brow and rows of shelves and boxes. I’m lying on the couch in Cain’s office.