Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(49)

“I know that.” And she was. She might work at this unsavory establishment, but she wasn’t like the rest of her clan. She worked two jobs and took night courses and raised her little sister. “But Sheriff Walters is a powerful man—”

“Him? He looks like he has a stick up his ass.”

North released a hard laugh. Hadn’t he had a similar thought about the man’s sister?

“I appreciate you looking out for me—”

“It wasn’t just you, my friend. He insulted me. I heard that man call me a bimbo.”

“He said bimbo waitresses. That doesn’t necessarily mean you specifically—”

“Oh, he meant me.” She rolled her eyes.

North shrugged, watching the fiery bloom of color in her cheeks and knew there was no talking her down.

“Men like him are used to getting whatever they want and saying whatever they want because they think they’re superior.” She sniffed and picked up his empty water glass. Frowning down at the table, she said, “And he didn’t leave a tip.”

North chuckled. “Big shock.”

Shrugging, she strolled away.

North’s laughter faded. He picked up his beer and took a long pull. Now that Piper had left, he was alone with the echo of the sheriff’s words. I saw the way you looked at her. Like a wolf ready to eat its next meal.

If that was true, then he needed to stop looking at Faith Walters, because there would be no feasting on her. He finished his beer and lifted his gaze. Spying Piper, he signaled for another one.





EIGHTEEN




Shutting off all the downstairs lights, Faith moved upstairs and went about her bedtime routine. Washed her face. Brushed her teeth. Pulled her still-damp hair into a bun. She hooked her phone to the charger beside her bed and got under the covers. Sighing, she folded her hands across her stomach. This was the same routine she’d had most of her life. It hadn’t changed. Despite the fact that three nights ago she had bumped into North at the store. Her attempt to clear the air between them had gone abysmally wrong. He didn’t want to be friends. Or even friendly.

He had kissed her right there in the paper-towel aisle. To punish her. To prove the point that she wanted him. Then he had told her she couldn’t have him. He’d made a fool of her. It was like he held out a cookie jar for her to take a cookie and slammed the lid on her fingers when she reached inside. Jerk.

Forget I live next door. Forget you even have a neighbor.

Fine. She would do just that. Difficult as it might be, she would forget all about him. Brendan had called and they’d finally nailed down the day for their next date. She would focus on that. And forget all about North Callaghan.

Despite her turbulent thoughts, her lids grew heavy.

Outside, she heard the distant rattle of wheels on a garbage can as it rolled toward the curb, and it jarred her from her state of semiconsciousness. Damn.

Tomorrow was garbage day. They wouldn’t pick up again for another two days. Unless she wanted her trash overflowing onto her kitchen floor by tomorrow evening, she needed to take it outside now. She doubted she would be awake at five in the morning for pickup. Definitely not. Tomorrow she was sleeping late.

Flinging back the covers, she hurried downstairs and pulled the garbage bag out of the can.

Opening her front door, she was careful not to drag the bag over the concrete. The last thing she wanted to be doing at midnight was picking up smelly garbage.

The rest of her neighbors had remembered to set out their trash, including North. Garbage lined the curb up and down the length of her street. The night was quiet. Various porch lights glowed in the darkness. Two houses down, the little boy had forgotten to bring in his bike. It lay on its side in the driveway. Hopefully it would still be there in the morning. Or maybe his mother would remember to bring it in.

She deposited her trash at the curb and then turned to go back inside. Yawning, she scratched her elbow as she shuffled back to her house. A car door slammed shut. She glanced over her shoulder, noticing a man getting out of a truck parked across the street from her house. There wasn’t usually a truck parked there. The house had a garage and the lady who lived there always parked inside it.

The driver of the truck started walking toward her house. It almost looked like he was walking toward her. She hesitated, her feet dragging to a halt. He was walking toward her.

She squinted, trying to get a better look at him. His face was in shadow, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen him before. His lanky form ate up the distance between them with purposeful strides.

She backed up several steps, unease filling her. “Hello?” Sweet Hill wasn’t exactly a mecca of crime, but it was late and a man she didn’t know was coming at her in the middle of the night.

“Hello, bitch,” he greeted in turn.

The profanity, the slur, wasn’t actually the thing that panicked her. It was the way he said it. The way he spoke . . . the absolute rage shaking his voice that clued her in to his identity. She knew his voice. This was the same guy that called her on the phone at work the other day.

Whirling around, she sprinted for her door.

She wasn’t quick enough. She had her hand on the doorknob and was pulling it open when he came behind her. He grabbed her shoulder, forcing her around.

In the glow of her porch light, his features were no longer hidden. His narrow face was in perfect view. She didn’t only know his voice. She knew him. She’d seen this man before. He was Noah Grimes’s father. This was the man that went crazy in the courthouse the other week.