North Country(40)

Mike closes in from the other side, Jake not far behind him.

“… as if Jay didn’t tell you,” Hank says.

“Like I told Dorsey, I don’t know shit about any stash,” Logan snaps.

“Hey, fellas, what’s going on here?” I interrupt.

Hank holds Logan’s hard gaze for another two beats before turning to scrutinize me. “Just sayin’ hello to an old friend.”

“And why don’t I believe you, Hank?”

“Don’t know. Guess you’re the suspicious sort.” His cold gray eyes idle on my silky top.

I fight the urge to cross my arms. I need them free in case I have to move fast.

Logan adjusts his stance to shield me from Hank’s leering look with his body. “Leave her out of this.”

Hank grins. “That’s right, you two are old friends too. Different kind of friends, though.”

“Watch it,” Logan snarls, the muscles in his arms cording with restraint.

Patrons around us are watching. I don’t know how much they can hear over the music, but I’m sure the closest ones are wondering whether they need to move out of harm’s way.

I nudge Logan away with a palm pressed against his biceps. I don’t need a shield. Hank’s not stupid enough to lay so much as a wayward hair on me. “I don’t know what you were planning when you stood up, but I suggest you rejoin your table.”

Hank shrugs. “I’m not doin’ nothing wrong.”

“Is that so? Funny, last I recall, you were out on parole.”

“So what? I’m allowed to go out for a meal on a Friday night.”

“And if I started poking around, I wonder what infractions I’d find. For starters, I might ask what’s in that glass there?” I nod to the half-finished pint where he was seated.

His eyes narrow, but in the next moment he shifts back to indifference. “That’s not mine. There are five other people at my table. They’ll vouch for me.”

I take a quick inventory of his group: all Murphys and fellow degenerates. “Yeah, right. And I’ll bet that pocket knife sitting in your jeans is for cutting apples, right?”

“You know what they say … One a day keeps the doctor away.” He grins.

Career criminals know all the tricks about what to say to cops and how to skirt parole violations, and that’s what the Murphy family cultivates.

“Okay, we’re gonna take a quick break!” the singer announces abruptly halfway through the song. The instruments die in a clash of sound, leaving everyone in the bar raptly focused on the brewing confrontation in the middle of it.

I’m in no mood to tie up police resources trying to put Hank behind bars over half a pint of beer, if that’s all he’s had. But I’m also in no mood for any of his bullshit. “Sit your ass down and eat your damn wings, or pay your bill and leave, but whatever this is? It’s over now. Got it?”

“Sure thing, Officer.” But the look Hank flashes Logan as he retakes his seat says it’s far from it.

Logan charges out of the bar without a word to me, his cousin offering me a shrug before trailing.

I hesitate a few seconds and then follow. It’s too cool to be outside with bare arms but my adrenaline helps ward off the chill. “Logan.”

He keeps going.

“Logan!” I bark.

Finally, he stops. “I’ll meet you there in a sec.” A gentle command for Jack to continue to his Dodge Ram—a shiny blue replacement for the truck that was stolen from a hotel parking lot four months ago on a trip to Montreal.

I wait for Logan to turn and face me, but he doesn’t. “What do you want, McAllister?”

“How about you grow a pair and face me, for starters.” My anger and hurt build rapidly as I stare at his broad shoulders.

“Emery!” Mike calls out from the doorway, and if he’s using my first name, it’s because he’s used Staff and McAllister already, to no avail .

“It’s all good, Mike. Go back to Breanne before she starts worrying.”

There’s a lengthy pause, and I know he’s wrestling between obeying an order from his superior and protecting a woman against this supposed violent criminal.

Logan slowly turns, his expression stony as it settles on me. “You heard her, Mike.”

I sigh heavily. That’s not going to help matters.

“Don’t you use my name like you know me—”

“It’s all good.” I check over my shoulder so Mike can see my face. “I’ve got this.”

With lips pressed tight and a steely-eyed glare of warning at Logan, he finally turns and disappears inside. I know he won’t go to Breanne, though. He’ll force his way behind the band setup for the only good view through the window.

When I turn back, Logan is watching me intently.

“What was that about with Hank Murphy?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, that wasn’t nothing—”

“Seriously, Em, leave it alone,” he warns, his voice carrying an edge.

An OPP cruiser pulls into the parking lot then, answering the dispatched call. It’s probably Russell. He beats Dan almost every time.

Logan sees the car and curses. “Go inside.” He marches toward Jack’s truck.