In the bar section, Felix greeted her arrival with a wide, relieved smile. “You’re my hero, girl. It’s insane tonight. Could we add another server on for the midweek shifts?”

“I’ll get that fixed.” Pulling out her phone, she added it to her to-do list.

So, who was here tonight? There was the usual scattering of locals and fishermen in boots, jeans, and T-shirts. A third or so were tourists in flamboyant attire. A few of the McNally’s resort employees were present—out for a good time and dressed to appeal.

Frankie noticed a blonde’s high-heeled footwear and sighed in envy. “Check out those boots.”

Felix followed her gaze. “Oooh, nice. It sucks that the prettiest shoes never come in my size. At least, not here in Alaska. San Francisco, though…”

“You shop online instead?”

“Oh sure, but it lacks the whole vibe of shopping for sexy stuff, you know?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Computers don’t flirt like store clerks.”

He was the biggest flirt she knew, much like fashion photographers who’d elevated sexy banter to an art form.

As she patted his arm in sympathy, she saw the men she’d been hoping to see—the PZs—and her pulse sped up. Their training scenarios must be over now. Was Kit still there in the compound?

“Felix.” Frankie nodded toward the front wall with the mounted caribou antlers and photos. “I’ll handle the Rudolph section.”

“The fanatics are there.” His brows drew down. “Girl, you pick their section every time you have a choice. You shouldn’t get involved with those people.”

“You think I’d take their bullshit seriously?” She blew a raspberry. “When I see them, all I can think is that somewhere a circus is missing its clowns.”

Felix snorted. “Okay then. I won’t worry even if I don’t get it.”

She smiled. “Like all clowns, they’re entertaining.”

“Not the word I’d use, but the section is yours.”

Frankie checked in with the bartender, then started to work. It was good Bull wasn’t here. She really didn’t want him to see her near the PZs.

As soon as she could, Frankie went to the PZ table. After taking their drink requests, she backed up…and deliberately tripped over the older man’s long legs.

He caught her by the waist, his hands lingering before he let her go.

“I-I’m so sorry.” She made her voice sound all choked-up. “I’m just having such a bad month.”

“No problem, girlie,” the black-bearded guy said. “Don’t get your pretty self all upset.”

“It’s b-because…” The way she used her oh-pitiful-me eyes on him would’ve gotten her high points from her sister. “My parents were killed in a car crash last month and…and sometimes it just comes back to me.”

Now, what could they do except say they were sorry for her loss?