She shook her head. “I can’t talk now; I have to work.”

“When do you get off work?” He fondled her hip, way too familiarly, the bastardo, and slid his hand down to squeeze her butt.

Don’t punch him; don’t punch him.

Should she encourage him? It might be a way to get into the compound. No, don’t be stupid. She wouldn’t be able to conceal her loathing, especially since just letting him touch her ass felt far too much like cheating on Bull.

There was only one pair of hands she wanted on her.

Shaking her head, she pushed at Blackbeard’s arm. Weakly. “Oh, please, don’t. I’m a good girl.”

When the ginger across the table snorted, Blackbeard shot him a chiding frown before moving his hand back up to her waist. “Yes, I can see you are. I’m glad to know that. I think you’ll fit in well with us. How about you—”

“Oh!” She checked over her shoulder, as if just remembering that she had a job. “I need to get back to work.

After another shy look, she hurried away. And tried to suppress her anger. The we-have-all-the-answers and the controlling behavior would have worked like a charm on Kit, especially right after her husband died. That was how Obadiah had snowed Kit.

“Frankie, nachos up in the kitchen,” Felix called across the room.

She saluted to show she’d heard him and turned to head that way. She could make a quick dash to the kitchen to get the platter before it got cold, and then—

A man stood in the doorway of the roadhouse. Was that Obadiah?

She hastily turned away. No, it probably wasn’t him. He didn’t drink—and Kit’d said she stopped drinking, too. Even wine. Because whatever he wanted, Kit would do.

Frankie growled. Her fingers tightened on the tray she wanted to break over his head.

A glance over her shoulder showed that the man hadn’t entered the bar. She let out a breath. Even if it was him, he wouldn’t recognize her. Not from the few seconds in a wedding reception line. And dark-haired, brown-eyed women were a dime a dozen in Alaska.

She sped up her pace toward the kitchen.

Someone blocked her path.

“Bull.” Her heart did a happy little spin rather like Gryff’s dancing paws. “What are you doing here?”

“Coming to rescue you, but it seems you didn’t need any help. At all.”

Oh, merda, he’d seen her with the Patriot Zealots. “Actually, the stronzi were fairly nice for a change.”

His eyes were the black of a moonless night—and far too perceptive. “I noticed.”

“Waitress!” The call pierced the noise in the room.

Frankie turned to see a table of impatient tourists.

“I need to get moving.” She’d spent too much time with the PZs.