“You got it.”

Though he didn’t cast a glance her way, Goatee-man’s eyebrows inched upward a fraction. Good. She pulled off her hat and shook out her hair, then dropped the hat on the vacant stool next to her clutch.

And that got his attention. He actually gave her an appraising stare.

“What?” she asked him. “You expected I’d order a cosmo? Or a lemon drop? Or maybe a piña colada?”

“Maybe,” he admitted and took a long swallow from his glass, draining his beer.

That was the problem, she thought. Everyone, including this clod in the Mariners cap, underestimated her.

But not for long.

“Well,” she said as the bartender slid the drink in front of her. She picked it up, held it close to her lips, and said to him, “You were wrong.” She smiled, just enough to let him know that yeah, she was hot, and he wasn’t getting any of it.

* * *

James under his breath. Unless he wanted to hitchhike home, he’d have to wait until someone brought him his pickup; otherwise, he was stuck here.

Riggs Crossing, unfortunately, didn’t have much in the way of Uber, Lyft, or even a damned taxi service.

But it shouldn’t take long for his ride to get here.

Despite the doctor’s orders, he was leaving, and he’d called Bobby to bring him some clothes, then haul him back home. “You’ll still be without wheels,” Knowlton had confided. “The cops, they took your Explorer.”

“Then I’ll use the company pickup.”

“They got that too.”

He’d clipped out, “Fine. I’ll deal with them. Just come and fetch me.”

“You sure about this?”

“Do I sound unsure?”

“Fine. Fine. I’m on my way.”

So he just had to wait. A half hour or so. He’d already called for the paperwork to sign himself out, been transferred to a different department twice, then gotten the runaround from someone in “admin.” Something about waivers for going against medical advice or some such rot. He didn’t care. If the doctor didn’t sign him out, or if the paperwork didn’t arrive before Knowlton, he’d just leave and deal with the fallout later.

He swung his legs over the bed.

Felt a twinge in his side and ignored it.

He’d have to give up the pain pills, he supposed. Probably couldn’t get a prescription from the doctor when he was hell-bent on disobeying the man’s advice. Fine. He’d deal. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t before.

That much he remembered.

More than one bar fight.