Women who didn’t demand too much of a man.
But Jen Truitt would demand a lot, he was sure of it. Women like her—upper-crust, pampered, who had had life handed to them on a plate—expected a man to come running whenever they crooked a finger.
He definitely wasn’t that kind of man.
The waitress, Candy, came to take his order. She put one hand on his shoulder and leaned toward him, giving him the full effect of her tight, low-cut T-shirt. “How’s my favorite tattoo artist?” she asked, flashing a hundred-watt smile.
“Better now that you’re here.” He looked her up and down. Candy was more his type. You didn’t have to worry about complications with a woman like her. She took what she wanted and trusted you to do the same, with no keeping score or expecting anything permanent.
“I get off in a couple hours.” She trailed her fingers along the back of his neck. “Want to give me a ride home?”
He tried the idea out in his head. Candy would provide a welcome distraction from his current worries, not to mention relief from the hard-on he’d been walking around with for two days. But the prospect didn’t do anything for him. “Thanks, sugar, but I think I’ll have to pass.” He handed her the menu. “Just bring me a guacamole burger and fries.”
She straightened, disappointment clear on her face. “You want a beer with that?”
“Just a Coke. I’ll probably help Theresa close up tonight.” Not that one beer would affect him much, but the last thing you needed when faced with an intricate tat was any kind of buzz.
One burger and half a dozen suggestive hints from Candy later, he left a fat tip and walked back out to his bike. Maybe he’d take a ride around the lake to clear his head before he went back to the shop. It would serve Theresa right to have to handle things by herself a while longer. But as he was reaching for his helmet, a voice behind him said, “Jacobs, I want to talk to you.”
His already bad mood got darker when he turned and saw Police Chief Grant Truitt. A big man with an even bigger opinion of himself, Truitt stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his thick, gray brows drawn together in a scowl.
“If I’d known you were waiting, I’d have ordered dessert,” Zach said.
Truitt moved to stand beside him. “Have you been drinking?”
“No.” He managed to sound unconcerned, though inside he seethed. He shoved the helmet onto his head.
Truitt’s scowl deepened. “Care to take a Breathalyzer test?”
“Why waste the taxpayers’ money? Ask my waitress if you don’t believe me.” He swung his leg over the bike and settled onto the seat.
“You can’t leave when I’m talking to you,” Truitt barked.
“Watch me.” He turned the key, and the Harley’s engine roared to life.
Truitt stepped off the curb, directly in front of the bike. Zach wouldn’t be able to move without running him down. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Zach shouted.
Truitt shook his head. “Shut off the bike!”
Zach switched off the engine. “What’s your problem, Truitt?”
“I came here to talk to you about Jennifer.”
He’d known as much, but even so, the sound of her name made his stomach tighten. “What about her?”
“Stay away from her.”
Gladly, he thought, but he wouldn’t ever give Truitt the satisfaction of thinking he agreed with him. “I think it’s up to her to decide whether or not she wants me to stay away.”
“You listen here!” Truitt grabbed him by the arm.
Choking on rage, Zach tried to jerk away, but Truitt held him tight. How long would they throw him in jail for if he struck an officer? he wondered. And what would they do to him while he was there? Oh, but it was so tempting.
Zach’s gaze burned into the older man’s gray eyes. Eyes the same shade as Jen’s, but harder, colder. “I think you’re out of line, Chief.”
Truitt released him and took a step back, as if he, too, was struggling to control his emotions. “I’m not here as an officer of the law. I’m here as Jennifer’s father. Jennifer is a good girl. She’s smart and talented. You don’t have anything to offer her.”
Right. He was just a long-haired troublemaker. Somebody Truitt and his kind wouldn’t hire to carry out the trash. He forced his lips into a menacing grin. “Maybe she’s not interested in my brains or talent. At least, not my artistic ones.”
Truitt reddened. “Look, Jacobs, I don’t want my daughter having anything to do with a loser like you.”
“What do you know about me except what you’ve made up in your head?” Zach had dealt with people like this all his life. If you weren’t just like them—dressing like them, acting like them, thinking like them—then you were automatically the enemy.
“I know everything I need to know about you. And I’m telling you—stay away from her.”
“If you want your daughter to stay away from me, why don’t you talk to her?”
Truitt’s self-righteousness slipped for half a second before he fit it firmly back into place. “Jennifer resents my interfering in her personal life.”
“News flash, Chief, so do I. So don’t waste your time. Jen’s a grown woman. Why don’t you treat her like one?”
“How dare you—”
Zach didn’t hear whatever else Truitt had to say. He shoved the bike back, then cranked the engine and roared forward, narrowly missing the police chief as he jumped for the curb. He laughed at the image in his rearview mirror of Truitt shouting at him. But the laughter didn’t last long. He knew Truitt hadn’t been joking when he’d said he’d do anything to keep Zach away from Jen.
So what should he do? Should he let Truitt think he had the upper hand? Or show the police chief that nobody pushed Zach Jacobs around?
“THERE’S A STRANGE MAN out in the parking lot.” Analese, Jen’s fellow dance teacher, whispered this news while they were in the dressing room changing to go home after the last class Wednesday evening.
“What do you mean, ‘strange’?” Jen asked.
“He’s just sitting out there on this big motorcycle, watching the door.” Analese stood on tiptoe to see out the high dressing-room window. “He looks dangerous. Maybe we should call the police.”
Jen joined her by the window. Beneath the pinkish glow of the mercury-vapor light sat a man dressed in black leather, on a gleaming black and silver bike. Her breath caught and her heart did a tap routine against her rib cage as she recognized Zach. “D-don’t call the cops,” she said. “It’s okay. I know him.”
“You know a man who looks like that?” Analese’s eyes widened. “Since when?”
