answer seemed to douse her interest with a cold slap of reality. She frowned and jerked her gaze away with a sigh. Trust was clearly in short supply for Annie. Not surprising.
Jonah twisted his mouth to the side as he thought. “May I have your order pad and pen?”
With a puzzled look, she took the items from the front pocket of her apron and extended them to him.
“What time do you get off work tonight?” He scribbled an address on the pad and clicked the pen closed.
Again she hesitated before answering, her gaze narrowed on him as if she could detect his motives, any ill-intent or hidden agenda if she studied him close enough. “Eight. Why?”
“That’s my gym.” He tapped the front of the pad. “I’ll meet you there at eight thirty and give you a few pointers on self-defense, if you want. There are plenty of things a woman can do to protect herself, even from a man twice her size. I’ll show you a couple of the most effective ones tonight.”
He handed her back the pen and pad, and she perused the note he’d made. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth again and wound a strand of hair around her finger. “I don’t know. I … I’d have to call my babysitter and make sure she could stay late. And I hate to miss the kids’ bedtime. I see so little of them as it is.” Her shoulders slumped a bit, and he heard working-mother guilt rife in her tone.
Seizing the opportunity to learn more about her and make her feel more at ease with him, Jonah grinned. “How old are they?”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“Your kids. How old are they?”
Her expression softened, and warmth flooded her eyes. “Haley is five and a half, and my baby, Ben, is almost two.”
Her obvious affection for her children needled a vulnerable place in Jonah, an emptiness he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on. The idea of having his own family stirred a complicated mix of emotions in him. He longed for the domestic ideal of home and hearth, but his memories of family left him in a cold sweat. Norman Rockwell dreams of a picket fence and two-point-five kids were a fantasy for him. Out of reach. Too risky.
His broken family, his only experience with home life, was a recipe for disaster.
Clearing his throat and shoving aside his own bitter memories, he flashed her another smile. “A boy and a girl. That’s great. You have a matched set.”
A corner of her mouth quirked up. “Hardly matched. They’re as opposite as can be.”
Jonah chuckled. “Funny how that happens, huh?”
Her mouth curved a bit more, forming the first hint of a grin he’d seen on her lips in weeks. “Yeah. Funny.”
“I’d love to meet them someday.”
Her smile vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by the damnable wariness again. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I like you. And I like kids. Stands to reason I’d like your kids.”
Her brow lowered. “Mr. Devereaux, I’m not interested in—”
“No, you’re right.” He raised a hand to cut her off. “Too fast. I didn’t mean to be pushy.” He nodded toward the order pad still in her hand. “But please consider coming tonight. For your safety’s sake.” As he backed toward the door, he threw in a parting shot he knew was pure manipulation. But he didn’t care. “Do it for your kids if not yourself.”
Annie needed to learn to protect herself, to stand up to bullies like Hardin, to revive the spark her abuser had extinguished. Jonah wasn’t above a little manipulation if it motivated her to make changes in her life.
The truth was, Annie had been the delivery person when a two-hundred-thousand-dollar transfer of funds was stolen. Had the thief intended to kill her to keep her quiet, stop her from identifying him? Would the party who’d expected the cash seek retribution? Could Hardin become more desperate and, therefore, more dangerous?
No matter how he looked at this turn of events, Jonah didn’t like the crosshairs Annie had found herself in after last night. She needed more than just a few self-defense techniques if someone tried to keep her from talking. But his lessons would be a start.
Meanwhile, he’d be extra vigilant. Annie needed someone with his experience and training to watch her back.
Annie surveyed the last few diners who’d come in for a late meal, then faced Lydia, who was working the last shift. “Can you handle things if I go now?”
“Sure thing, honey. I got it covered.” The older waitress smiled and jerked her head toward the door. “Get on home to those babies and give ‘em a kiss for me, too.”
“Thanks, Lydia.” Annie untied her apron and stashed it under the counter. Grabbing her purse, she headed back to the kitchen, walking with careful penguinlike steps to avoid slipping on the greasy film that had accumulated on the floor through the day. As she neared Mr. Hardin’s office, she heard his raised voice, and her heart beat a little harder.
“That’s not enough time! I said I’d get it to you!” he ranted.
As Annie tiptoed past his half-open door to clock out, she caught her reflection on the stainless-steel side of the industrial freezer. The image rubbed a raw nerve.
How many times had she cowered around Walt, tiptoeing through their house in order not to wake him, or quietly keeping a discreet distance to avoid triggering one of his tantrums?
She’d thought her days of treading lightly around hostile men were past, yet here she was skulking past Hardin’s office like a guilty child. Frustration and self-censure stabbed Annie.
She’d come too far and paid too high of a price to be free of Walt to fall back into old habits now. Habits born from fear.
Damn it, she didn’t want to live in fear anymore! Annie jammed her time card in the clock so hard it crumpled in the middle. Spinning on her heel to leave, she marched back by Hardin’s office, her chin up and her back straight.
“Annie!”
She froze, dread slowing her pulse and snagging her breath.
Please, Lord, not another errand like last night.
Heart thumping, she turned toward Hardin’s office and stepped to the door. “Yes?”
“Where do you think you’re goin’?” he asked around a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes mirrored the same dark resentment she heard in his tone.
“My shift is over. I was going home.”
“Not if I say you don’t.”
A rock lodged in Annie’s stomach. She dragged in a smoke-laced lungful of air, trying to steel her nerves and battle down the building panic.
And anger—the most dangerous of emotions.
Dealing with the repercussions of Walt’s rage had been enough to teach her just how dangerous. But her own temper had led her
