So much for hoping that he wasn’t plastered.
He downed the amber liquid in one swallow and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Donna flexed her hand against the pistol holstered at her waist. If it had been loaded with paint balls instead of nine-millimeter slugs, she’d have already shot him. She was that ticked.
“Hey, lady,” the bartender called out. “No guns allowed in here.”
Blake slowly looked at her, his reflexes obviously dulled by the liquor. A sober cop would have jerked around to assess the danger as soon as the bartender mentioned a gun.
She pulled her badge out of the pocket of her jeans and flashed it. “Cop.”
The bartender’s expression turned frosty, his eyes as dark and deadly looking as the ones on the cobra tattoo snaking up his neck. “Makes no difference to me. No guns.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not staying.” She put her badge away and strode across the room, her boots echoing on the scarred hardwood floor. Stopping beside Blake’s stool, she motioned toward the door. “Let’s go.”
He scowled at her. “Another whiskey.” His words were slurred, his face ruddy.
The bartender stepped toward him with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Before he could refill the shot glass, Donna slapped her hand over it. “He’s done.”
“No. He’s not.” Blake yanked the glass away from her and held it out toward the bartender. “Fill ’er up.”
The bartender lifted the bottle.
“He’s drunk,” Donna warned. “You pour that, and he gets behind the wheel, I’ll arrest both of you.”
He hesitated, shrugged and moved down the bar to a patron who promised to be less trouble.
Blake glared at her through bleary eyes. “This isn’t Blount County. You can’t arrest anyone here.”
“He doesn’t know that.” She jerked her thumb toward the bartender.
Blake swiveled around and slouched back against the bar. “How did you find me?”
“Call tree.”
He frowned. “Call what?”
She sighed. “One of many things you’ve failed to learn, even though I’ve told you about it before. Destiny’s a very small town, so—”
He snorted. “No kidding.”
She wanted to punch him. Instead, she forced a smile. “Unlike you, I consider Destiny’s cozy size to be one of its many assets. Case in point, the call tree. Someone goes missing, I can make one call, and pretty soon, half the people in the county are looking out their windows. It’s more efficient than a big city’s AMBER Alert system.”
His mouth quirked up. “You put out an AMBER Alert on me? I had no idea you cared so much.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know,” she grumbled. “Maybe you should pay more attention.”
His brow crinkled in confusion, but his inebriated brain couldn’t seem to grasp what she meant. Thank goodness. Admitting she cared about the brute while in a bar that smelled like pee wasn’t something she wanted sober Blake to remember.
“My point is that one of the benefits of living in Destiny is that we watch out for each other. After a few calls, I knew you’d left town and what road you’d taken. Unfortunately, just like with my jurisdiction, my useful contacts end at the county line. So I had to do a bit of searching on my own after that.”
He picked up his empty shot glass, frowned and thunked it back onto the bar. When he looked at her again, he blinked as if surprised that she was still there.
“What do you want?” he slurred.
She eyed the few people in the room, noting how closely they were paying attention to the exchange. It was bad enough that they were witness to Blake being drunk. If word got back to Chief Thornton or Dillon, there was no way she could fix what was probably already an unfixable situation and get them to rehire him.
“We need to talk. Alone.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. I like it here.”
She snorted. “Yeah. It’s real nice. Great ambience. You could mark your territory right where you’re sitting, and I bet no one would bat an eyelash.”
His brow wrinkled again. “Huh?”
She counted to ten and tried to remember all the reasons she liked this man enough not to shoot him with real bullets. But she couldn’t seem to think of even one at the moment. “Just step outside so we can talk. You can drink yourself under the table later.”
“Bar.”
It was her time to frown in confusion. “What?”
“Drink myself under the bar.” He thumped the polished surface for emphasis. “You called it a table.”
“No, I...” She drew a deep breath. “Whatever. Let’s go.”
“Nope. You have something to say to me, say it right here. Then you can skedaddle on home and let me drink in peace.” He waved toward the bartender and held out his glass.
The bartender took one look at Donna and shook his head. “Sorry, man. No can do.”
She snatched the shot glass from him and set it out of his reach. When he opened his mouth to complain, she stepped closer, sandwiching her hips between his open thighs. The way his breath caught when she leaned in close would have been satisfying if she thought he was reacting to her as a woman. But as drunk as he was, there had to be another explanation. Like maybe the smell of shampoo and soap from her recent shower was too startling a contrast to the odor of urine and stale cigarettes he’d been basking in this afternoon.
She whispered in his ear. “You smell like a brewery, so I’m betting your bladder is full. I’m also betting you’d rather not wet yourself in front of all your lovely friends—which is exactly what you’ll do if I have to come back in here with my Taser and take you on a five-second ride.” She stepped back and shrugged. “Your choice. Walk out of here on your own with me. Or wait here for my Taser.”
Her threat carried the weight of sincerity. She wasn’t bluffing. He mumbled some coarse words and threw a few bills on the counter. But he didn’t argue anymore as he stumbled after her to the parking lot outside.
When they reached her previously white Ford Escape, courtesy of the muddy back roads she’d slogged through to find him, she leaned against the front passenger door. A raindrop splatted on the top of her head.
She glanced up at the dark, ominous-looking clouds. The weatherman had predicted more thunderstorms tonight, which was why Dillon had cut their training exercise short. He’d wanted them to have enough time to thoroughly clean and stow their equipment, real guns or not, before it started to pour.
Normally Donna would have been right there with her teammates, helping out. But she’d
