Not a Hero Read online

  “Might have a barmaid for Bull.” But he still didn’t trust her.

  He’d just have to keep an eye on her.

  Chapter Five

  After the police chief left, Audrey continued restocking the shelves. Her anxiety hadn’t lessened, though. She dropped a can. Picked it up. Her hand was shaking so hard she dropped it again.

  Eff-it-all.

  That police chief had studied her as if she was an ax murderer or something. Sheesh, he was scary.

  “You all right, girl?” At the dairy aisle, Dante looked up from unpacking milk cartons.

  “Just clumsy, but I’m fine.” What a lie. Everything inside her wanted to flee back to her rental house.

  Wasn’t it funny how quickly the tiny log cabin on the lake had become her refuge…despite a few hair-raising night noises from outside. One sounded like a high-pitched timer going off, peep, peep, peep, for long periods at a time. Another went up in pitch like a saw being sharpened.

  Or…far worse…she’d heard something rustling in the brush down by the lake. And, like a courageous soul, she’d actually pulled the covers over her head.

  Welcome to Alaska, city girl.

  Maybe if Spyros came after her, some huge carnivorous animal would chow down on him before he reached her cabin.

  Speaking of primitive Alaska, her tiny cabin didn’t have internet service or phone coverage. She sure hadn’t realized how addicted she was to an online connection…not until the day she arrived and found she had none.

  Now, every morning, she visited the coffee shop to use the free internet there and check her emails.

  Not that her emails had good news.

  She scowled as she stacked cans of beef stew. Spyros still hadn’t been caught. Special Agent Dennison thought the hitman had holed up somewhere to heal. The day after her attack, an ophthalmologist’s body had been found in his clinic’s bloodied surgery room. Had the eye surgeon been forced to operate on Spyros’s eye?

  Feeling guilty about the doctor’s death was foolish, but…if she hadn’t hurt Spyros, the doctor would still be alive. God, the last thing she’d ever wanted was for someone to die because of her.

  But here, a continent away, she didn’t pose a risk to anyone—not buried in a small town no one had ever heard of. There were no traffic cameras, no reporters. She’d abandoned the wigs and disguises…aside from makeup to cover the remnants of bruises. It’d been nice to look in a mirror and see herself again—blonde hair, gray eyes, a few freckles.

  The store door opened and a bearded man in overalls and flannel shirt walked in accompanied by the stench of an unwashed body.

  Ew. She gave him a polite nod and took her place behind the counter to ring up his purchases. Because that was her job now.

  How long was she going to have to hide out in Alaska? Her life was in Chicago. Her library job, her cozy apartment, her friends. Okay, maybe she had possessed more work acquaintances than friends, but still…

  Surely, she wouldn’t have to scurry around like a terrified mouse forever.

  At least she’d figured out how to use software to hide her IP address so she could keep in touch with Dennison by email. He’d told her they’d found Quentin’s body. The author had been tortured before being killed.

  Tortured. Her hands fisted with her fury. Her fear.

  Dennison wrote that, despite frustrating obstacles, the pharmaceutical research company would be prosecuted.

  However, he hadn’t found Spyros’s informants in the FBI. And when a task force started investigations, her involvement with Quentin had surfaced—and her picture had appeared in the Chicago papers.

  I want to go home. Depression settled like a heavy weight around her shoulders.

  Footsteps crossed the store from the back, and she shook herself. Smile.

  Scowling, the bearded man thumped a six-pack of beer on the counter. “Gimme a pack of cigarettes. Those.” He pointed to the brand.

  She took the pack and rang everything up. Before she could tell him the total, he tossed her a wad of bills, his mouth still turned down. Someone had really woken on the wrong side of the bed today.

  Silently, she made change. He headed out, passing Chief MacNair at the door. When the chief got an identical glare, Audrey felt better. The man’s animosity wasn’t confined to her.

  Her relief disappeared as the cop headed straight for her.

  Why did he have to be so big and mean looking? God, he was almost as scary as her attackers had been. No, no, he wasn’t. What was she thinking?

  Wiping damp palms on her jeans, she forced a smile. “Chief, can I help you?”

  “No.” He didn’t smile back. “Do you want a job?”

  Hope rose like a helium-filled balloon. A job. Only… She eyed him. Men who offered to hire a woman without knowing her skills might be looking for…intimate services. Even nerds like her occasionally got propositioned.

  No, she was being overly cautious. Despite being intimidating, he didn’t seem like a horny jerk. Or a needy one. He wasn’t exactly gorgeous, but his rough masculinity probably drew women like bees to clover. It was doubtful he’d ever had to pay for sex. “Doing what?”

  “Serving drinks in a bar. Or maybe working as a waitress in the restaurant section.”

  “Uhhhh…” A place filled with people? She usually dealt with one person at a time at the library—or over the internet for freelancing. She’d take the client’s request, do the work, and hand back information or books. “I don’t…”

  She paused. Maybe serving bar customers wasn’t all that different. Take an order and hand back the requested drinks. She pulled in a breath. “I’m interested, but…”

  How honest should she be?

  “But what?”

  Behind the cop’s back, Dante smiled encouragement.

  “I’ve never waited on tables before.”

  The police chief studied her, then shrugged. “It’ll be up to the owner.” He motioned to the door.

  “Right now?” Her voice came out a squeak, and she flushed. But seriously? No time to prep? Look up what waitresses did? Put on the right clothes?

  “Good a time as any. The roadhouse opens tomorrow.”

  Oh. She should get over there ASAP if she wanted the job. She hesitated and looked at Dante.

  “You go on, girl. Get a cash-paying job. Even if you do, you can still work here for room ’n’ board.”

  He was such a nice man. When he’d offered the cabin, he told her she looked like his daughter who’d gone on ahead. The grief in his eyes had broken Audrey’s heart.

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, Dante. That sounds perfect.”

  “It’s not far,” the chief said. “We’ll walk.”

  Silently, he walked beside her, taking a right, then a left down Sweetgale Street.

  She gave him a sidelong look. Why couldn’t the guy have a potbelly and double chin or something? No, his stomach was flat, his shoulders broad, and his jaw was hard.

  Mean-looking hard. Even a faint limp didn’t diminish the menace he radiated.

  He caught her looking at him. “Relax. The jail is the other direction.”

  “There’s a relief,” she muttered, and his low chuckle made her stumble. He did have a sense of humor. Who knew? “Where is this place?”

  “There.” He pointed. The building sat at the intersection of Sweetgale and Dall—the road that led to the resort. A long outside deck overlooked the oval-shaped lake.

  “That’s a great location.”

  He eyed the place, as if he hadn’t noticed before, and nodded. Not exactly the type to talk a girl’s ear off, was he?

  A huge wooden sign hung from the aged log building. The name: Bull’s Moose Roadhouse arched over the silhouette of an antlered moose. “I thought the term was bull moose.”

  “It is. The owner’s name is Bull.”

  The man’s parents had named their child Bull. How wrong was that?

  The chief pulled open the door, and she walked inside. The
massive logs making up the walls had been stained a satiny dark gold.

  Wagon wheel chandeliers hung from solid beams, high overhead. A frame of stretched animal hides divided the bar section from the restaurant. In the bar, distressed wood tables and wooden chairs took up the middle of the sawdust-covered wood floor. A small raised stage on the right had an open area for dancing. The décor included antlers hung on the walls, but thankfully, there were no animal heads or bodies.

  Was there a decorating category called Alaska rustic?

  “We’re not open,” a loud bass voice yelled from the back. “Come back tomorrow.”

  “Got possible wait staff for you.” The police chief guided her forward with a hand on her low back.

  When he stepped away, she felt the loss of the almost-comforting touch.

  “Gabe? ’Bout time you got here!” The owner strode out of the back.

  Good God. No wonder he was called Bull.

  This man was taller than the big police chief by another two or three inches and simply huge. With a shaved head, a graying black goatee, and black eyes, he was frightening in a whole different way from the cop. Meeting the chief was like unexpectedly coming face-to-face with a wolf—a danger she’d never had to worry about in Chicago. Bull was a city bus that’d flatten a person without the passengers even feeling the bump.

  Bull gave the chief a rough one-armed guy-hug, complete with a wallop on the back. “What took you so long, old man?”

  Look at that. Chief MacNair actually almost smiled. But…had Bull called him old? She frowned. The cop looked a few years older than she was, probably in his thirties, but still, nowhere near forty.

  “Did you say you had help for me?” Bull asked.

  “Yeah.” The chief nodded toward her. “Juliette Wilson.”

  Bull’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her face.

  Eff-it-all. In the bright light, her bruises probably showed through the makeup.

  The black gaze swept over her again. “From Outside, I’d guess.”

  Seriously? She glanced at the door and said politely, “Yes, we came in from outside.”

  The chief’s expression was unreadable. “He means you probably came from the Lower 48—the rest of the States.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated. Unfortunately, she couldn’t possibly pass as a long-term resident. “Right. Yes.”

  “Figured.” Bull frowned at Chief MacNair. “Teach her to survive so I don’t lose her to a moose the first week.”

  Great. Her potential boss was already laughing at her. “I’m not that naïve. Even I know that moose aren’t carnivorous.”

  Chief MacNair almost smiled again. “No, they’re just half a ton of irritable.”

  Eeeks.

  Bull waved at the bar in the back. “I finally got the taps and soda dispensers hooked up. Want something to drink while we talk?”

  “A root beer would be good,” she said.

  As Bull strolled toward the bar, Gabe motioned to a table and pulled out a chair for her. For a frontier sort of guy, he had nice manners.

  He was still scary as all get out.

  Rather than joining her at the table, he put his foot on a chair and leaned his forearms on his thigh, looking down at her. “You going to be all right with Bull?”

  She stared up at him. He was being…kind. That was so unexpected. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to interview.”

  His eyes narrowed like Bull’s had, and she wondered what she’d said wrong this time. “Is there a problem?”

  “You sound like you should look for a college professor job instead.”

  Oh, damn. She didn’t want to sound like a nerd. Pulling her shoulders back, she lifted her chin. “I’m trying to impress him.”

  “Mmmhmm,” he agreed politely, and his mouth twitched. Then his dark brows drew together. “A warning. Alaska bars can be rough.”

  Suppressing a cringe, she straightened her shoulders instead. Sound confident, woman. Grow a spine. She needed this job. “Don’t worry about me. I can manage.”

  Still frowning, he glanced at Bull, who’d walked up with two drinks. “You’ll keep an eye out for her?”

  “Count on it.”

  Gabe gave her a nod. “Good luck, cheechako.”

  What the heck was a cheechako? Her fingers twitched toward her phone, only it wasn’t a smart phone, just a cheap prepaid. Google wasn’t available to help her out.

  As the chief abandoned her to her fate, Bull sat down across from her. “Where have you waited tables before? Have you worked in a bar or restaurant?”

  “Um, no.” She managed a smile and prepared to give it her best. “But I learn quite fast.” Especially if she had time to get online first.

  “No experience, huh. You’re over twenty-one, yeah?”

  When she nodded, he eyed her. “I’ve got a couple of under-twenty-ones who can’t serve alcohol, but they can work in the restaurant. What I need right now is bar staff.”

  She laced her fingers under the table. “Give me a try.”

  He rubbed his mouth, then sighed. “Okay then. Gabe’s rarely wrong about people. Let’s see how you do.” He held out his hand. “Welcome to the Bull’s Moose, Juliette.”

  Rather than getting up and doing a hip wagging, victory dance—something she’d never do in public—she smiled and shook his hand.

  Audrey left the tavern, her feet barely touching the gravel parking lot.

  But, wow, what a short interview. To obtain her reference and liaison librarian position, she’d had to submit her resume, have a preliminary dialogue by phone, then spend an entire day interviewing at the university as well as give a presentation.

  This interview… She hadn’t even had time to finish her soda.

  Despite the abbreviated nature of the meeting, she’d snagged herself a job. Best of all, Bull agreed to pay her in cash during the probationary period, which meant her fake ID wouldn’t be tested.

  Once on the sidewalk, she hesitated. She could retrace her steps and go back downtown. However, she could see the lake behind Bull’s Moose Roadhouse. Her cabin was on the lake. If she followed the lakeside trail through the tiny unkempt city park, she should arrive home.

  It was a lovely sunny day and would be a pretty walk. Assuming she didn’t run into any irritable moose. Had Chief MacNair been joking about that? She’d gotten the impression he was serious, although amused at her.

  Maybe Dante would tell her the truth. Or when she was online in the coffee shop, she could investigate potentially dangerous Alaskan animals.

  As she strolled down the gravel path, she smiled at the sight of a floatplane taking off from the lake. It rose effortlessly into the sky. So cool. Dante said if she’d arrived here earlier in the spring, the planes would have landed on the snow using skis rather than floats. Alaska certainly was different.

  And the lake was a lot bigger than she’d realized.

  By the time she arrived at her cabin, she was exhausted, and her legs ached. It was embarrassing to realize how out of shape she was. Honestly, in Chicago, she’d never hiked anywhere. That’s why God created the taxi.

  She turned off the lakeside path onto the narrow dirt trail that led to the four rental cabins. Dante had been extremely generous to her. He said he’d built the cabins years ago when the town was bigger, and these days, the only time all the cabins were rented was during fishing season.

  Her place resembled a furnished studio apartment—one big room with a living area in the front half. The kitchen and dining table in the back left, and a bedroom behind a curtain in the right corner. The tiny bathroom had an equally tiny shower.

  Nothing fancy. But the cabin held a woodstove for heat, a table and two chairs, a couch and armchair, and a bed and dresser. The kitchen had a small fridge and stove, pots, silverware, and dishes. Everything necessary to survive…even if her laundry had to be taken to the downtown laundromat.

  And she was still picking up new skills.

  The first day
, Dante had shown her how to build a fire in the woodstove. She’d started all the rest since then. It was embarrassing how much pride the accomplishment gave her.

  Smiling, she walked through the cabin, out the back door, and climbed onto the top of the picnic table. She’d always considered herself a practical person. Living in a rustic cabin with no internet, no washing machine or dishwasher or even air-conditioning was…hmm…an adventure?

  And when she sat out here and looked at the sunlit lake and the magnificent mountain range behind it, the need for modern amenities faded into the background.

  This was where she wanted to be.

  Although… A quiver of worry ran through her. How did a person go about being a waitress?

  When she’d been served in restaurants, the job hadn’t appeared too complicated.

  Tomorrow morning, she’d have to buy some coffee, pull out her laptop, and find out if there were tricks to waiting on tables in a bar.

  Chapter Six

  The next night, Gabe pulled his Jeep into the Bull’s Moose Roadhouse parking lot with a rising sense of anticipation.

  Bull had hired the newcomer. That was good.

  Nonetheless…Gabe was a tad worried, since: (a) He’d recommended her from instinct, not actual knowledge of her character, and (b) She might not be prepared for a bar like this.

  At least his brother had managed to find another server—a youngster who’d just turned twenty-one. The young man was hoping for a job at McNally’s Ski Resort, so he might not be around long. Ms. Wilson wouldn’t be stuck waiting the tables alone.

  And Gabe would be there tonight to make sure he hadn’t led his brother wrong.

  After beeping the Jeep’s locks, Gabe headed for the bar. A “Grand Opening” banner hung between two trees to inform the world that Bull’s was now in business. At least the bar portion was.

  Inside, at a table near the door, two men in their sixties were people-watching. Gabe gave one a double take. “I know you. Tucker.”

  “Yeah?” Tucker eyed Gabe. His smile was almost hidden in his bushy gray beard. “Yeah, you’re Mako’s kid.”