“So . . .” he said, hands on his legs. “We need to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk, Dan.” She set down a pencil and crossed her arms. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say, or flirt with you anymore, or make out under the stars, or get all tangled up in you. I really don’t know how to make that any clearer.”
He scratched his face, definitely confused. She didn’t know yet, so why was she so defensive? “Why?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation. I don’t owe you anything.”
He took a deep breath. “I owe you . . . the truth about something.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t owe me anything. Just leave and we’ll call it—”
“Lena! I need you!” Three whacks on the door followed Brandy’s call. Then the locked handle jiggled. “Now!”
They were both up in a shot, Dan turning the lock to whip the door open at the panic in Brandy’s voice. “Remember the Hispanic guy you told me to watch out for? With the snake tattoo up his arm?”
Ramon.
“I didn’t notice that tattoo at first and served him. Now he’s at the bar. Mean as spit and demanding to see the owner.”
Maggie paled and put her hand to her throat. “I want him out of here.”
“Stay here. Both of you.” Dan pulled Brandy into the room with one hand, and put another on Maggie’s shoulder. “I’ll handle this.”
Without waiting for a response, he strode back into the bar and took the empty seat on Ramon’s left, getting a dark look and a fraction of a nod when he did.
“How ya doin’?” Dan asked, his voice low.
Ramon slid him another look. “Fuck off.”
Good to know he hadn’t changed. “You know who I am?”
“A prick.”
“That and house security. So you don’t want to piss me off. All you need to do is go out the same way you came. Now.”
Finally he got Ramon’s full face, which had become a little craggier in prison, and still housed plenty of hate in deep-set black eyes. “Kiss my ass, Mr. House Security. I know the owner. And I’m not leavin’ until I see her.”
“That isn’t going to happen,” Dan said calmly. “So you can leave now.”
Ramon took a very long swig of beer, then set the bottle down and gave Dan one more death stare. “She’s got something of mine and I’m not leaving without it.”
Ice dribbled through Dan’s veins.
Of course. What else would Ramon think? The kid might not look like him, but the math would work in his favor. Magdalena Varcek was his lover fourteen years ago, too.
The ice turned to adrenaline and something else very dark. Possession. As Ramon reached for the bottle, Dan grabbed it out of his hands. “No more. Out.”
With surprising speed, Ramon whipped his fist around, but Dan clipped it with the bottle. Glass smashed against flesh, cracking as beer and shards hit the bar and they both leaped up, Ramon’s bar stool clattering to the floor.
“Motherfu—”
Dan threw a fist into his cheek, then one into his gut. When he doubled over, Dan grabbed his arm and twisted him around into a chokehold, one easy move. He jerked away from the bar and yanked Ramon’s arm higher. “Time to leave, pal.”
With a solid shove, he got him to the front door, and used Ramon to push it open and thrust him outside.
“Where’s your car?” Dan demanded, still not letting him loose.
“Down there.” He jerked his head toward a narrow street that ran alongside the bar. “Fuckin’ A, man, let me go.”
Dan didn’t let up, scanning the streets for a possible accomplice and seeing no one. Around the corner was a row of parked cars by a Dumpster and side entrances to the buildings.
He twisted the arm as he tightened his grip around Ramon’s throat. “Which one?”
“Here.” He notched his head toward a subcompact.
“Locked?”
“No. The keys are under the front seat.”
“Open it.” He let him reach the handle to pull open the door, then thrust him into the driver’s seat with one push, racking his Glock before Ramon took his next breath.
“What the fuck, man?” He held his hands back and stared up at Dan in disbelief.
“Here’s what the fuck, man.” Dan crouched down and got in his face, pointing the barrel between terrorstricken eyes. “If anyone ever sees you anywhere near this place again, if you make any effort to so much as breathe the same air as Maggie Varcek, if you even think about having contact with her, you’re a