Chapter 11: Ruth

As I drive to town, Jack follows me in his Impala. We park in the rear lot, out of sight of passersby who might be driving along Main Street. Tom's truck is already here, parked in his reserved spot behind the building. That doesn't surprise me. He's almost always early. When we walk inside, I find Tom restocking the rack of beer mugs. He turns to me, his coolly assessing gaze going from me to Jack.

"Hiya, Tom," Jack says to my assistant manager.

"Jack," Tom says, his tone neutral as he tries to suss out the situation.

Jack checks his watch. "You might as well put me to work, Ruth. The place won't open for another half hour. What can I do?"

"I could use some help in the storage room," I say. "We need to restock the bar."

Jack motions down the back hallway. "Lead the way, boss."

I can tell by the guarded expression on Tom's face that he wants a word. "Go ahead, Jack. I'll be right there."

Jack's gaze transfers from me to Tom. "Sure thing."

When Jack is out of sight, Tom raises a questioning eyebrow. "I know it's none of my business," he begins, "but—"

"Actually, it is your business. You need to know—there might be some unsavory people arriving in town before long, and they might come here looking for Jack."

"Unsavory people?"

"It's a long story, but suffice it to say that Jack's made some serious enemies in New York City. They might come here looking for him."

"Unsavory people?" he repeats. "That means what, exactly?"

I wince. "Members of an organized crime syndicate."

Tom's pale blue eyes widen. "You mean mafia?" His voice rises. "Your boyfriend pissed off the mafia?"

"He's not my boyfriend," I hiss. "Keep your voice down. But, yes, he pissed off the Russian mafia. So, be alert. Keep your eyes and ears open."

"Have you told Chris?"

"Not exactly."

"Why the hell not?"

"Jack doesn't want the police involved. He says it's too dangerous for them."

"Holy crap, Ruth. You need to send this guy packing."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that." I glance down the hallway toward the storage room. "I'll be back."

I join Jack in the storage room, where he's standing idle in the center of the room with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Are you two done talking about me behind my back?" he asks, trying hard not to smile.

"For the time being, yes. But don't be surprised if it happens again."

He walks past me and closes the door, shutting us in together, before pulling me into his arms. "I haven't had a chance to tell you, but last night was amazing."

He leans in and kisses me, tentatively at first, as if he's not sure of my reaction.

I push him back, although it's only half-heartedly. "Don't even try. After everything that's going on, you don't get to act like nothing's wrong."

He frowns. "I'm not. I told you I was sorry, Ruth." His expression flattens. "I never meant to stay in town this long. I kept telling myself I'd leave the next morning, but when the time came, I couldn't bring myself to do it." He leans in and gives me a surprisingly tender kiss. "I didn't want to leave you."

I scoff. "You hardly know me."

He gives me a small smile. "I know enough."

There's an undeniable pull between us, a sexual tug at the very least. Maybe even an emotional one, if I'm being honest with myself. At least I feel it. I can't vouch for what he's feeling. I reach up and stroke his cheek, running my thumb along a tanned strip of skin just above his beard. He closes his eyes, reminding me of a cat relishing affection.

"What's going to happen now?" I ask. "I need to know."

He opens his eyes and frowns, the tender moment obviously over. "When they get here, I'll try to lure them away, to a remote location where we can end this thing once and for all. My guys are coming. I'll have backup. And as for you—"

"Don't even suggest it. I'm not running."

Jack smiles. "You're such a mama bear. That's one of the things I love about you. You don't pull your punches, and you take no prisoners."

All I heard was love about you. And now there's a roaring in my ears.

"Ruth!" Tom yells. "It's nearly three o'clock. Do you want me to unlock the doors?"

"Yeah, go ahead," I yell back. "I'll be right there!"

Jack frowns as I start to move to the door. "Ruth—"

I point at a half dozen cases of beer bottles on the floor. "You want to be helpful? Carry those to the bar." And then I open the door and walk out, all the while ignoring the pain in my chest.

That's one of the things I love about you.

* * *

While Tom's taking care of the rear entrance, I go to the front door, switch on the neon OPEN sign, and unlock the door. As usual, there's a short line of customers waiting outside. I open the door and hold it as our first few customers come in. I greet some familiar faces and scrutinize anyone I don't recognize.

Chrissy and Jess arrive through the back door, along with Casey. The kitchen staff is poised and ready for orders. Tom and I take our customary places behind the bar.

After delivering the cases of beer, as I'd requested, Jack takes his usual seat at the far end of the bar. I watch him out of the corner of my eye and notice that he's observing everyone who walks in.

I keep thinking about that black SUV parked in my barn. More specifically, I keep thinking about the dead body lying in the back of it. Gruesome questions come to mind, like how long before rigor mortis sets in? Or, how long before there's a noticeable odor?

I offer Jack a beer, but he declines, telling me he's essentially on duty and therefore can't drink. So I bring him a Coke instead, setting it on the counter in front of him. "Surely a soft drink won't kill you. And, since we missed lunch, I ordered you a burger and fries. Your food will be out in a minute."

He presses his hand to his chest. "A woman after my own heart. Thanks," he says, keeping one eye on the door. "If anyone you don't recognize walks in, give me a heads-up."

Just as he says that, the front door opens, and his attention is diverted to a group of college-aged guys walking in, clearly hikers.

Once he's satisfied they're no threat, his gaze returns to me. "If something happens, I want you to lock yourself in your office, okay?" Before I can even respond, he says, "Promise me, Ruth. No Wonder Woman heroics. You let me handle it."

My smile quickly fades when I think of the real potential for violence in my tavern. There are a lot of people in here who could get hurt. The obvious solution—the only solution—is for me to close the bar.

I'm pouring a draft beer for a customer when two unfamiliar men walk in through the back hallway. Both are tall, dressed in black, and look overly vigilant. One has brown hair and brown eyes, the other blond with blue eyes.

When they both pause to scan the room, warning bells go off in my head, and my heart starts pounding. Immediately, I look to Jack, to signal to him that these guys may be a problem, but it's unnecessary. He's already on his feet, his gaze glued to the two men.

One of the newcomers elbows his companion as he nods toward Jack. "There he is," he says in a heavily-accented voice. He's definitely not from around here. I don't speak Russian, but if I had to guess, I'd say we have a match.

I reach behind me for the handgun tucked into my waistband.

"Ruth." Jack's voice is clipped, his tone sharp.

When I glance at him, he shakes his head. No.

As Jack approaches the two men, they break into big grins. He hugs each one, smacking them on their backs.

"You are a sight for sore eyes, my friend," says the big blond, the one with the accent.

The other one shakes Jack's hand. "Good to see you're still in one piece, buddy." An American accent.

"This way," Jack says to the two men. He catches my gaze and nods down the hallway toward my office, gesturing for me to join them.

I follow them into my office, and Jack closes the door behind us.

"Ruth, these are my friends." He nods to the one with brown hair. "Mike Roman." He nods to the blond. "Aleksa Vukovich."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am," the blond says as he offers me his hand. He grips mine firmly as we shake. To Jack, he says, "This must be the pretty scenery, yes?"

Jack lightly punches the blond man's broad shoulder. "Knock it off, Lexi." To me, he says, "By the way, in case you're wondering, Aleksa is Serbian, not Russian."

"I did wonder," I say.

"Don't worry," the blond—Aleksa—says. "I'm one of the good guys."

"Where's the body?" the other man asks Jack. All business, he gets right to the point.

"In an SUV parked in Ruth's barn. We need to dispose of them tonight—both the body and the vehicle."

The one named Mike Roman nods. "Lexi and I will take care of it."

Jack nods to his friend. "Thanks." Then he looks at me. "If it's okay with you, Ruth, we'll all hole up at your place for the time being. It's out of the way and easily defensible. Just tell your friends and your brother to keep away. We don't want to shoot any of them by mistake."

"Diego and Lenny will be here by morning," Mike says. "With the five of us, we'll be able to hold our ground."

"You're going to turn my home into a war zone?" I ask.

Jack winces. "Sorry, but yes. It's the safest place to end this." Then he addresses his friends. "I'm sure Yevgeny's men are on the way since their scout hasn't checked in for several hours now."

"Do you think the big man himself will come?" Aleksa asks.

"You mean Yuri?" Jack nods. "I'm counting on it."

"This bar is a security nightmare," Mike says to Jack. "Two entrances? Anyone can walk in, and if there's trouble, there's going to be significant collateral damage. It'll be unavoidable."

Jack turns his attention to me.

"All right," I say, knowing there's no other option. "I'll close the bar until this is over."

"I'm sorry, Ruth," Jack says.

"So you keep saying."