Attracted to her 💘

Chapter 6

BRENT

I don't go straight over to the Red Barron; that would be too obvious. I loiter for forty-five minutes or so—then I walk into the small, one-room bar. It's old school—beer, wine, and whiskey. There's a dartboard in the back corner, a small television behind the bar, and a couple of tables and chairs that have seen better days squeezed along the mirrored wall. Even though it's run-down, the place is packed. I weave between a few patrons, and spot Tom Caldwell's tall frame among a group of suit-clad men and women clustered at the bar.
Tom turns when I tap his shoulder and his eyes register surprise, but he smiles. "Hey, Mason."

I shake his hand. "How's it going, Caldwell?"

"Good. Just stopping in for a drink after court."

"Yeah, me too."

Over Tom's shoulder, I spot Kennedy. Those thick-lashed turquoise eyes narrow for a moment—like she's preparing to tear me a new one—but then she snorts to herself and shakes her head. A sign that just maybe, she's prepared to throw in the towel on giving me a hard time. At least for the time being.

I step through the group, nodding to a few familiar faces, until I'm standing in front of her. So close she has to look up to keep eye contact. One corner of her mouth quirks. "You realize stalking is a crime?"

"Stalking?" I scoff. "Someone has a pretty high opinion of herself. I come here all the time."

"You come here? To this bar?"

"Yeah." I shrug. "Don't be paranoid."

She stretches up, her breath tickling my ear. "It's not paranoia if it's true. Look around."

I do. And that's when I realize why she doesn't believe me. Because the place is filled with police officers—some in uniform, some plain-clothed with their guns and badges still visible. It's a cop bar. Cops and prosecutors flock together—because they're generally on the same side.

You know who's not on their side? Criminal defense attorneys.

Kennedy's eyebrows lift. "Care to rephrase your statement?"

"Nope. That's my story and I'm sticking to it."
She chuckles.

"Hey, Brent. I haven't seen you in forever!"

Michelle Lawson—a delectable brunette prosecutor I dated briefly a few years back—wiggles up to my side and kisses me hello on the cheek. She's a nice girl, we had a few good times—and I mean that exactly like you think I do—and then it ran its course. No hard feelings.

"Hey, Michelle. How are you?"

"Same old, same old. You look good, Brent."

"Thanks." I wink. "You too."

An unhappy shadow falls over Kennedy's face as she watches our exchange.

Interesting.

"What are you drinking?" I ask her, after Michelle moves on.

Kennedy's tongue peeks out, wetting her plump bottom lip. "Pinot grigio." She puts her hand on my bicep—deliberately—almost possessively. And she leans in so close I can smell the sweet wine on her breath. "Get me another, please?"