“Don’t speak to her like that,” the weirdo reprimanded.
“Listen carefully, sir. Do not deliver any more flowers to Ms. Mitchell. You are no longer welcome in this establishment. Do not attempt to contact her in any way. Please take your flowers and leave—immediately. I will contact the police if you refuse to leave or if you attempt to return. Do you understand?”
He looked wounded; his lips were moving but no words came out, which alarmed me even more. Adrenaline was pumping through my blood. I started mentally assessing escape routes and defense maneuvers—the pub telephone was behind me to dial 911, but that would be too obvious and not stealthy enough. My cell was in my pocket, but I’d have to unlock the screen first. The security panel for the upstairs hallway was too far away. Our trusty baseball bat was in the corner but I’d have to step around Marie and the small stepladder to reach it.
“Do you see the cameras up there in the corner?” Marie pointed.
Cameras? When the hell did we get cameras? We’d talked about them but that was just talk as the system was expensive.
Someone is going to get their ass chewed out for failing to inform me that I now have a surveillance system installed inside my pub.
My unwelcomed suitor gazed up at them, appearing just as puzzled as I was.
Marie was assured and composed. “Now the security company has your picture.” This definitely pissed him off. He paid no attention to Marie. He was mad at me. “All I wanted was to finally take you on a date and you make me feel like some, some common criminal? Who do you think you are? You think you’re better than me? I’ll have you know that I have my master’s degree in chemical engineering! Perhaps you would have found that out prior to wanting to call the cops on me, hmm?”
Marie cautioned him with a new, soothing voice. “Sir, calm down.”
“No! I will not calm down! After all of the money I’ve spent to get you to like me? You women are all the same. You flaunt your bodies, enticing men to be attracted to you, and then what do you do? You cut them off at the knees as if they were helpless soldiers wandering the desert, just begging for a sip of water.”
Soldiers in the desert? My God, this guy is beyond cuckoo and now he’s becoming enraged.
I suddenly noticed what Marie slid out from the top of the cooler—a very intimidating black handgun that she seemed to have no problem holding.
Dear God . . . cameras? Guns? What’s this place turning into? A Twilight War Zone?
Surely Mike will be beamed into the middle of the room in Doctor Who’s Tardis ship at any moment.
“Sir, I’m asking you for the last time to leave the premises or else I will call the local authorities.” Marie’s voice left no room for debate.Completely dejected, the guy huffed, scowled at both of us, called me a heartless bitch, and then scared the hell out of me when he whipped the flower bouquet at us.
It all happened so quickly, I didn’t react fast enough. The flowers caught my arm and then ricocheted off the back bar countertop.
My heart rate went into overdrive. This guy was completely mental. While distracted by tangles of baby’s breath and palm fronds, I noticed that Marie had taken a shooter’s stance, her badass black gun pointing right at him.
“Freeze!” she shouted. “Taryn, call nine-one-one, now!” Her command didn’t seem to matter to him; one view of her gun and he was taking wide backward steps toward the door.
Pete walking into the pub from the kitchen, whistling and completely oblivious to the standoff. He stuttered to a halt. “What the?”
While we were distracted by Pete, the crazed guy seized the opportunity to run.
Pete stood gaping in shock at both of us while Marie lowered her weapon. “Jesus!
What the hell did I just walk into?” He rushed over and locked the front door.
Marie fiddled with the gun before placing it back inside a black holster. She snapped the holder thing on it and pushed it back into its hiding spot in the gap above the cooler. I knew she was aware of me watching her, but she was doing a fine job of ignoring me.
I felt almost out of breath. “You have a gun behind my bar?”
She gave me a casual glance and then shrugged. My blood heated up another notch. Like hell it was no big deal! “I had it hidden.”
I leaned onto the bar for stability. “Whose gun is it?”
Her face was stoic but she was breathing just as heavily from the incident as I was.
“Mine.”
“Since when the hell do you own a gun?” Marie grabbed a beer glass and filled it halfway with water. “I got it after I graduated from the course. It’s a Glock nine-millimeter. Want to see it?”