Chapter 7

“You’re better off getting buried in tax receipts,” he grumbled. “And speaking of…”

“No, no speaking of. I’ve officially given myself the rest of the night off, and if I don’t get to be distracted by the delicious Mat Larsen—”

His hand shot out to stop her from tossing the notepad back behind the counter, wrapping around her wrist in an unyielding grip. It didn’t hurt, but the speed and strength of it made Darby gasp, and she turned in bewilderment toward Edmund.

His mouth had gone hard, and his eyes glinted with an imperceptible light. “What did he look like?” he demanded. “Wait. Let me guess. About six feet, brown hair…” His gaze flickered to the bottles behind the bar. “Probably ordered a whiskey. Expensive. And then over-tipped.”

Darby was too shaken by his accuracy to say anything more than, “You know him?”

“I know you need to stay away from him. Was he alone?”

She squirmed in his relentless grasp. “Yeah, he came in here looking for some friends. How do you know him?”