Page 16 of Shadow Strike
CHAPTERFIVE
She’d slept.
That was the thing she kept coming back to on the drive over, Lucy in the back seat and CB quiet behind the wheel, the late June morning doing its best impression of a postcard outside the windows.
She’d fallen back asleep at SPS after insisting she would go home once the IV finished.She’d just been attacked, was in a strange room with a man she barely knew, and had still slept for five uninterrupted hours.
She hadn’t done that in months.
When she’d woken the second time, CB was in the chair beside her, head tipped back, eyes closed.If she’d reached out in her sleep and grabbed for something, she’d have found him there.
He’d stayed the whole time.She’d looked at the ceiling for a while and processed that, and then she’d sat up carefully and said his name, and he’d woken immediately.
“Ready?”was all he’d said.
She’d been slightly embarrassed.She was also aware that embarrassment was an indulgence she didn’t have time for, so she’d filed it and said yes.
He’d taken her home and waited in the truck while she showered and changed.She’d stood under the hot water for too long, thinking about the man parked outside her house who’d been awake all night on her behalf and hadn’t complained once.
Lucy had taken one look at the bruising on Regan’s throat and gone very still.She’d composed herself into the version of Lucy Hill that had survived her husband’s death and her daughter’s complicated choices.“Tell me everything,” she’d said, and Regan had.Lucy had listened without interrupting, her hands balling into fists.
Those fists unclenched when Regan told her about the new arrangement with CB working at the bar.
“He’s going to help with a few things,” she told her mom.“He’s good with people.”
“He sure is,” Lucy said.“You better be nice to him.He saved you last night.”
“Mom.”
“Oh, please, Regan.I know you’re into all that ‘I don’t need a man to rescue me’ stuff, but honestly, you did need help last night.You’re a capable woman, just like I raised you to be, but it’s okay to admit when you need help.Besides, I’ve been asking you to hire someone for months.”
Regan had held back her arguments.She didn’t want to fight this morning.“I know.”
“And he has lovely eyes.”
“Get in the truck, Mom.”
Hill’s Tavernin the morning was a different creature than it was at midnight.The light came in at a low angle through the front windows and hit the old wood of the bar in a way that made it look like something worth preserving.
It was.
Regan unlocked the front door and went through the opening sequence—lights, thermostat, the ancient register that needed coaxing, the coffee machine that Lucy considered a personal project.
CB fell into step with her.“Walk me through it,” he said.
She did.The bar layout, the well, the rail, where the backup stock lived, and how she liked it organized.
Next was the lunch prep sequence, the table rotation, and the regulars she needed him to know by name.“George Maunder takes the same corner booth every day, orders the same beer, tips well, and asks after my father sometimes without remembering he’s gone.Patrice Newcomb comes in on Tuesdays and Fridays, drinks white wine, works a crossword, and doesn’t like to be talked to much.Dale Hutchins is loud and harmless and will test your patience within the first hour.”
CB listened without interrupting.When she finished, he nodded once and went to acquaint himself with the well.
“You get any sleep while you were playing bodyguard last night?”she asked.
“Some.”
“In the chair?”
He glanced at her.Said nothing.
