Page 33 of Bad Intentions

And there he was, pushing through the crowd toward the bar counter. Derek. Button-up shirt, wide open at the neck, too far open, if you ask me. Jeans tight enough to prove the point. The arrogant tilt of his chin. The swagger about him made him stick out like a sore thumb. He was a human splinter that could easily get under one’s skin. His name was like saw teeth against a hard surface.

Girls batted their lashes. Guys stiffened and puffed out their chests. When Derek shouldered his way up to the counter, I made a point to step up to him. “Whiskey on the rocks?”

He gave me a snap-and-shoot gesture with his finger. When I set a glass in front of him, he winked. “Thanks, sweetie.”

Sweetie, my ass. No one three decades younger called me that. He knew he was pushing it too. He looked away when I poured him the drink, then took a sip and studied the crowd like he was picking out which rabbit he’d chase next.

I took a swig of water from my tumbler, then shook several ice cubes into my mouth and crunched them between my teeth, narrowing my eyes at Derek.

Cherry fluttered over to him. “Would you like a menu?”

His eyes slowly shifted to her with the charm of a snake. “I’m good, beautiful. Thanks.”

I watched him. Plenty to do at the bar, with all the crowd getting buzzed, but he was a magnet, the bad kind. I was trying to figure out what his game plan was. I definitely didn’t like my Alysha having anything to do with him.

A young kid like him rattling me? That was unusual. My skin prickled. No ice could cool down the annoyance seething in me.

He started making moves on a couple of young women. In minutes, he had his arms around them, and they laughed drunkenly and leaned into him, whispering into his ear. Ordered drinks for him on their tab too. That handsome punk, he didn’t need to try hard. I bet he’d put some numbers behind him and was still counting.

When the two women tittered and stumbled off toward the restrooms, I cleaned the bar counter in front of him. I wanted to shove the smelly rag into his mouth, wipe away that arrogant smile.

“Too much for one man to juggle, don’t you think?” I said with a smirk.

He leaned in, his eyes narrowed and glinting with malice. “That would be none of your business.” He leaned back, slowly rolled his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, then gave me a backward nod. “I’ll get another one on the rocks. On their tab.” He flicked his finger toward the restrooms where the girls were.

Wasn’t gonna happen.

“You are cut off,” I said simply.

I was expecting a nasty remark, an argument at the minimum. Was hoping for it.

He only laughed, the bitter sound of it cutting through the jukebox music and the loud chatter. His eyes trained on me, he drummed his fingers on the bar counter. “What’s got your panties in a bunch? Too much eye candy, too little chance?”

I wished Dougie were there. I would’ve let him start a fight, see how this fancy-pants outsider could handle country ways. Instead, I let Katie and Cherry know he was done drinking. By the time I turned to check on him, he was already leaving, with the two girls following him like lambs to the slaughter, unsteady on their high heels. They’d be used, I knew, and he’d run off to the next adventure.

Two minutes later, Mikey rushed into the bar. “Your dumpster is on fire!”

I grabbed an extinguisher and ran outside. We put the fire out in minutes, smoke crawling all around the parking lot, smelling like rotten garbage. No damage but that’s not what made me seethe with spite.

I called Steve Zukowski, my close friend and the chief of police, took him to the back room when he arrived, and showed him the cameras.

“That’s him, see?” I rewound the feed to half an hour back, and we both watched, eyes glued to the screen, as Derek and the two girls walked out of the bar. Derek let them go ahead, then paused by the wooden fence to the dumpster and fumbled in his pocket, his back to the camera like he knew it was there.

“Do you see what the bastard is doing?” I snarled, pointing at the screen, though Steve clearly saw the same thing I did.

We couldn’t see Derek’s face or his hands, but when he stepped away, there was a white flash behind the dumpster fence, the smoke starting slowly, growing thicker.

By then, Derek was gone.

“Matches, I assume. Or a firecracker,” I said. “And maybe a napkin.”

Steve pushed off the computer desk and shook his head. “No way to prove that was intentional, K.”

“C’mon, Steve,” I argued. “He did it on purpose.”

“You know that. But no judge will take a chance on this. You just can’t draw that conclusion from the footage. And you can’t clearly see what he took out of his pocket and if that’s what caused the dumpster fire.”

I threw my head back and exhaled loudly.