Soft Target Read Free

staring, he wondered who else might be watching her, or worse, watching him watch her. He looked up, hoping to catch an unguarded gaze in the mirror. He could be done with his job in five minutes and then relax until Nate’s wedding.
    There wasn’t a mirror. His gaze flew to where she was working with her back to the room, oblivious to who was behind her or what was happening. She smiled as she walked over.
    “Do you want another?”
    He did, but now he was working. He couldn’t drink on the job. “Water?”
    “Sure,” she said as she delivered the bottle.
    Nodding his thanks, Gray left his post and walked past Nate’s table. Taking the chair in the far corner of the room, he watched every man with new suspicion. Early patrons left for home and were replaced by others who, given their clean clothes, had gone home first. Who spent too long at the bar? Who stared too hard?
    He also watched her, getting past the curiosity she’d always inspired and recalling his objective observer skills. That’s what let him see the change in her when no one was looking, the way her smile faded and her gaze shifted from man to man in suspicious assessment. Then she’d catch someone looking and flip a switch, softening her grip on the towel in her hand, tossing it over her shoulder and forcing her smile to sparkle. Just like the funeral, hiding in plain sight.
    Damn it, Nate was wrong. She wasn’t ignoring the threat. She was terrified.
    Squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine, Gray forced away his warm memories of Fiddler and counted how many times she put on her carefree mask.
    She was wearing it a few hours later when she laughed and half-pushed the last persistent patron out the front door. Gray was exhausted just from watching her and relieved when the forced smile faded. Wanting to give her peace, he joined Nate and Faith in cleaning tables and turning chairs.
    She went down the hall, and her voice drifted behind her. “Gray. I hope you don’t mind, but I put sheets on the bed and stocked your kitchen with some basics.”
    “Thanks,” he replied as he handed Nate the chair and conducted reconnaissance while she wouldn’t catch him.
    Empty, the room told a better story. Years of elbows had worn dull spots in the bar’s finish, and generations of work boots had mottled the brass foot rail. The floor was scratched from patrons who’d tracked in sand and gravel, and the leather cushions on stools and chairs were shaped to each occupant’s behind. They loved this place. Did one of them let that carry over to obsession with her?
    “The guys and I will help you unpack tomorrow,” Nate said. “There’s a company truck in the garage. The keys are in the ignition.”
    Gray nodded. This was surreal. Five days ago he’d been a wounded FBI agent recuperating in Chicago. Now he was posing as a business manager and moonlighting as a bodyguard. To keep from laughing at the lunacy, he indulged his curiosity. “I don’t think I’ve seen a bar with a ten o’clock last call, especially on Saturday,” he called down the hall.
    The clatter of mops and brooms and the squeaky wheels of a bucket almost drowned out her answer. “The guys are tired after a long day of work or chores. We’re open ’til midnight on Fridays, but otherwise we close early. We don’t want to make anyone miss work or church the next morning. That’s not why we’re here.”
    Next to him, Nate silently parroted the last sentence, ending on a wink.
    Gray snorted and shook his head. “That’s an interesting philosophy.”
    “Are you laughing at me?” Maggie asked, as she dragged the broom across the floor and whacked her brother with the handle. “Or is Nate mocking me again?”
    Gray was glad to see the honest humor behind her smile. It vanished when someone knocked on the front door. An officer walked in and over to the group without waiting on an invitation. “Everything okay? I saw the lights.”
    “Everything is always okay, Max,”