Hollywood on Tap (10 page)

Sean muttered some choice words under his breath and jerked upright. “I’m going down there.”

“Wait.” Without thinking, she slapped her hand on his, trapping him by her side.

The physical contact sucked the oxygen out of the room. Damn, she was really regretting not finishing what they started last night. All she should have been thinking about was stopping that asshole Carl from fucking with her brewery, but naughty thoughts about how to get into Sean’s pants—and what she’d do once she got there—kept worming their way in.

Not wanting to, but needing to as much as she needed to keep air in her lungs, she slid her hand away from his. “Storming the sheriff’s office won’t make a bit of difference.” Her voice barely registered a quake. Thank God for small favors. “The deputies have had enough dealings with my family over the years to justifiably hold a grudge. Going in guns blazing won’t be the thing to change their minds.”

Sean grabbed her chair by the armrests and spun her around and leaned in close enough that she could pick out the individual hairs on his beard. Concern and something else simmered behind his warm brown eyes. “But he’s got to be the one messing things up at the brewery.”

“Exactly.” She placed one fingertip to his chest and gave him the slightest of pushes. He stepped back, giving her room to breathe. The protective–alpha–dog thing had taken her simmering lust and kicked it up a few thousand degrees. Fighting to maintain an outward appearance of complete control, she inhaled a cleansing breath and focused on the plan instead of the man. “We just have to catch Carl in the act.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re not going to believe a Sweet otherwise.”

“How?” He shot her a skeptical look.

Damn, the man needed to learn to trust her. She sat up straighter in her chair, confidence in her solution as strong and sure as Paul Bunyan on steroids. “An old–fashioned stakeout.”

“You watch too many movies.” He yanked off his ball cap and twisted it in his hands like a wet dishrag.

“I don’t watch movies.”

He blinked at her in surprise. “Ever?”

“Not since I was a teenager. It’s not really my thing.” She gave him a hard look. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

“This is crazy.”

“No.” Natalie shook her head, sending the loose hair bouncing. “It makes perfect sense.”

“How’s that?” He tucked the tendril behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the sensitive spot behind her lobe.

Her breath caught and for a split second she forgot what in the hell they’d been talking about as a shiver worked its way up from her core. The man was beyond dangerous.

“Because he’s going to make another move,” she said. “Think about it from his perspective. Uncle Julian promised Carl he’d get the brewery. Instead, Uncle Julian left it to me and my sisters. Then Miranda fires him. And when he decides to pay her back by running her off the road, he ends up behind bars. In the week he’s been out, we’ve already had three incidents—one of which sent two people to the hospital. He’s motivated, he’s knowledgeable about the brewery, and he’s accelerating.”

Sean looked heavenward and sighed. “When?”

Finally.
“I’m starting tonight.”

“I’ll be here.” He loomed over her, his feet shoulder–width apart and his arms crossed over his mouthwateringly awesome chest. The curve of the biceps she’d felt last night peeked out from underneath his short sleeves. He may have given in to her argument, but judging by the take–no–shit look on his face, he wasn’t done fighting.

A whole night.

Alone.

With Sean.

Her stomach dropped below sea level, which made sense, because her insides had all gone adrift at the mere idea of spending the night with Sean.

“You don’t have to,” she sputtered. “I’ll watch everything on the security cameras, safe in my office.”

Her hand barely trembled as she slid the cabinet door to the side, revealing a small TV. Images from the four cameras flickered on the screen in quick rotation.

“Those didn’t pick up anything before,” he scoffed.

Like she’d ever leave underperforming equipment in place. “I’ve made some adjustments.”

“What do you mean?”

“See for yourself.” She grabbed the remote out of her center desk drawer and punched a few buttons. The camera zoomed and refocused. The grainy image disappeared, replaced by a screen divided into four boxes with clear footage of a different part of the brewery in each one.

“Damn.”

With the technology upgrade, she’d be able to spot an intruder and alert the authorities without ever leaving the safety of her locked office. “Yep. We have night–vision, motion–sensitive cameras now. So you see, you don’t—”

He took the remote from her hand, his fingers brushing hers and setting off a mini–tsunami of desire. “Where’d they come from?”

“You don’t want to know what all my Uncle Julian had in his garage.” The two–car garage had been filled to the rafters with survival supplies, chain–link fencing, surveillance equipment and more. “It’s like he was prepping for a zombie apocalypse.”

He gave the remote a thorough looking over before handing it back to her. “Well then, I’ll see you tonight.” He pivoted and headed toward her closed office door.

“Sean, you don’t—”

“Forget it, Natalie.” He shoved his hat on his head. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Hungry and bordering on hangry, Sean walked into The Kitchen Sink ready for a pot roast sandwich served with an oversized helping of potato salad and a gallon of sweet tea. If he was lucky—a really big if—there’d still be a slice of pecan pie in the glass display case when he finished.

“Don’t think you’re getting by me.” The voice, made low and wheezy by decades of smoking, stopped him before the diner’s front door had even swung closed.

Ruby Sue sat in her usual spot on a high stool behind the cash register. She looked like the stereotypical little old lady, with her tight white curls and her thick glasses hanging from a chain around her neck. Sean knew better. The woman was a restaurant owner, gossip mastermind, and PhD–level pot stirrer. She’d seen through him the first night he’d rolled into town looking for a warm meal and a menial job. He’d washed dishes in the back for three months before she’d manipulated Julian into hiring him at the brewery.

Fact was, Sean owed Ruby Sue. And she knew it.

“Now why would I want to do that, Ruby Sue?”

“Come on, there’s a corner booth open.” She made a half–snort, half–honk sound, grabbed her purse, and sidled down off her stool. “We wouldn’t want any of these rumor mongers to listen in.”

It took everything he had, but Sean managed not to laugh out loud at her sass. She was like the housekeeper in the original
Parent Trap
movie who always swore she “never said nothing about nobody” and then managed to tell everything about everybody.

Still, he followed her spry shuffle across the crowded restaurant, past the packed lunch counter, and to an empty booth in the far corner.

She took the seat with the back to the wall. All the better to keep an eye on her customers and the front door. “Sit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He slid into the seat across from her already set up with silverware wrapped in a white paper napkin.

Ruby Sue leaned forward on her elbows, gave a shifty–eyed look toward the lunch crowd, and dropped her voice. “Is it that fool Carl Brennan? His mama tried to steal my pecan pie recipe when she worked here. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“That’s what they say about the Sweets.”

“Whoever’s saying that obviously doesn’t know shit from Shinola.” Her eyes crinkled at the corner. “But you sure are awfully protective of that family…or at least one Sweet in particular from what I hear.”

He shifted in his seat and fidgeted with the wrapped silverware. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I always liked that Natalie Sweet. Girl’s got fortitude.”

He kept his attention focused on the silverware now held in a tight grip. He couldn’t look at Ruby Sue. She took in too much at a glance.

“Here’s Ellen. Do you want the regular?” She glanced up at the redheaded waitress making a beeline toward them while holding a giant glass of sweet tea in each hand.

He nodded.

Ellen placed the condensation–covered plastic glasses on the table.

“Boy, it wouldn’t kill you to step out of your comfort zone every once in a while,” Ruby Sue said.

He didn’t bother trying to smother his laugh this time. That advice coming from Ruby Sue was like hearing Dixieland jazz from a punk rock band. “Have you been watching the daytime talk shows again?”

“Hush your mouth.” She ripped open three packets of sugar and poured them into her already diabetic–coma–inducing glass of the sweet stuff. “He’ll have the pot roast on a hoagie with extra potato salad. I’m good.”

“You should eat,” he urged. “It’s lunchtime.”

The look she gave him would have made his old cold–blooded Hollywood agent take a few steps back. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

The waitress gave him a what–can–you–do shrug and ambled off to the kitchen to place his order.

Ruby Sue took three large drinks of spiked sweet tea, five years coming off her face with each swallow, before beginning her interrogation. “Okay, spill it.”

He filled her in on the troubles at the brewery and the fact that all signs pointed to the permanently pissed–off former brewmaster.

Ruby Sue shook her head. “Make a decision in haste and repent on your own time.”

“Come again?” he asked.

“Joni Peterson was a wild child. Her mama and daddy warned her. Hell, half the town warned her about Carl Brennan, but she was too headstrong to listen. She tied her wagon so tight to Carl that she cut off contact with her family. Her daddy died a year ago. Cancer finally got her mother a few weeks ago.” She poured another pack of sugar into her sweet tea, stirring it with her straw until the white granules dissolved. “Seems bad news and old gossip always circles back around.”

“What do you mean?” Cold air blasted up his spine even though they weren’t anywhere near the front door.

“Fella came in the other day flashing an old photo of a young man.” Ruby Sue watched him from over the rim of her glass. “Thought at first he was some sort of private investigator looking for a deadbeat, then he gave me his card.”

She fished a business card out of her purse and slid it across the table.
Hollywood and Vine Reports
was written in purple calligraphy across the top. He didn’t have to look closely at the photo in the bottom left corner to see the man’s botox–injected forehead, blinding–white smile, and empty eyes.

Sean’s time in Salvation was up.

Rupert Crowley had found him and was closing in for the kill.

Everything inside him froze in place and he automatically clicked over into a sort of detached survival mode. He knew it well. It’s exactly how he’d survived the first years of his life. He’d won an Oscar at twenty–one for a very good reason. He’d been acting his whole life. It had been the best way to avoid his father’s fists.

“I gotta go.” He stood and was reaching for his wallet before the sentence was even out of his mouth.

“This Rupert fella said he was tracking down an actor who’d fallen off the face of the earth.” Ruby Sue didn’t make a move to stop him, but her flinty blue eyes took in his every move. “Said he was working on a where–are–they–now piece and would pay good money to anyone who could point him in the right direction.”

“Huh,” he grunted. Whatever the sleazeball gossip reporter was working on, Sean sure as hell wasn’t interested.

“Asked me if I knew of a Sean Duvin. Told him I’d never met anyone by that name.”

She may not know exactly why he was hiding or who from, but she wouldn’t give him up. Of that he was one–hundred–percent confident.

“And you won’t.” Sean tossed a ten and a five on the table. That should cover the sandwich he wasn’t going to eat and Ellen’s tip. “Sean Duvin doesn’t exist anymore.”

Sean’s SUV idled at the stop sign on the edge of Salvation. His left turn signal ticked in a steady rhythm like a time bomb.

The savvy move would be to turn left, go home, pack up, and disappear in another small town. Crowley wouldn’t have left the bright lights of the big city and traveled across the country to small–town Virginia unless he was damn sure he’d find Sean here—and he wouldn’t leave until he’d confirmed he’d found him.