“Relax.” The pierced brunette held the door for Hawk. “We’ll be hunting again soon.”
“Not soon enough,” Hawk growled.
I exhaled loudly when the door closed behind them. “Jiminy cricket… who werethey?”
“Fucking Hawks,” Beck muttered.
“Hawks?”
He scowled, picked up the baking tray he’d set down, and started loading the blueberry streusel muffins into the case. “It’s a nickname… or a team name or some shit.”
“What kind of team name?”
Beck’s gaze darkened. “For a game they play.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to explain, and honestly, you don’t want to know.”
I had a feeling he was right.
The kitchen door swung open and Malcolm appeared next to the coffee pot.
He took in Beck’s stormy expression and froze. “What’d I miss?”
“Just the fucking Hawks,” Beck muttered.
“Ah.” Malcolm looked around. “I’m surprised nothing is broken.” He looked at me. “Last time they were here they drank all the half-and-half from the coffee bar one tiny cup at a time.”
“I got rid of them fast,” Beck said. “And I told them not to come back. Don’t serve them if they do. And call me if I’m not here.”
“Fine with me. Those guys scare the fuck out of me.”
I knew what he meant. The Hawks had seemed friendly enough — too friendly in fact — but my pulse was racing. Their wild energy had set me on edge, and being in the bakery with them had been like being locked in a cage with feral animals.
Unpredictable. Erratic.
Those were the words that came to mind.
I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head of the strange hypnotic fog that had descended over my brain while the Hawks had moved through the shop like a bunch of jackals.
“Oh sugar!” I said when I looked at the clock. “I need to go. It’s after ten.”
There was no deadline for confirming Harold’s initials at the town hall, but I was anxious to confirm my theory.
Beck dropped an easy kiss on my lips.
“Knew it,” Malcolm said triumphantly.
“Want me to take a break and go with you?” Beck asked when I grabbed my bag from under the counter.
I headed for the door. “It’s okay. It’s daytime. I’ll be fine.”
43
AVERY
In spiteof the chase the night before, I wasn’t at all nervous as I made my way to the town hall. The sun was shining and a warm breeze drifted in off the lake, the town square teeming with people enjoying the good weather.
I joined a series of walkers and joggers on the path and smiled at the sound of kids shrieking on the playground. It seemed impossible that anything bad could happen here, the fear I’d felt running from Lena’s like a distant nightmare.
The interior of the town hall was cool and hushed, the quiet undercut by the occasional ringing of a phone and the murmur of conversation between three people outside the courtroom that was the source of my shame — and pleasure — with Dane.