They’d gone over the plan. It was simple. Nothing risky: just walk into Mort’s, have a few drinks, and walk out. Easy, cheesy, lemon squeezy, but now Adele was kind of acting spooked, casting her big-eyed gaze about as if she expected a SWAT team to swoop in, whip out their AK-47s, and force them spread-eagled on the floor.

“No. I don’t see him yet.” Maddie placed her purse on the table by her elbow and looked out at the bar. Light from the jukebox and bar poured over the crowd but hardly penetrated the corner. It was the perfect spot to see without being seen.

Adele leaned her head close to Maddie and asked, “What does he look like?”

She held up one hand and signaled the waitress. “Tall. Dark hair and very blue eyes,” she answered. Charming when he wants something, and his kiss could make a woman lose her mind. Maddie thought about the day he’d brought her the Mouse Motel, about his kiss and his hands on her waist, and her stomach got a little tight. “If the women in the bar start flipping their hair and reaching for a breath mint, you’ll know he’s here.”

A waitress with an atrocious perm, butt-tight Wranglers, and a Mort’s T-shirt took their drink order.

“He’s that prime?” Adele asked as the waitress walked away.

Maddie nodded. Prime was a fairly accurate description. He was certainly drool-worthy, and there had been a time or two when she’d been tempted to bite into him. Like when she’d looked up from her salad at the Willow Creek Brewpub and Restaurant and he’d been sitting across from her. One moment she’d been minding her own business, reading her latest notes from Sheriff Potter, then, poof, there was Mick looking extremely hot and incredibly pissed off. Normally, she wouldn’t consider an angry man the least bit hot, but Mick wasn’t a normal man. As he’d sat across from her, working himself up, warning her to stay out of his bar, his eyes had turned a deep, fascinating blue. And she’d found herself wondering what he’d do if she climbed across the table and planted her mouth on his. If she kissed his neck and bit him just below his ear.

“I talked to Clare today,” Adele said and pulled Maddie’s attention away from the contemplation of Mick. The two friends talked about the upcoming wedding until the waitress returned with Adele’s Bitch on Wheels and Maddie’s extra-dry vodka martini. The waitress might have bad hair, but she was damn fine at her job.

“What is up with some of these women’s hair?” Adele asked as the waitress walked away.

Maddie’s gaze scanned the crowd and she figured the ratio of bad hair vs. good hair was about fifty-fifty. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.” Maddie raised her glass to her lips. “Half of them have good hair and the other half are an overprocessed mess.” Over the rim of her glass, she continued her surveillance. There was still no sign of Mick.

“Did I tell you about the guy I dated last weekend?” Adele asked.

“No.” Maddie put on her sweater and prepared for a dating disaster story.

“Well, he picked me up in a souped-up Pinto.”

“Pinto? Aren’t those the cars from the seventies that explode?”

“Yeah. It was bright orange, like a moving target, and he drove like he thought he was Jeff Gordon.” Adele pushed several springy curls behind her ears. “He even wore those fingerless racing gloves.”

“You have got to be shitting me. Where did you meet this guy?”

“At the raceway.”

Maddie didn’t ask what Adele had been doing at the raceway. She didn’t want to know. “Tell me you didn’t have sex with him.”

“No. I figure a guy who drove that fast had to do other things fast too.” Adele sighed. “I think I’ve been cursed with bad dates.”

Maddie didn’t believe in curses, but she couldn’t disagree. Adele had the worst luck with men of any woman she’d ever known. And Maddie had had a lot of bad luck herself.

An hour and three more bad date stories later, there was still no sign of Mick. Maddie and Adele ordered another drink and she began to wonder if he just might not show up at all.

“Hello, ladies.”

Maddie glanced up from her martini at the two guys standing in front of her. They were both tall and blond and very tan. The man who’d spoken had an Australian accent.

“Hello,” Adele said and took a sip of her Bitch on Wheels. Adele might have a lot of bad dates, but that was only because she attracted a lot of men. With her golden curls and big aquamarine eyes, Adele seemed to draw men in like bees to a barbeque. Obviously Adele’s mojo worked on all nationalities. Behind her glass, Maddie glanced at Adele and laughed.

“Would you like to sit down?” Adele asked.

They didn’t have to be asked twice and slid into the two empty chairs. “M’names Ryan,” the guy closest to Maddie introduced himself, flattening his vowels like he was Crocodile Dundee.

She set down her drink. “Maddie.”

“That’s Tom. He’s m’mate.” He pointed to his friend. “D’ya live in Truly?”

“Just moved here.” Good Lord, she half expected him to say “G’day” and “Crickey.” It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but he was cute. “How about you?”

He scooted his chair closer so she could hear him better. “We’re just here for the summer fightin’ fires.”

Foreign and cute. “Are you a smoke jumper?”

He nodded and went on to explain that the fire season in Australia was the exact opposite of the season in the U.S. As a result, a lot of Australian smoke jumpers worked in the American West during the summer. The longer he talked, the more fascinated Maddie became, not only by what he said but by the sound of his voice as he said it. And the longer he talked, the more Maddie began to wonder if this wasn’t the perfect man for her to fall off the wagon with. He would be in Truly for a short time and then he’d leave. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but she knew that didn’t mean anything. She leaned in a little closer and asked, “Are you married?” just to make sure. But before he could answer, two hands grasped the backs her arms and lifted her to her feet. She was turned slowly around until her gaze landed on a broad chest in a black Mort’s T-shirt. Through the dark surrounding them, she recognized the chest even before she raised her gaze up a thick neck, strong chin, and compressed lips. She didn’t have to see his eyes clearly to know they burned an angry blue.

Mick leaned close and said next to her ear, “What are you doing here?”

He smelled like soap and skin. “Apparently I’m talking to you.”

One of his hands slid to hers and grasped her like a hot vice. “Let’s go.”

She grabbed her purse from the table and looked over her shoulder at Ryan, then Adele. “I’ll be right back,” she hollered.

“You sound sure about that,” said the man hauling her through the crowd toward the back of Mort’s. “Excuse us,” she said as she bumped into Darla. He kept a tight grip on her hand as he just kind of moved through the crowd like a linebacker. She was forced to issue a “Pardon me” and another “Excuse us” over the music pouring from the juke. They walked past the end of the bar, down a short hall, and he pulled her behind him into a small room.

He closed the door and dropped her hand. “I told you to stay out of my bar.”

In one quick glance, Maddie’s gaze took in an oak desk, a coatrack, a big metal safe, and a leather sofa. “You were talking about Hennessy’s at the time.”

“No. I wasn’t.” His gaze narrowed and she could practically feel anger rolling off him in waves. “Because I’m a nice guy, I’m going to give you the option of grabbing your friend and walking out the front door.”

Once again, she didn’t fear his anger. Instead, she almost liked the way it turned his eyes kind of fierce, and she leaned back against the door. “Or?”

“I’ll toss you out on your ass.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Then I should probably warn you that, if you touch me again, I have a Taser and I’ll shoot fifty thousand volts in your ass.”

He blinked. “You pack a Taser?”

“Among other things.”

Again he blinked, kind of slow, like he couldn’t believe he’d heard her right. “What things?”

“Pepper spray. Brass knuckles. A hundred-and-twenty-five-decibel screecher alarm. Handcuffs and a Kubaton.”

“Is it even legal to pack a Taser?”

“It’s legal in forty-eight states. This is Idaho. What do you think?”

“You’re crazy.”

She smiled. “So I’ve been told.”

He stared at her for several moments before he asked, “Do you make it a habit of running around pissing people off?”

She occasionally did make people mad, but she never made a habit of it. “No.”

“Then it’s just me.”

“I don’t mean to make you mad, Mick.”

One dark brow rose up his tan forehead.

“Well, I didn’t mean to make you mad before tonight. But I kind of have a little problem with being told what I can and can’t do.”

“No shit.” He folded his arms across his wide chest. “Why do you need all that stuff?”

“I interview people who aren’t very nice.” She shrugged. “They’re usually in belly chains and leg irons and cuffed to a table when I talk to them, though. Or we talk through Plexiglas. Of course, prisons never let me take in my safety devices, but I always get them back when I leave. I feel safer when I’m packing.”

He took a step back and his gaze raked her up and down. “You look normal. But you’re not.”

Maddie didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not. He probably didn’t mean it as a compliment, though.

He rocked back on his heels and looked down at her. “Were you planning on zapping the blond guy coming on to you in the corner?”

“Ryan? No, but if he plays his cards right, I might cuff him.”

“He’s a tool.”

If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was jealous. “Do you know him?”