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“Kim is going to kill you, and I’ll cheer her on.” Nic scowled.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Deb rolled her eyes. “I'll call Sam, we'll talk to the Sheriff, they'll keep an eye on my place, and everything will be fine.”
Michael snorted. She was being completely unrealistic. He’d seen the same tactics in the Taliban-controlled towns. The cowards always targeted women, and they were successful, more often than not. “What are you, five? Do you live in a cartoon? Gonna start wailing some feel-good song so you can hope and pray your way out of this?” With every word, Deb glared harder. But evil looks didn’t scare off drug dealers; it took force or leverage.
Nic smacked him harder. “He may be a rude jerk, but he's right. What kind of protection do you have here? Surveillance? Security? A weapon?”
Deb sighed. “I have a security system with monitoring, because bakery equipment is expensive and flammable. No cameras; never needed them. No guns. I have a taser upstairs.”
It was a miracle she hadn’t been robbed or attacked before. Even the little town of Marcus had criminals. “You have to get too close to use a taser. You're too tiny to take that chance. Unless you know some sort of martial arts?” It was highly unlikely. Deb was softly rounded, pretty in a cute cheerleader-girl-next-door way, and about as menacing as a stuffed bunny. Although she probably had strong arms and hands from baking, so he could teach her a few techniques easily.
“No, do I look like a karate expert? I bake.” She spread her arms wide, raising her hands in the air, and looked down at her pink apron decorated with her logo and yellow sunflowers.
She looked as delicious as her cupcakes, but he wasn’t dumb enough to say that. “I don’t think you’re safe here by yourself. You should stay with Nic and Kim, or I can help.” He’d resisted temptation before, and he’d do so again.
Deb rolled her eyes. “I’m not abandoning my business, and I’m staying here, by myself. I have 911 on speed dial, the cops love me because I bring them goodies, plus I have my security system and my taser. I'll be fine. I'll call Sam, and we’ll warn the police, and file a complaint with the prison.” She glanced at her phone. “Nic, wasn’t Kim expecting you home early for the girl’s dance recital?”
Nic winced and tapped his phone. “Yep, got to go.” He stood. “Michael, you got this?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll get a few things from home and come back.” Good thing he hadn’t unpacked his duffel bag; his sleeping bag, pillow, and some clean clothes were still inside. He’d add a few of his business T-shirts, repack all his meds, grab his weapon and he’d be good for guard duty.
Deb shoved her chair back with a screech. “Stay home. I don’t need your help.”
Michael stood, and moved to deliberately loom over her. “Too bad, cupcake queen. You’re getting it. I can sleep in my truck, but I’m not leaving you here alone tonight.”
Deb’s lip curled. “Hope you have warm blankets, because you’ll need them.”
“Don’t you worry, I’ll be fine, and I’ll make sure you’re safe.” Staying in his truck was a better idea, anyway. Deb was too tempting, too distracting. Outside, he’d stay alert and aware, and he’d remember she was too good for him.
Michael followed Nic out of the bakery’s sugar, spice and everything nice, back to his truck, coated in the dust, muck, and dirt of his life. A little reminder that sweet Deb was too young and too clean for him. A cupcake queen deserved a king, not a guy who couldn’t get out of bed because his head ached. He drove faster than usual; fear for Deb simmering in his gut. She brought so much joy to so many; she deserved a safe, happy life.
Chapter 3
Deb readied the cash drawer for the morning, placed it in the safe, checked the front and back door locks, engaged the security system, and threw her apron into the laundry hamper. Despite her brave words, she was grateful for the commercial steel doors leading to her apartment. She checked the deadbolts on the door separating her stairway from the bakery and the exterior door, then trod up the narrow stairs. She should do a sale video highlighting the next day’s specials, but she couldn’t, not after that.
Opening and locking the final door at the top of the stairs, she entered her sanctuary and took a deep breath of relief. Most would find the tiny studio apartment claustrophobic; her queen size bed took up most of the space, with just enough room for a reading chair and an ottoman. The bathroom squeezed into the space behind the kitchenette; both were small, but so was she. A narrow island with tall stools separated the kitchen from the bed and gave her a little storage.
The sunny yellow walls with dark brown furnishings were a bold design choice, but the splashes of bright white and pale blue lightened the intense shades. Since she woke very early, and the winter nights were long in Montana, strategically placed full-spectrum lights started her day on a bright note. In the evenings, she used dimmer lighting, the relaxing hues signaling her work day was done.
Michael Acer in her space would be anything but relaxing. The man, with those broad shoulders, constant scowl and blunt words simply didn’t fit, physically or emotionally. At least he wasn’t unfairly tall, although he could still hover over her physically, but everyone could. She was used to it, but she wouldn’t let anyone intimidate her in her own home. Or attempt to intimidate her in her business. She wasn’t the shy, needy, insecure girl George had groomed, and she wasn’t giving into his demands or anyone else’s. Including Michael’s or Nic’s, no matter how well-meant.
Slipping off her shoes and putting on slippers, she drew the shades on the tall, narrow windows. She hated to shut out the view, but having glass in the three walls surrounding her sleeping space seemed too accessible, too vulnerable. She shook the sensation away; she was on the second story above a high-ceilinged business. It would take a lot of effort for anyone to climb up. But contacting her security company to install additional sensors upstairs seemed prudent. Maybe some cameras, too, depending on how affordable they were. She could get doorbell cameras at the very least.
She wanted to plop down in her chair and mindlessly eat chips, but instead, she put on an apron and fixed a heathy meal with chicken and veggies. Owning a bakery meant eating too much sugar and butter; a healthy meal every night was the only way she could keep her weight in check. At least baking meant plenty of steps and weight lifting without deliberate exercise, something she’d always hated.
Deb ate her meal at the island, cleaned and then took a shower, drying her hair and readying her clothes and makeup for the morning. Tightening a silky robe around her waist, she could no longer resist. She peered out the tiny bathroom window, the only one that looked down on the small parking area behind her business. A white truck, with a large work box on the back was parked directly in front of her back door. She couldn’t see the words, but she knew the stark black and white logo on the door: Acer Home Improvement.
Michael really was going to camp out in his truck. That couldn’t be comfortable. And while the worst of the winter was over, the nights were still chilly. She couldn’t leave the man down there to shiver, no matter how misguided he was.
Part of her said she should; she hadn’t asked for his help. In fact, she’d objected, strongly. She was perfectly capable of calling 911 and she had a taser on her nightstand. Although, she wasn’t sure it was charged; she’d carried it every day when she worked in Missoula, but Marcus seemed so safe, and she didn’t even have to go outside to reach her apartment.
But maybe Marcus wasn’t safe anymore. Wiz had warned all of them that Erin’s mother, Sharlene Murphy, had made some bad decisions regarding investors into Marcus Bank. Erin still had trouble with Chaz Cust, and he’d harassed both her and Sam, too. Then there were the men who attacked Wiz last fall, trying to assault her and burn down her house. None of those seemed related to George Franks, but the so-called investors Marcus Bank sent her way might be. Organized crime was into drugs, and George had dealt them. Maybe there was a connection.
And in that case, Michael might not be safe, alone in his truck. She couldn’t do much to help a soldier, but she could provide a secure, warm place for him to stay. Her alarm system would alert both of them, where he might be surprised in his truck, especially if he slept. She put her hand on the deadbolt to the stairs. Offer or not?
She was kidding herself. She wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he was down there, cold and uncomfortable. Especially with lingering medical problems related to his military service. Sleeping in a truck wouldn’t be healthy. She tied her robe securely, grabbed her keys, opened the door, and padded down the stairs. At the outside door, she hesitated again, putting her eye to the peephole. The white truck with the shadowy figure in the passenger’s seat mocked her cowardice. She shut off the alarm and left the building, making sure her keys were in her pocket, and marched to Michael’s truck.
As she neared, he scowled. Regret made her grimace, but she wasn’t turning around.
