Demon Night

talking to Old Matthew: Ethan was on his feet, eyeing the door.
    Old Matthew was looking, too, a slight frown wrinkling his brow as he turned back toward her. “One more thing, Charlie—I didn’t have to answer any questions about Betty last night.”
    His shotgun. He could legally carry it, but she’d heard enough stories to know that didn’t mean the cops wouldn’t give him grief about it. “They didn’t ask if you had a weapon,” she said, “and I didn’t feel like volunteering it.”
    “What put your back up? Did they give you any trouble when they questioned you?”
    “No.” She shifted her bag to her right shoulder. Ethan was prowling the length of the bar now. “It’s just the way they look at you, you know? Because they have your name, your history, everything—and probably thought that I was up there drinking, imagined someone coming after me, and just fell down the stairs and hit the gate so hard it twisted like that.”
    Old Matthew’s wide shoulders were shaking, his head moving back and forth, his laugh deep. “Oh, Charlie girl, that’s how they’d be looking at me , not a pretty white gal. Wondering if I really did kill that couple, and got out because everyone’s turned into a bleeding-heart liberal. And thinking that even if I didn’t do it, I probably did something so that I deserved the time. Or they’re looking at Vin, wondering if he’s swinging by a chop shop every night on his way home.” His amusement had turned hard. With a deep breath, he pulled off his kufi, swiped it over his bald head. “You okay getting home?”
    Charlie tipped her chin toward the one-way. “Do you see the size of the guy out there? He could take Betty on and come out smiling.”
    “He a cop?”
    Charlie blinked, startled. Old Matthew had a shrewd sense of those things; he could always make a cop. “No.”
    “Health inspector? He’s got that look. Seeing everything.”
    She could understand why he’d gotten the impression; Ethan had stopped walking the length of the bar, was staring at the mirror as if he could see right through it. Good Lord, but she could feel the intensity of that gaze down to her toes.
    “He’s in pharmaceuticals.” When Old Matthew frowned at her, she quickly added, “Not a drug dealer.”
    His face lightened. “All right. Good night, Charlie girl.”
    She was in the hall again before her own good-bye had left her lips, and every thought scattered when she swung through the lounge door. Ethan was waiting for her, holding his hand out, his face without expression.
    Except for those eyes.
    “You ready?”
    She nodded, speechless again. Maybe there would come a day when she wasn’t struck dumb when she opened up a door and found him standing there, when she could come up with a topic and chat with him as easily as she had over the wall. But for now, she only slid her palm into his and let him lead her to the front entrance.
    He paused outside, looking up and down the street. Even this late, there were still quite a few people on the sidewalks.
    Late. “Sorry—” She had to catch her breath in surprise when he pulled her forward again. He wasn’t matching her stride anymore, and she was almost race-walking to keep up with him. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she finally got out. “I hope you didn’t have to wake up.”
    An image of him in bed, sleep-rumpled and warm, ballooned through her mind; his flat response quickly deflated it. “No.”
    She could really use a little help in this conversation. And a slower pace; if she didn’t visit the gym every day, she’d probably have been huffing by now.
    “Old Matthew just wanted to talk to me about some new stuff I might be doing.” Counting drawers and ordering supplies wasn’t all that thrilling, though. “Important work back there, you know—investigations into bank robberies, thwarting bad guys.”
    Unease prickled the length of her spine. They were off the main street now. Ethan had stopped at an intersection, turned his head to stare down the empty sidewalk behind them.
    Her breath shortened. Someone was moving in the darkness near a residential building.
    But she’d been so paranoid lately that someone was always moving in the darkness.
    She closed her eyes and kept on talking. “That’ll be me: bartender by night, FBI by day—” Ethan’s forward motion almost yanked her off her feet, pulled her out of her fright like a cartoon character who’d left her shadow behind. She ran along beside