Page 7 of Bronco

I glance around. “I don’t see any.”

“This is fuckin’ New Orleans, where are the fuckin’ police when you need them?”

“They’re gaining on me, Bronc. The larger of the two tried to grope me inside.”

“Go into the nearest cafe or restaurant and stay there, pick a crowded one, but not a bar.”

“Okay—”

“A bar is too easy for one of them to snag you.”

“Shit, Bronc!”

“Tell me the name of the street you’re on.”

I glance up. “I don’t— I don’t know… the same one Skinny Dick’s is on.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Okay, there’s a fancy restaurant, Clarice’s, I’m going in there…” I step inside and shut the door behind me. A few of the tables close by turn to look at me, but at least I’m dressed for the occasion.

“Okay, tell me if they come in.” I hear the distinct sound of straight pipes in the background as he fires up his Harley Davidson.

The maitre de at the front glances up at me and smiles. “Good evening, miss. Table for—” She glances down at my attire.

“One.” I hold up a finger.

“Please, right this way.”

“She’s taking me to a table,” I whisper behind her into the phone.

I take a peek toward the door and sure enough, my assailants are looking through the window.

“Did they come in?” he barks over the noise of his engine.

“No— They… they’re outside…”

“Good. I’ll be there soon. Do not move from that spot and if they come inside, you call the police.”

“Okay.”

He hangs up and I smile sweetly at the server as she takes me to a table, thankfully, in the middle of the restaurant, surrounded by other diners. This is good; it’s well lit and it’s doubtful they’re going to come in here and cause a scene.

I’ve never been so frightened in my entire life. I’m sure they’re not following me to ask if I’d like to have a drink with them while chasing me up the street.

I chew on my thumb as I fake-peruse the menu, knowing I’m not ordering anything, and also hoping Bronco will get here before I have to start making excuses.

This could only fucking happen to you. Trouble follows you wherever you go.

Ain’t that the truth. I’ve been around long enough to know that I do possess a certain bad juju where men are concerned, and it was only a stroke of luck that I happened to see Bronco’s text when I did. I’m not good in times of pressure. Don’t get me wrong, I escaped a cult so I know how to run and hide, but this is a little too close for comfort.

It feels like forever, and I’ve already told the server I need some more time, when my eyes dart to the door and I see Bronco’s larger than life body in the doorway, his gaze scanning the restaurant for me as I stand. I’ve never been so relieved to see anyone in my life.

I practically leap into his arms when he reaches me. “Oh, thank God,” I sigh.

“You okay?” He checks me over; the frown between his eyes deepening.

“Just rattled,” I admit. “Maybe I’m being paranoid, I don’t know.”

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