Page 203 of Dagger in the Sea

I shot him a smile. “Thank you.”

I drew deep on the amber liquid, and that delicious warmth flowed through me once more and settled in my blood. A Miranda Lambert song flared up, and suddenly a rumble echoed over the old wood floors as a good number of eager couples, both young and old, scrambled to the dance floor. Laughter and whoops swirled through the room. I took another swallow of my whiskey and savored its richness in my mouth.

This was good, comfortable. I tugged a strand of hair from one of my long silver earrings.

Was I really an upgraded version of the Grace Quillen who ran away from Meager, South Dakota sixteen years ago?

Ran away, absconded, escaped…

“Are you really drinking that without ice?” a deep male voice vibrated through me.

My eyes snapped up to my left, and I had to raise them up a bit higher to see the face behind that firm, almost purposeful tone. My fingers slid down my glass.

I drank in the large, almost black eyes lined with thick dark lashes that were pinned on me. His face was full of planes, angles and high cheekbones. He sported a long nose that must have been broken at some point, because it had an odd bump to it and a small scar on its side that travelled down his cheek. Those flaws may have blunted any overt handsomeness he might have been blessed with, yet they gave him an unforgiving, grim quality. My gaze settled on his full mouth. His smooth skin was a light bronze hue. He definitely had Native American blood in him.

He had to be over six feet tall with pronounced shoulders and a closely cropped head of dark hair peppered with just a bit of gray. There were faint traces of stubble on his face, and a small silver hoop hung from his right earlobe. His long arms and broad chest filled out his black hoodie that was zipped up most of the way. Faded and frayed blue jeans hung low and loose just below his waist and extended down a long pair of legs, which ended in heavily scuffed black leather boots. A worn-out road warrior.

He leaned against the bar, one feathery dark eyebrow quirked higher than the other at my glass of whiskey. “Never met a chick who liked it straight,” he said.

I choked on the swirl of liquor at the back of my throat. He swallowed his drink, his solemn eyes on me as he waited for a response to his ridiculous remark. With my eyes locked on his, I put down my glass.

I smirked. “Well, well. Lucky you.”

He shifted his weight and leaned in closer. “I meant the drink, not …” I could swear his irises had silver threads in them at this angle. His full lips tightened. He didn’t break into chuckles or a flirty pose. He really wanted an answer to his question.

“Yeah, I got it,” I said with a slight smile. “Ice only dilutes the flavor. Why order a great whiskey if you’re going to insult it with water or sugary soda?”

He studied me for a moment, perfectly still, then he nodded once and drank from his ice-filled glass, his dark eyes never leaving mine. “Very true. Insult—that’s perfect.”

I turned back to my drink. He moved in closer. “It’s just that most women order everything with a diet, you know?”

“Women or was that ‘chicks’?”

He let out a laugh. His face seemed almost boyish, then in an instant the relaxed look was gone and the somber returned.

“I hate soda,” I said.

His dark, languid eyes riveted on me once more, and I swallowed hard. I could soak in those soothing pools of darkness.

“Guess you’re not most women.” His voice was warm, almost gravelly, and his eyes glinted at me as he drank. The chunks of ice in his glass clinked together, the sound filling the thick air between us.

“No, I’m not.”

His teeth crunched on ice as he studied me. “I’ll bet you don’t like much diluted or watered down, huh?”

I tore my gaze away from those dark eyes of his and cleared my throat. “What are you drinking?”

“Vodka. Thought I’d change it up from beer tonight.”

“Good idea,” I murmured. “Change is always good.”

“Keeps the blood flowing, right?”

I glanced up at him again. He was trying to make conversation with me. Being friendly to strangers is good for one’s karma, isn’t it? And I needed all the help I could get in the karma department. Why not indulge in conversation with the attractive Mr. Vodka On The Rocks?

“Ever tried it with a slice of lemon?” I asked.

A hint of amusement passed over his eyes, and I grinned. “The drink, I mean.”

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