Dangerous Ground by M. R. Rutter

Author:M. R. Rutter [Rutter, M. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Solstice Publishing - Summer Solstice Imprint
Published: 2016-11-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

It didn’t seem to matter to the citizenry that the Sheriff’s Department cleared Michael. He discovered this fact about five seconds after walking into the Pizza Joint on Saturday night, when all noise but the tinny jukebox and drone of ESPN ceased in a wave of awareness as he walked through the double doors.

Every eye turned to him in a murmuration of movement, as if their thoughts had joined to drive Michael into the icy vise of the night.

In that moment Michael was grateful that he was holding Ingrid’s hand in the crook of his arm, flanked by the sheriff and an unsmiling Agent Wong.

“I’ll get us a few beers before ordering,” Lars offered, looking strangely out of place in jeans and a red polo shirt.

Michael realized this was the first time he’d ever seen the man out of uniform. “Yeah. Thanks,” he replied, his voice almost seeming to echo in the unnatural silence.

“Come on, big boy,” Ingrid offered, laughing. “I’ll protect you from the lynch mob.”

Michael wasn’t sure if she was joking. From the mutinous expressions on the faces staring at him, he was sure he’d need not only her protection but the Sheriff and Wong’s as well. He shrugged and followed Ingrid, weaving through the crowd, trying to ignore the whispering daggers aimed at his back. The only positive point he could come up with this excursion was that he got to watch the sway of Ingrid’s well shaped backside as she broke trail.

“Whew,” Dillon said, plopping down on a chair as they arrived at the safe harbor of an empty table. “I don’t think I’ve seen this many glares since my last visit with the in-laws.”

Ingrid looked around the once bright restaurant with folksy art depicting Amish children and buggies. The nearly subliminal buzz of the florescent tubes reaped the hair on the nape of her neck in an icy swathe. She stood, frozen, dread pooling in her stomach.

“I’ve never seen anything like this. Not even when Alvin Weissgerber got off for feeling up a fourteen-year-old,” Ingrid admitted.

Michael sat in the corner chair, keeping his back to the wall. This position, he figured would be best. At least he would see the knife coming at him. There were plenty here being scraped against plates and cutting boards.

Plus, it gave him an unblocked view of Ingrid as the fading light of a sunset glowed through her pale hair. He figured he’d better make lemonade out of the lemon of a situation he found his ass mired in.

He found himself more concerned with watching her, than looking for Midwestern assassins. He knew he was sunk then, if he could notice the light in her hair and the curve of her lips and forget everything else. It was as if she was the most important thing in the room. Michael didn’t know when that had happened, or what it meant for the future. It worried him.

“Maybe this wasn’t the greatest place to meet,” Ingrid said, sitting next to Michael. Her thigh touching his under the table.

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