Aftershock (eBook)

Prologue

Three months ago: Washington, D.C., early July.

McKenna Davis pocketed her smartphone and wiped rain from her face as she weaved her way around scores of patrons to approach the busy wooden bar countertop. The din of excited voices intermixed with careless laughter filled the sultry late afternoon air. Scattered tables with chairs provided seating for groups of people enjoying after-work drinks, while others stood perched around high-top tables. Outside, rain battered down against the street-facing windows.

Davis greeted the bartender by name and placed her order, “A flat white to go, please. Preferably brewed with those gourmet Kenya coffee beans.”

The woman nodded with a friendly smile, spun around, and walked off.

“You know this is a bar, right?” the man sitting on the barstool beside her remarked without turning.

Looking up, she met the stranger’s unblinking stare in the mirror behind the bar counter. “No! Really?” Despite her best efforts, irritation slipped into her voice. “Gosh, you certainly don’t miss much.”

The side of his mouth curved upward. “I deserved that.” Intrigued bright blue eyes framed by short black hair and a chiseled jaw swiveled toward her. “It’s just that you could go to that specialty coffee shop next door to order that same beverage with beans sourced from any number of exotic places, which will likely taste far better... or the hotel restaurant that is literally on the other side of this wall.” The man pointed to glass racks fully stocked with top-shelf liquor. “I’m genuinely curious: Why choose a bar?”

McKenna contemplated the options of replying versus simply ignoring the half-assed taunt.

The flicker of uncertainty that crossed his face as the silence dragged on made her cave in; “If you must know, the coffee shop queue is a mile long—metaphorically speaking.” Davis ran a hand over her auburn hair fastened into a ponytail at the base of her neck and gestured to her damp, long-sleeved running top and track pants. “And if you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly dressed for an upmarket restaurant. I got about a block away before the drizzle turned into a downpour. So, instead of settling for a cold drink, I’m having a coffee... Satisfied?”

His gaze traveled down her body before meeting her eyes again. “The fact that the bartender didn’t even bat an eyelash at your request—or tell you to go to hell—suggests to me that you are staying here at the hotel, and that this isn’t the first time you’ve ordered coffee from this very bar... Why not order your specialty coffee using room service?”

She shook her head in disbelief and chuckled. “Seriously? You’ve obviously never ordered barista-made coffee from room service; it’s always cold, even if I ask for it to be extra hot. Don’t get me started on those ghastly hotel-issue instant coffee packets.”

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. You are simply a connoisseur of gourmet coffees who does not like a cold brew or queues.” He turned back facing the bar, only to study the untouched liquor cradled between his hands.

McKenna leaned in closer. “You know, most people come to a bar to drink. You clearly haven’t touched your bourbon.”

His eyebrow shot up. “You’ve been watching me?”

“Um, no, I was taking a call outside before entering the bar... We women must be careful and make split-second decisions when setting foot in an establishment such as this: Fending off the skirt-chasing predators gets old quickly.”

He scanned the room where men dressed in suits, and, irrespective of their marital status, chatted up every single female, even those arriving in groups. “Point taken.” A moment later, he asked, “What made you walk my way?”

She looked around the packed bar. “Well, to start with, your chosen position is in the one corner; you’ve got a perfect vantage point of the place along with an easy escape route out the lesser used side door adjoining the bar with the main hotel lobby. It would be difficult to box you in... This is the spot someone who does not wish to be bothered picks. Then there is your brooding posture; you evidently prefer to go it alone but for some reason need to be around people tonight.” Her dark eyes locked onto his while she cocked her head slightly. “Add in the fact that you aren’t knocking back shots like there is no tomorrow, or that you aren’t scoping out everyone with breasts... you’re no predator. Plus, you are dressed casually in those well-worn jeans and black T-shirt. You’re obviously not here to pick up or impress anyone by wearing a thousand dollar suit, nor are you glancing at your watch as if you are waiting for someone to join you.”

He blinked. “You are surprisingly observant... and direct.”

“Pitfalls of the job, I’m afraid.” When he raised a questioning eyebrow, Davis added, “I am in risk management... If I had to wager a guess, I’d say that you are an investigator of some sort.”

“Correct; the kind that no one likes in their business.”

“That sounds intriguing.”

He pursed his lips. “Trust me, it really isn’t.”

“If you’re working for the IRS, then I’m leaving,” she teased with a smile.

The subsequent easy grin softened his features. “I’m not with the IRS.”

“Phew,” she laughed. “No one likes tax collectors or pesky tax investigators.”

“Sounds like you have something to hide.”

“Who doesn’t?” she replied conspiratorially.

The bartender delivered the ordered coffee. “You’re in luck with those Kenyan beans, and I’ve charged it to your room.”

McKenna smiled politely. “Thank you, Melanie.” When the woman walked away, Davis said, “If you want to know the real reason our bartender is being so helpful, it’s because I’m a big tipper.” She took a sip from her steaming beverage and beamed. “Perfect.” Glancing over his shoulder, Davis noticed an approaching man crudely eyeing her with two drinks in hand. Her smile faded as she muttered, “Ugh, I’d better get going before this idiot tries his abysmal pickup lines on me.”

To her surprise, Mr. Investigator stood to his full six feet and two inches, effectively blocking the advances of the other man, and said loud enough for the newcomer to hear, “Join me, please.”

Davis sunk into the vacant barstool beside him and waited for her rescuer to sit again. The dark-suited creep flushed red and promptly changed direction, homing in on a new target.

Her protector drew in close. “You’re safe with me... I also suspect that overconfident Wall Street there was going to follow you out the door had you left, regardless.”

“Huh, I got that same impression... Honestly, I can’t believe anyone still accepts drinks from a stranger these days, not with how those can get spiked.”

“Agreed,” he murmured as they watched the new target happily sip from the offered glass.

McKenna took another mouthful from her takeout coffee cup and focused on the man beside her. “So, why are you not on the prowl tonight? You’re clearly not married, at least not judging by the absence of a wedding band on your ring finger, or its associated tan lines.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re a private investigator waiting for your mark to step out on their spouse, eager to take those telltale, highly compromising seedy shots?”

Glancing at his watch, he replied, “No, I’m actually newly divorced, as of one hour ago.”

He pulled his cell phone from his jeans pocket when a text stating ‘GAGF thieving asshole’ buzzed through.

“Yikes! I’m guessing your divorce is not amicable.”

He ran a hand over his dimpled chin and sighed. “No, it’s not. I’ve been getting these texts the whole day... My lawyer got me half of her monstrous trust fund and other assets. Not that I care about the money.”

“No prenup?”

“Nope; at her insistence, purely to horrify her parents and spite her well-to-do family.” His mouth drew into a thin line. “I was the proverbial forbidden fruit from the wrong side of the track: the only child of a single mother working three minimum wage paying jobs to stay afloat, living in a shoebox rental apartment, clipping coupons, and making use of public transportation... You can guess the rest.”

After a long pause, McKenna commented quietly, “You’ve clearly made your own way in the world since then.”

He swirled his drink. “I have; earned a full scholarship, graduated top of my class, always paid my own way... Still, it was never enough—her family refused to accept me—yet now it hardly seems to matter.”

Another eviscerating obscenity pinged on his phone.

“Why don’t you spare yourself from the vitriolic attacks and simply block her number?”

He let out a deep breath. “Can’t; we’ve got a daughter.”

“Oh? How old is your daughter?”

“Twenty going on thirty-five, it seems, and before you ask, yes, I got my ex pregnant while at university and married her... She’s been weaponizing that fact since the very beginning.”

“I wasn’t going to ask, but thank you for sharing that. I assume your daughter explains why you are not after a pretty young thing for a rebound hookup.”

He looked up at her in surprise.

Davis continued, “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the many eager women ogling you? You’re an...