Chapter 5 - On The House
Dana looked back over her shoulder as a wonderful smell accompanied the clink of a plate landing on the bar behind her. Grilled shrimp, and fries. Someone was buying her dinner? "I didn't order this."
The tall intense diabetic leaned forward, one foot up on something. His smile was suddenly intimate. "On the house."
"You?" She smiled, she couldn't help it. The menu here in Haven was decidedly thin – she'd already rejected the fishermen, the tourists and the boys. And people kept giving her that look that she didn't understand. That 'can't place you' look. It threw her off her game. But of her remaining choices…
"Welcome to the Gull. I'm Duke Crocker. This is my place."
"Dana Bellamy." She held up a hand already holding a shrimp tail, her mouth full. "Are we supposed to shake?" she grinned, when that seemed to be his plan. "Sorry. Starving. And these are really good."
"I'll tell Lanny you said so." He helped himself to one of her fries, another intimate grin.
"Is it really Duke, or is that a nickname?" Duke was a dog's name, in Dana's experience. What kind of parent would name their child that?
"It's real." The look that flickered through his brown eyes revealed the same thought, unexpressed or even acknowledged.
Oh, this was trouble.
This was going to be so much fun, one side of her said, but some other voice inside her was taking up arms – warning her to run and not look back. She played fair and square with her dates. She did not want their money. She only wanted their company for as long as they wanted hers. She was not particular about who paid for the drinks or the meals, and the beds usually came with roofs over her head – but she'd been broker than this and survived. She'd always survive.
She had skills beyond her hair and her face and her legs. She did this because… she could, and because it quieted all the other voices in her head; a man who wanted her, adored her, made her feel good – made her feel good. She saw herself as he – they – saw her, and it was enough. When they stopped seeing her as pretty, starting seeing her as something grubby and worthless, then it was over and she was gone.
Sometimes with just the twenty year old Suzuki and the change in her pocket.
She did not love them, neither did she despise them. And neither, as in never, did she feel this instant 'click' inside her of something just right falling into place.
That felt like trouble, because that felt like it was permanent and would hurt when it broke.
"Can I get a refill," the man beside her called, rudely, tapping his empty glass on the bar. She'd seen him come in a few minutes ago, already barely able to stand. Duke had met him near the door, then surprised her by not throwing him out again right away. Served him, straight double. Even from two seats away he reeked of alcohol.
"Don't you think you've had enough?" she snapped.
Dana cursed her tongue and her temper. She liked men. She liked a lot of different sizes and kinds and styles of men, and amused herself with their faults and foibles. But once in a while, for no reason she could ever pinpoint, she came across one that made her instantly hostile. It wasn't just the drink. Damon, in London, had never been actually sober the entire time she spent with him. But he sang such lovely songs of love and loss when three sheets to the wind that she'd stayed for four months.
This one – tall too, skeletally thin that the too bulky sweater and jacket did not hide, square-jawed and icy dead eyes – she would have picked him from a line-up of ladykillers. The literal kind.
"Dana Bellamy, this is Chief of Police Nathan Wuornos."
She blinked at Duke, now acting like he was master of ceremonies or something. There were sudden layers of warning and fear (?) in Duke's voice, the laughing intimacy gone like morning dew. Chief of Police? That explained why Duke hadn't thrown him out – but she was not going to be used to pay off whatever debt Duke owed him. Which is what it felt like, when the Chief of Police held out his hand for her to shake – like she was being introduced to a trick, in all senses of the word.
She stood, pulled out her cash. "Lovely shrimp," she said, even though the plate was barely touched. "How much do I owe you?"
"On the house," Duke said faintly.
Dana put a five down on the bar. "For that little girl you made do your dirty work. Good night."