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too mellow to be facing that sheriff.” Jonesy pulled the whisky bottle out of her reach with a temperamental scowl. “You never face your enemy weak, girl. I taught you better than that.”
    “Zeke’s not my enemy.” But she didn’t reach for the bottle again.
    Zeke wasn’t her enemy, but he was her weakness. He made everything inside her weak, made her ache and heat, and made her wish for things that she knew she couldn’t have.
    “Sheriff Mayes is gonna break your heart,” Jonesy warned her with a hint of anger. “Pull yourself up here now. He’s gonna be here soon, and you don’t want to see him while you’re feeling sorry for yourself and missin’ those boys.”
    She shook her head, almost smiling. That was Jonesy. Never let them see you bleed. And she was bleeding. She could feel it, from a wound inside her heart that she couldn’t seem to close.
    She shook her head. “Joe wouldn’t shoot Jaime,” she said softly. “Neither of those boys would have ever hurt each other, Jonesy, let alone anyone else.”
    “If there’s something more involved, then I have no doubt Sheriff Mayes will find it, girl,” he grumbled, his voice becoming more fierce. “Come on, Rogue. He’ll be here any minute. Pull yourself out of this or you’re gonna hate yourself in the morning. You know how you always end up kicking yourself whenever you let Mayes see you weak.”
    She was always weak around Zeke. It was a fact of life. Like taxes and breathing.
    “Go tend the bar, Jonesy.” She sighed. “I’ll be fine.”
    Jonesy stared at her for long, silent moments. Rogue could feel his worry and his anger. Jonesy always worried about her, and it always managed to piss him off. And tonight after he closed up, he’d probably call her father, and her parents would worry then, too. If she wasn’t careful, her father would end up on her doorstep and then talk about stirring up some stink. The closest he’d come to Somerset since leaving it so long ago was Louisville. She always met him there. God help her if he ever actually came here.
    Jonesy rose to his feet. His heavy hand gripped her shoulder for a second in a tender hold before he heaved out a hard breath and moved through the crowd, back to his bar.
    Zeke was coming, and she was weak. He would be here soon, and she felt lost and alone and uncertain. She hated feeling that way; she avoided him at all costs when she felt that way, because she wanted nothing more than to curl against his broad chest and make all the darkness that seemed to surround her go away.
    As though he could do that.
    She finished the whisky in the glass, capped the bottle, and motioned to the waitress to take it away before rising to her feet.
    Four-inch heels were like a second skin to her feet. Vivid red to match the scalloped lace edges of the scarlet camisole she wore beneath her black sleeveless leather vest. It was paired with a short leather skirt that showed off her legs and flashed her upper thighs. Flipping back the riotous red gold curls that flowed over her shoulder, she drew in a hard breath and made her way across the bar to the door that led back to the kitchens and the steps to her upstairs apartment.
    She wasn’t facing Zeke while the customers of the Bar watched on. Jonesy would direct him upstairs.
    Would he come in uniform, she wondered? Or in those thigh-hugging jeans and loose shirts that always made her mouth water? She wanted to strip him so damned badly she could barely breathe for the need when he was out of uniform.
    She didn’t want to even consider what he did to her when he was in uniform. She tried to ignore the wicked little urges she had then, because it was a hell of a lot worse than without the uniform.
    Maybe it had something to do with those handcuffs hanging on the side of his belt, she thought mockingly as she made her way up the stairs to her apartment. Yeah, had to be those handcuffs. She had some interesting fantasies where those were