17 - A Hard Days Night Searcher.doc by Unknown Read Free Book Online Page B

un-loaded the drinks to the men who were
    ogling her.
    "Hi," Marguerite said as the woman left the table. "Is Wren working tonight?"
    The waitress frowned at her as if she were the worst sort of creature. "You're that
    woman who was here last night with the dickheads."
    Marguerite blushed at her words. "Yes, and I'm sorry about that."
    "You should be. You got Wren into all kinds of trouble."
    Her stomach shrank at the waitress's words. "I didn't mean to. Please tell me you didn't
    fire him for it. It wasn't his fault. I had no way of knowing they were going to act like that."
    Still the waitress eyed her warily.
    "Look, I'm really sorry about it." Marguerite held up the present in her hands. "I just
    wanted to give this to Wren as a small token, okay?"
    "Token for what?"
    Marguerite's heart sank as she realized the waitress wasn't going to help her. No wonder
    she was shy. It was hard to be otherwise when people could be this rude and off-putting. It
    was so much easier to be alone. "Just, please, see that Wren gets this."
    As she turned to leave, the woman stopped her. "Hey, were you there when Wren got
    shot last night?"
    Marguerite went cold at the question. Did she hear that correctly? "Excuse me?"
    "Never mind," the blonde said as she turned away with the bag in her hand. "I'll make
     
    sure he gets this."
    It was Marguerite's turn to stop the waitress as concern welled up inside her. Surely
    Wren wasn't hurt.
    She would have known had he been shot last night.
    "What were you talking about?" she asked the waitress. "Wren didn't get shot last
    night. The bullet missed him… didn't it?"
    The look on the blonde's face confirmed Marguerite's fear. The bullet hadn't missed.
    "What happened to him?" Aimee asked.
    Marguerite swallowed as guilt consumed her. "I was being mugged and he came out of
    nowhere to chase them off. One of the guys had a gun that he fired, but Wren told me that
    he wasn't hurt. I didn't see a wound on him." Surely she would have seen a gunshot
    wound, wouldn't she?
    If he'd been badly wounded, he would have said something. After all, no man took a
    bullet without complaint—
    "Wren saved you?" The waitress asked the question as if she couldn't believe he would
    have ever done such a thing.
    Marguerite nodded. "The bullet just grazed him, right?"
    "No," the waitress said firmly. "Wren almost died last night."
    Marguerite felt sick at the news. This couldn't be real. Surely the waitress was just
    playing with her. "What hospital is he in?"
    She could see the debate in the woman's expression about whether or not to answer
    her, and she couldn't blame her. Good grief, she'd gotten Wren insulted, assaulted, and
    shot—all in less than an hour. That poor man most likely never wanted to see her face
    again as long as he lived.
     
    Aimee narrowed her eyes at Marguerite before she took a step back. "You're the one
    who sent him all those flowers today, aren't you?"
    "Yes. Had I known he was hurt, I would have sent even more."
    That seemed to amuse her. "Hang on." Aimee handed the bag back to Marguerite
    before she took her to stand by a door behind the bar. "You wait right here and I'll be back
    in a few minutes."
    Marguerite nodded as she noticed the hostile looks the bartenders were giving her.
    They were dressed in T-shirts and jeans, and though they were handsome, there was an air
    of lethalness about them. They appeared to resent her presence there in the bar area, but
    she couldn't imagine why…
    Unless they knew about Wren and they blamed her for it.
    Nervous and unsure, Marguerite turned to see the man with long black hair from last
    night. Justin. That had been his name. Like the others, he was staring angrily at her. He
    didn't say anything while he put away clean glasses.
    It seemed to take forever before Aimee came back to beckon her through the doorway.
    "Follow me."
    Marguerite let out a relieved breath as the woman led her into the large commercial
    kitchen. There were five cooks buzzing