Chapter 7

“So, Mark, what brings you here?” Francis took a sip of his white wine and peered at Mark.

He’d sat on the barstool closest to Mark’s. Since they both were sitting sideways, Mark could feel the warmth of Francis’s knees almost touching his.

He shrugged, attempting casual and calm. “Thought I’d grab a beer or two.”

“That’s it?” Francis grinned again. “Well that’s a shame.”

“O-oh?” Mark hated how he couldn’t hide the stutter.

“Yeah, I’m traveling through and I couldn’t sleep, so I came in for a drink and maybe, if I’m lucky, some company.” Something calculating entered Francis’s expression.

Mark hummed noncommittally. That was why he was here, and obviously Francis was reading him like an open book. He hated the feeling, it was too reminiscent of the times he’d stared into the barrel of a gun while still a beat cop.

“What do you do?” Francis asked after a long moment of silence.

“Law enforcement,” Mark murmured. That was true and still vague enough. “You?”