"I'm so sorry. What would you like?"
"The house special." He looked her up and down, evidently liking what he saw. He flirted his eyes at her. He had very long eyelashes over dark blue eyes. In fact, he was good-looking enough to be a movie star. The shoulders under the blue pin-striped white shirt were broad and the midriff appealingly slim. "Can I get that to go?"
"Bloody Mary or Hurricane?"
"Hurricane sounds like more fun."
"One Hurricane, coming up," Val said, reaching for a plastic go-cup. She poured four ounces of rum into a shaker, added passion-fruit syrup and a stream of lemon juice, then poured it over ice.
"Is that what you call yourself, lovely lady? Hurricane?"
Val smiled at him and felt for the blackjack under the bar. "Sorry, but I'm not on the menu."
"Too bad," he said. "I'm Dale, by the way."
"Val." She put the drink on a paper napkin in front of him. "Three-fifty, please."
He put a five-dollar bill down and slid it toward her. "Sorry to come on so strong, but wow! I never expected to see anyone like you serving drinks in a, well, dump. You ought to be modeling high fashion."
Val had no illusions about being a member of the ranks of underweight waifs who pouted on magazine pages. "They'd never want me. You look like you probably modeled, yourself," she said.
Dale grimaced. "You guessed my dirty secret. Yeah. I paid my way through college doing catalogs. I'm in town for the convention. I bet you get a lot of people coming in here." He lifted the Hurricane to her and drank. "God, that's sweet."
"They're very popular with tourists."
"Touche," he said. "Normally, my drink is a dirty martini."
"All the martinis are pretty popular these days," Val agreed.
He grinned. "Oops. Didn't mean to be trendy." He was trying hard to make up for being a jerk when he came in.
He was cute. Val admired the line of his jaw. His hands were long and fine, with oval nails. "It's quiet in here. Don't you get much business?"
"Not during the day," she said. "This place is a little out of the way for conventioneers and sports fans. We have a lot of local clients starting about now."
"Oh, so you're not getting off for a while." He looked disappointed.
"Not until midnight," she said. She did find him attractive. It might be nice if he came back at the end of her shift. A little attention from a handsome stranger went a long way toward brightening the day.
She's not really showing yet, the thought popped into Val's head. I bet she'd look sexy in her underwear.
She frowned. Was she projecting what he might think of her without her clothes? He lifted the glass to her again, drank, then set it far away from him. "That's really god-awful. How about a martini? Would you like to join me?"
"I'll have a Diet Coke, thanks," she said, pouring fresh drinks for both of them. He paid and added a tip. She liked that he was even generous in offering a gratuity for the drink he had bought her. Of course, it might just be because he was trying to pick her up.
I don't want to have to wait for midnight, the thought came urgently.
Val licked her lips. Her subconscious rarely seemed so loud. Maybe she really did want to be with him that badly. She liked the way he moved, the way he smiled, the warm baritone of his voice.
"So, you thinking of hanging around for a while?" she asked, casually. "I mean, it's a long time."
"If that's what it takes to get a chance to be alone with you, it'll seem like minutes," Dale said, winking at her.
She's going to be impatient if it takes until midnight to get out of here, the thought came.
She? Val didn't think of herself in the third person. Those insistent thoughts weren't hers. She had never had that happen before. Was this a new facet of dragon power that was just starting to manifest itself?
Movement near the door made her look up. Just outside the bar, two people stood on the sidewalk, looking at her intently. They looked like locals. One wore a T-shirt and an old waistcoat over baggy pants and untied athletic shoes. The other had on a flat, shiny leather cap and jeans jacket. Dale glanced over her shoulder.
Who the hell are they?
Val stared at him. Those strange intrusions were his thoughts.
"Who the hell are you?" she asked.
"Just a visitor," he said, trying to keep an expression of innocence, but it no longer rang true. The two local men came in, still staring at Dale.
She's going to be angry.
Val suddenly figured out who "she" was. She glared at Dale.
"Drink up and get out of here," she said.
"Oh, come on, babe," he said, leaning forward persuasively. He lowered his eyelashes again. It was evidently the move that worked on women the most. "I apologize if I was pushing too hard. We could still have a little date later on," he added. He looked hopeful.
"No fucking way. Tell Melinda that she can shove it up her wide ass, sending a pretty boy to seduce me. Go."
Shit! They didn't tell me she was telepathic!
Val seized the blackjack. "There's a lot of things they didn't tell you about me," she said. "I was captain of my gymnastics team." Setting one hand on the bar, she vaulted over it. Dale jumped backward in surprise. "Now, get out before you're sorry you came in."
"Hey, I don't know anyone named Me--"
His thoughts said otherwise. Val swung a wide arc with the blackjack and slapped him in the temple. He staggered sideways, clutching his head. Val followed up with a kick in the stomach that sent him backward over a chair. He fell on the floor. Val stood over him, brandishing the sack of lead shot.
"You go and tell her to leave me alone! The next person that bothers me won't get a warning. All they will find is pieces of the body! Everywhere! Get out of here!"
She raised the blackjack over her head. Dale scuttled backward on his hands and feet like a crab. When he was safely in between the tables, he got to his feet. Keeping his eyes on her, he edged out the door.
Gotta warn her, was the last thought Val picked up. Can't tell her about . . .
No, he wouldn't admit to Melinda that Val had figured he was a fraud or that she had hit him. Twice.
She turned a sour face to the two men near the door. "I suppose my brother sent you?" They nodded. "Weren't you going to help me?"
"Mr. Griffen said that you'd get mad if we helped before you asked," the shorter one said. "Besides, we could tell you could handle him."
"We listened to his thoughts all the way here," said the taller one, in a fluty alto. "He was countin' on you fallin' for his looks. He couldn't take you nowhere. We heard everythin' he thought he would do."
"Then why didn't you send him somewhere else?"
"It's not the way our talents work, ma'am. We just listen."
"Oh," Val said. "It doesn't work both ways?"
"Thank God, no! It ain't a curse, just a talent!"
"Don't want to have no one hear our thoughts. It's none of anyone's damned business what we think."
"Nope," agreed the taller one.
"Nope," confirmed the shorter one.
Val studied them. "I think I saw you the other night."
"Yes, ma'am, near the diner. Manuel near the door thinks you're gorgeous and wishes you'd go out with him instead of Gris-gris, but he afraid."
"Of me?"