I watched him approach me, knew that it was me he was headed towards because I was the only woman in the dark corner

I watched him approach me, knew that it was me he was headed towards because I was the only woman in the dark corner. He was handsome, stubble along his chin, jaw and lower cheeks, dark eyes that seemed fathomless, and just the right amount of curl in his dark brown hair.

“Hey, there,” he said, sitting down at my table with his beer.

I nodded my response.

“I’ve seen you in here often; you always come to this corner and you’re always alone. Why?”

I watched him; he sat at ease, his head tilted to the side, an easy smile curving his very nice lips. It must have been second nature to him, to appear so carefree. He wore a knife in his boot and a gun at his back.

“Why does it matter?” I asked in a soft voice, tipping my glass to my lips and sipping.

He smiled wider, like getting me to speak had been an accomplishment.

“Women come in here to scout out wealthy or attractive men. You haven’t done any scouting that I’ve seen.”

“So by virtue of not being a bitch, I’m interesting to you.”

“You might say that,” he replied slowly.

“How long have you been a cop?” I asked in a sudden change of topic.

His facial expression changed from one of ease to weariness. He looked her in the eyes for a long moment, then shifted uneasy to look over his shoulder. “What makes you say that?” His entire demeanor had changed. It was a pity.

“The gun at your back,” she said softly, aware that others might be listening. “Aren’t you a cop?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I am a cop.”

The corner of her mouth lifted in the first hint of a smile he’d ever seen and she took another sip from her glass. “I don’t like cops.”

Again, his demeanor shifted, returning slightly to the easy going guy he’d been when he’s walked over, but he still retained that edge of alertness about him, the way he positioned his hands, his eyes constantly scanning the room. “Why? Been doing something illegal?”

“No…except for speeding on occasion. I just don’t like cops.”

He pursed his lips slightly, then visibly forced himself to relax. “People don’t just hate something for the sake of hating. There’s usually a reason, like murderers always have a reason.”

“Are you implying that I’m a murderer?”

“Never.”

“Good.”

“Just probing.”

“Probing my intentions, perhaps? Or attempting to figure out I know about your firearm.”

“Both, maybe.”

“Both, defiantly.”

“Maybe I just came over to see if you’d let me screw you, cop or not.” He tried a crude tactic.

She smiled then, a full but small smile. “Mr. Ashart, I’m the last woman you want to screw.” She leaned forward and looked sternly into his eyes. “I’m one of those people you don’t want to be around.”

“How do you know my name? Have you had me checked out?”

She smiled, shook her head no. “In another life, Seth, we were lovers. …You don’t remember me, but I remember you. I’m tormented with the memories every damn day. Your present life, your circumstances may change, but you stay the same. You’ve always carried a gun, even when you were a teenager.”

He stood in a rush. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are, or who you think I am to you, but—”

“Duck,” I interrupted calmly.

“What?”

“Gun, six o’clock.”

Seth jerked around just in time to see the guy near the bar pull the handgun from inside his jacket and point it him.