Free At the Edge by Laura Griffin Page B

right in front of her, so close she could see the water streaming over his face and the intense look in his eyes.
    â€œEmma, let go,” he commanded, peeling her fingers from his arm. “I’ll be right behind you.”
    He slipped through her hands as the basket pulled her up and away.

NINE
----
    FIVE WEEKS LATER
    T here was nothing remarkable at all about the place except that it was the favorite hangout of some of the world’s most remarkable men.
    Or so she’d heard.
    Emma pulled into the parking lot crammed with trucks and SUVs and searched the rows until she passed—and almost missed—the perfect space for her tiny rental car. Maybe it was a sign.
    She backed into the spot and checked out the enormous pickups on either side of her and decided, yes, it was. She was supposed to be here. Even though here was way the hell out of her comfort zone. But if there was anything she’d learned about life over the past two years, it was that comfort had nothing to do with it. Comfort was overrated, really, as a reason to do or not do anything. And her objective tonight was far too important for her to give comfort a thought.
    Emma got out of her car, careful not to ding the truck beside her, and crossed the parking lot. Her heels made little crunching noises on the gravel, but the sound was drowned out as she neared the door to O’Malley’s Pub.
    Emma had spent some long evenings at a pub in Seattle. But it was the type of place with dark wooden paneling and fox-hunting pictures on the walls, the sort of place well-heeled attorneys went to drink twelve-year-old Scotch after winning a big case.
    Emma eyed the neon beer signs in the window as she reached the entrance. Her hand hesitated on the handle. She squared her shoulders, then pulled open the door and found herself confronted by a pair of boobs that defied gravity. They were spilling out of a thin pink tank top, and their owner was a long-legged blonde in cutoff shorts. She was being ushered out the door by a man with a buzz haircut and a smug grin on his face.
    â€œMa’am.” He nodded at Emma and held the door for her, too, and she felt a flutter of nerves as she stepped inside.
    The bar practically vibrated with music and testosterone. Everywhere she looked she saw jacked-up military men and their smiling admirers. Emma stepped out of the traffic flow and craned her neck to look around, studying the faces and the bodies.
    She sighed with dismay. What had she thought? That she’d just waltz in here and find him? Nothing about this week had been easy, so why should tonight be any better?
    She glanced around the room to get her bearings. Throngs of people surrounded the main bar. A row of booths lined the far wall. A loud whoop went up from a room in back where she glimpsed a cluster of men crowded around a dartboard.
    Emma squeezed her way through all the hot male bodies that created a cloud of pheromone-infused humidity. She ignored the mildly curious looks as she elbowed her way through the crowd to the bar. Behind the counter, two bartenders were busy pulling taps and mixing drinks.
    The couple in front of Emma vacated their stools, and she pounced on one. She didn’t see a good place for her purse, so she rested it on her lap.
    Emma’s gaze landed on the female bartender. She wore a low-cut black T-shirt, along with a short black apron that was longer than her frayed cutoffs. Her hands were busily clearing empties as her gaze scanned the customers. She was both pretty and observant, and Emma pinned her hopes on her immediately.
    Icy liquid drizzled down Emma’s shirt. She gave a startled yelp and glanced up to see an oversized man lifting a pair of beers over her head.
    â€œSorry, my bad.” He gave her a crooked smile as he eyed her now-transparent white blouse. Emma bit back a curse and turned away from him. The bartender was watching her now and shot the customer a reproachful look as she handed Emma