Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4), Brian Shea [free reads .txt] 📗

as the guests packed the thirty feet of the counter. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, Cass cleared a path and found two stools on the far end of the bar.

Ethan pulled up a stool next to Cass, and the two waited for a bartender to serve them. The closest drink slinger was busily taking several other orders. Ethan waited patiently. He set the ring on the cherry wood bar's smooth surface. It was a gaudy thing fit for a queen. Ethan tried not to think of its value as he ran his fingers over it. He spun it like a penny. Cass cupped her hand over it. "Let's not lose my family's heirloom in the first ten minutes of having it.

She removed her hand, and Ethan palmed it. He examined the ring like he was back in the lab, looking down through one of his microscopes. Ethan peeked up at Cass and sighed.

"I didn't know. I swear," Cass defended.

"I know. I saw it on your face the second your dad pulled it from his pocket," Ethan waved his hand unsuccessfully to get the bartender's attention before continuing, "I just had my own idea for the wedding band."

"I figured." Her eyelashes held the remnants of her tears, making her eyes burn a bright sapphire. "It's not every day two people getting married both lost their mothers before their wedding day. A lot of pressure on who gets what."

"Well, my ring isn't worth much more than my last electric bill. But it belonged to my mom."

"We've got six months to figure it out. All that matters is us. Forget the pomp and circumstance." She leaned in close. "In the end, it's just you and me."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way." Ethan leaned in for a kiss when somebody bumped him from behind.

"Hey, how about a round?" A tall, thin man in a dark blue suit wedged himself between Cass and Ethan, offering no apology for the interruption. He then put his fingers and whistled loudly, catching some looks from nearby guests but also gaining the attention of the bartender.

Ethan was considering addressing the rude man when he saw his friend standing off to the side. A few inches shorter than the man bellied up to the bar, what he lacked in height, he made up for in muscle. The pinstripes of his charcoal suit curved outward at the bulge of his biceps.

"Nice ring," Westie said, just loud enough for Ethan to hear.

Ethan pocketed it and offered a nod of acknowledgement.

"Hey Westie, I hope this guy's not working on tips."

"I could give him a tip."

Both men laughed at their inside joke, which only worked to further Ethan's uncomfortableness. Growing up a cop's kid in Mattapan before his dad's promotion moved them uptown, he became a pretty good read of people. His radar was pinging loudly and something about the way they moved and talked felt off. Or maybe they were just assholes. Ethan scanned the room. Of the Pincer Pharma employees present, he loathed eighty percent of them. Nobody from Ethan's R&D team made the list. Upper management only.

Ethan peeked his head around behind the back of the man and rolled his eyes at Cass, who giggled in return.

"Hey, looks like we interrupted. Let us buy you guys a drink," Westie pulled out his wallet, "What do you want?"

"No need for that," Ethan said.

"I insist. You're the bride and groom to be. What kind of guest would I be if I passed up an opportunity to buy you two a drink," Westie smiled.

"Tito's and cranberry," Cass said.

"Same, I guess." Ethan shrugged. He rarely drank, but when he did, he found that vodka was the easiest of the liquors to tolerate because it didn't take too much juice to mask the taste and soften the burn.

The bartender exchanged money with the couple that he was serving and then turned to the tall man. "What can I get you?"

"Four Cape Codders.” He held up four fingers.

"Four coming up." His expressionless face held no trace of annoyance. Ethan figured the bartender must've built up a Teflon barrier to rude customers. Maybe he should take a page from him in future dealings with Cass's father.

The bartender lined up four tall but narrow ice-filled glasses on the stainless-steel drip.

"Don't be stingy now." Westie asserted. "Actually, make mine a double."

"Same." His tall friend pulled out his wallet. "Westie, I got this. You put your money away."

The ice popped as the bartender poured the vodka, filling two glasses with the extra shot. He then shot each drink with a splash of cranberry from the fountain gun before dropping a small, thin black stir straw in each. The tall man leaned in and paid the forty dollars, leaving no change for a tip. The bartender took the financial blow in stride and moved on down the line to the next needy guest.

The tall man acted as a server and distributed the drinks. Ethan was last to receive his, and almost seemed an afterthought. When the tall man outstretched his arm to hand him the glass, Ethan saw the dark blue of a tattoo peek out from underneath his sleeve.

"What's your tattoo of?" Ethan stirred the cranberry, wishing the bartender had put more than just a splash.

"What's it to you?" The tall man snarled.

"Easy," Westie said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I think he was just asking; you know. Curiosity-wise."

The tall man laughed. "Well, you know what they said about curiosity and the cat."

Ethan gave an awkward chuckle and took a sip of his drink.

"Well, we've interrupted your evening long enough. Here's to a long life." Westie pushed his glass forward. They all clinked glasses.

"Thank you," Cass smiled and took a sip.

"Slainte." Westie downed the entire contents of his glass and set it down on the cherry wood counter instead of the cardboard coaster provided. His tall friend followed suit and just like that, the interruption was over, and the two men walked away, disappearing into the