“What are you doing here?”

Met could tell by the tightness in Daphne’s voice that she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him. He smiled casually at her friends and coworkers. Of course, he wasn’t sure who was a friend and who was just a coworker. It was possible that the distinction was part of Daphne’s unease. Met could understand that well enough.

He flashed her a grin. “You mentioned that there was a big rat in this place, and I thought I would stop by and have a look for myself.”

“I see.” She was baring her teeth, but the smile did not even begin to reach those dark eyes of hers. “So, have you introduced yourself to everyone already?”

Phyllis beamed at Daphne, and Met almost groaned out loud. This wasn’t helping. Then Phyllis put her arm around Met’s shoulders. “This sweetie pie has introduced himself and pretty much complimented us all until we’re just all big fans of his! I can’t even imagine why the whole city thinks the Hernandez brothers are carousing rabble-rousers! I think they’re sweethearts!”

Wow. Met was not sure he had ever heard so many old lady clichés in one sentence before in his life. He smiled at Phyllis because it would have been rude not to, but then he stood up and gently took Daphne’s hand. He offered a smile around the table. He felt it freeze on his face when he got to the woman Carolina. There was something odd about that lady. He just could not put his finger on it.

“I think I’m going to have to steal Daphne from you for a little bit,” Met told the table full of women. “She and I need to have a quick chat. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh no! You go right ahead.” The woman named Frieda was batting her eyes at Met. He sighed. These ladies reminded him quite a lot of his mother. Maybe that’s why it had been so easy to charm them.

He tucked Daphne’s hand into the crook of his elbow and escorted her from the dining room toward a hallway adjacent to the kitchen. “Sorry,” Met murmured to her. “I can tell you’re not happy that I made contact with your coworkers. Honestly, I can see why, all things considered. They’re quite a strange group of women.”

“I guess.” She was craning her neck around him to see into the bar. He wondered what she was doing, but she didn’t make him guess for long. “Justin is in there,” Daphne said hurriedly. “He’s sitting there at the far end of the bar by himself. A waiter named Frank says that this is his usual hunting ground. That’s what he called it! Justin’s hunting and stomping grounds. What do you think he meant by that?”

Met didn’t really have to wonder. It was likely the same thing that any man meant when he talked about a hunting ground. Men like to pick up women in the same places. But it seemed odd that he had never brought Daphne to this place.

“Did the two of you ever come here?” Met asked her casually. “Just for drinks after work or something?”

“No. Never. He always said it was a horrible place with terrible service.” She glanced around. “It’s not really his kind of place. It isn’t exclusive enough.”

That was kind of interesting. Met felt an inexplicable urge to poke the bear. “I want you to stay here.”

“What are you talking about?” Her face paled, and he was pretty sure she knew exactly what he meant. “You can’t be serious about trying to go talk to him or something.”

“I’m not going to be obvious about it.”

“But you’ve met him!” Daphne protested. “He’s going to know you know who he is.”

“Maybe.” Met glanced at the display on his phone. “Cisco’s friend Adam is going to be here in a few minutes. He’s the private investigator. I told him how to find your friends. Can you just go back and finish your dinner? It’s not going to be a good thing to have you standing here while I go in the bar. If you know what I mean.”

“So, you want me to go pretend nothing is happening while you go poke at Justin?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re crazy. Fine. I’ll go back to my table. But for the record, I think what you’re doing is a bad idea.”

“Duly noted,” he told her with a smile. Then, unable to resist one second longer, Met leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Be careful.”

“Me?” she groused. “You’re the one doing seriously stupid things.”

“Love you too, sweetheart,” he said quickly. Then with that final thought, he turned and strolled into the bar as though he had just gotten there and decided to have a peek at the game.

It did not take Met very long to snag Justin’s attention. It was also equally obvious that Justin knew exactly who Met was. The tingling sensation on the back of Met’s neck made him uncomfortable as hell. The hair stood up on the back of his neck, and he felt like someone had put the proverbial crosshairs right on him.

Met nudged a man wearing a University of Colorado ball cap. “What’s the score?”

“Dude, we’re losing!” the kid moaned. “It’s pathetic. The Rockies were doing so good, right? Now we just can’t get the offense together to score a run to save our lives!”

Met talked baseball with the young man for a few minutes. From the corner of his eye, he felt more than saw Justin staring blatantly at him. There was a pint of beer on the bar in front of Justin.

Met’s mouth watered at the thought of alcohol. He wanted a bourbon, but there was no way he was going to indulge in something like that when Justin the stalker was sitting just a few feet away. Met needed to be sharp. His system felt as flooded with adrenaline as it did when he started walking toward the chutes when he was on deck and ready to hand off his bronc saddle to the guys who would prep the horse right before Met’s ride.

Finally, Met bellied up to the bar. He leaned over and waved to the bartender. “Can I get a beer please? Just whatever local you have on tap.”

“No problem, man.” The bartender pulled a quick beer and set it on the bar in front of Met.

Met put down a ten dollar bill so that the bartender would be paying attention to him. Money always spoke louder than words. “Thanks for that.”

Met perched on a barstool, glanced at his phone so that it looked like he was waiting for someone, and then carefully focused on the television while sipping his beer. He could feel Justin’s gaze from three barstools away.

It was rather interesting that nobody in the place—even if Justin was a regular—wanted anything to do with the very strange-looking man. His clothing was business casual, but the guy was trying so damn hard to look wealthy that it was almost painful to see. Between his glasses and his awkward comb-over, Justin looked every inch the accountant. His expression was dark and irritable. He keep glowering at people through his glasses like a pissed-off owl.

After ten minutes had passed, Met was having trouble putting off the necessity of ordering a second beer. Not that a second beer would somehow render him alcoholically impaired, but he just didn’t want to go there. For whatever reason, it felt like a violation of Daphne’s trust in him.

“Hey.”

Finally Justin had made contact on his own. Met purposefully acted as though he were engrossed in the game. After a few minutes lag time, he turned toward Justin during a break in the action on screen. “Hey.” Then Met turned right back to the game as though Justin were totally forgotten.

As Met had expected, the action drove Justin nuts. He did not like being ignored. “Excuse me, but are you waiting for somebody?”

“Does it matter?” Met did not look directly at Justin. He pretended to keep his eyes on the game. But from the corner of his eye, Met could see Justin practically frothing at the mouth with irritation.

“Don’t I know you?” Justin asked. He moved down the bar, dragging his half-empty pint glass with him. “I could swear we’ve worked together before.”

“I’m a rodeo bronc rider.” Met let every bit of what Laredo often referred to as lazy arrogance show as he turned his head sideways and gave Justin a derisive once-over. “I doubt we’ve worked together.”

“A bronc rider?” Justin’s obvious disbelief was designed to grate on Met’s nerves. Unfortunately for him, Met came from a whole family full of assholes. “Is that an actual career?”

“On the pro rodeo tours it is,” Met said without turning back to look at Justin. “But I’m also part of a huge land and cattle company here on the front range.” Met gave a casual, dismissive shrug. It was just enough to make sure that Justin knew that Met had money, didn’t care about it, and could care even less about Justin.

“Yeah.” Justin’s tone turned ugly. “I do know you. You’re the one screwing that public relations specialist. What’s her name? Daphne. Yeah. I’ve seen you two together.”

The blatantly rude words were supposed to piss Met off and get his attention. Met didn’t bite. He bobbed his head nonchalantly. “I’m dating a Daphne. But I’m not screwing her. She’s not that kind of woman. You’re probably thinking of someone else.”

Boom. That was it. Met finished his beer and waved to the bartender. The man pulled another one. This time, mostly because Justin was watching, Met casually threw a twenty on the bar for the two dollar beer. He met the bartender’s gaze. The two of them exchanged a very silent look, but Met knew that the guy understood what Met was doing.

“Thank you, sir.” The bartender dipped his head in an almost exaggerated gesture of respect. If Justin were as much of a regular as Daphne suspected, this was going to piss him off even more.

It occurred to Met that it might not be a good idea to provoke Justin. But Met was tired of this guy poking at them from the shadows. He was a coward. Met wanted to push a confrontation. He wanted to make this little twit show his hand and admit that he was a lowlife skulking stalker who had to harass women to get their attention.

“Hey!” Justin snapped at the bartender with his fingers, but the man ignored him for a second or two before turning and raising his brows.

“Yeah?” The bartender’s obvious preference for Met over Justin hit its mark as Met had expected. “What do you want?”

“Another beer,” Justin said in a clipped voice. “And you’d better watch yourself, Damien, or I’ll have you fired.”

The bartender’s snort spoke volumes to Met. The man was obviously used to Justin’s posturing. He didn’t appreciate it. He tolerated it only when he had to. And it was also pretty obvious to a barhopping expert like Met that Justin wasn’t a good tipper. If you wanted loyalty from the staff at a bar, you tipped well. Otherwise anyone else could come in with a bigger wad of cash and replace you.

“Daphne’s a slut,” Justin said suddenly. He waved his pint glass at Met. “If you can’t close that deal, then you must have faulty equipment.”

“Or I might just respect women,” Met drawled. “And there’s probably also the possibility that I’m not so insecure that I need to talk bad about a woman in public to make myself look like a man.” Met glanced over at Justin. “Just a thought. But then you seem to be the kind of guy that has to lie and intimidate to get anywhere with a girl. That’s sad. You know? Because men like you are the ones that give men in general a really bad name.”

“That’s the truth!” Damien the bartender grunted an agreement. “Mr. Hernandez, did you need anything else?”

So, the guy behind the bar actually knew Met. Weird. Of course, Met had been in a lot of bars in Denver over the years. It was possible that they’d met somewhere else. Or maybe Met had been here before. It could have happened a long time ago when Met was inebriated enough not to remember.

“No, man,” Met said with a smile. “I’m good. Trying to cut back, you know?”

“Is that right?” Damien was laughing now. “A Hernandez trying to cut back? That’s a first.”

“You’d be surprised lately.” Met was thinking about the whole lot of them. “We’re turning over a whole new leaf these days.”

“Glad to hear it.”

If Justin didn’t like being ignored by Met, then he really didn’t appreciate being left out of an entire conversation taking place right in front of him. His expression turned ugly, and he screwed up his face into something almost approaching a pout. Then he slammed his way off the barstool and grabbed Met by the shoulder.

Without a second thought, Met grabbed the hand on his shoulder and twisted it. He stepped off his barstool. Turning his body, he continued to twist Justin’s hand until the man’s arm was completely sideways in a chicken wing position.

Justin whined and cried out in pain. The bar grew quiet as everyone turned to watch. Met pushed down and forced Justin to kneel. “Don’t touch me,” Met said quietly. “Do not ever touch me. You got it?”

“You’re fucking that whore,” Justin snarled. His lips were drawn back away from his teeth in an animalistic expression of disgust and anger. “You are. I know you are! I saw the two of you in that parking lot. And I saw you at her office. You were taking her to dinner. You’re screwing her!”

“So, you’re not going to try and deny that you were stalking us in that parking lot, hmm?” Met was somewhat surprised by that information.

Then Justin’s lips curled into a grin, and Met realized that he’d taken the bait. However unintentional it had been. “See? You know who I am. You know.”

“I think this whole bar knows who you are now,” Met growled. He didn’t appreciate being had. And yet Justin had given up an important confirmation that he had been stalking them in the diner parking lot. “That doesn’t make you important. It just makes you the guy that everyone is laughing at. And if you keep up your current behavior, you’re going to become that guy who got his ass kicked for stalking the wrong people. You got me, you little piece of shit?”

Met glared hotly into Justin’s eyes, but he did not say a word. Met was left feeling as though this wasn’t a case of win, lose, or draw. It was more a case of poking the psycho could get you hurt bad.