Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [79]
“No, Dad. Wait a minute.”
“Get in the car, now, unless you want things to get worse,” he ordered.
“No.” For the first time in her life Maggie stood up to the man who had sired her.
“Maggie—” Her father’s voice was deep, filled with authority. “Don’t defy me. Not here.”
“I’m going with Thane,” she said, and started for the bar.
Thane was down the wooden steps in an instant. “What’s going on here?”
“I forbade my daughter from seeing you, Walker, and I told her that if she ever did, I would make your life a living hell.” Shorter by three inches, bristling with authority and a hot rage, Frank glared upward at the younger man. “I could ruin you, you know.”
The door opened. Two couples, laughing and talking, smelling of cigarette smoke and booze, careened into the lobby.
“Dad, please—”
“I said, ‘Get into the car, Maggie.’”
“Not unless she wants to.” Thane reached forward, the fingers of his hand surrounding her forearm, his grip crushing the sleeve of her white blouse as he claimed her. “She and I are going out.”
“Over my dead body. She’s seventeen, Walker. Still a minor.” His nostrils flared in rage. “Like I said, ‘hell.’”
“Hey, what’s going on here?” The manager, Ted, menus tucked under one arm shot out of the double doors leading to the kitchen. “Maggie, is there a problem?”
“I don’t give a damn what you do.” Thane’s eyes, like those of a hawk finding prey, zeroed in on her father. He tugged on her arm. “Come on, Maggie.”
“Who’re you?” Ted demanded.
“Oh, whoa!” One of the guys in the group of new customers stopped short and held up his hands, palms outward as he started to back away.
“Hey, sister, don’t take any shit,” his woman friend advised Maggie, and the other couple laughed nervously. Heads of the patrons at the nearest tables swiveled in their direction, and the soft buzz of quiet conversation seemed to disappear. The clink of silverware became more indistinct as everyone, it seemed, turned to watch the drama unfold.
“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Ted said, keeping his voice low. “And I don’t really care. Just leave. All of you.”
“I’m calling the police.” Her father started for the pay phone.
“Good.” Ted was in complete agreement. “You do that, fella. Now—” He turned. Smiling, he faced the suddenly somber party of four who had just entered. “May I help you?”
“Let’s get outta here,” Thane suggested, but Maggie’s eyes were riveted to her father as he reached the pay phone and fumbled in the front pocket of his slacks for change.
“No. I—I can’t.” She yanked her arm away from Thane’s possessive grip. She knew her father too well. He would do exactly as he warned—make sure that Thane was ruined, professionally or personally. It didn’t matter to him. When Frank Reilly felt backed into a corner, he was ruthless. A poor kid from Pittsburgh who had been a street fighter in his youth and risen to the rank of sergeant in the army, he did what he felt he had to do to survive. He’d stepped on anyone who’d gotten in his way in his climb up the corporate ladder and never once looked back.
“I…I’ll talk to you later,” she promised Thane.
“No, Maggie, you won’t.” Frank, hearing her compliance, shoved his coins into his pocket again and, with a triumphant glare at Thane, shepherded his daughter out of the restaurant. “You contact that son of a bitch again, and I’ll throw you out without a dime.” At the door of the Mercedes his shoulders slumped a bit. “No, I wouldn’t. You know that. But, please, give yourself some time to grow up, will you? Believe me, there are a dozen Thane Walkers on every street corner. You deserve better. It’s my job to see that you get the best. Hop in.” He held the door for her, and she felt sick, knew deep in her heart that she’d not only let Thane down, but herself as well. She might never see him again.
“I think I know what’s best for me,” she said, staring out the window. Thane had walked outside the restaurant, paused to light a cigarette and stare at the Mercedes.
“How could