The danger he’d saved me from.
I was still confident that I could’ve handled it, but likely not as fast or clean as he had.
I’d walked in as if I owned the place because, in most circumstances, confidence got me results. I wasn’t the weak damsel type, and I’d learned fast that I had to stand up for myself if I didn’t want to get railroaded in a male-dominated field. But Rios hadn’t been wrong that I’d been acting like a prosecutor instead of someone they’d have wanted to help. The truth was, I was out of my depth in a place like this.
I’d never come here growing up. My parents had always been very clear about which parts of the island were “for us” and which were “for them,” and I hadn’t been a rule breaker back then. I couldn’t call myself one now, but I’d at least developed a healthy skepticism for everything I’d been raised to believe. So, as Rios and I stepped inside the bar, I stayed quiet and followed his lead.
He paused just past the threshold, eyes doing a quick sweep of the room. Doors, bar, exits, who was sitting where and with whom. It was fast and automatic—a scan I’d seen a hundred variations of from law enforcement, but never quite as… thorough.
My pulse gave a flutter I preferred to think of as heartburn.
He angled toward a table in the far corner, back to the wall, clear sightline to the front entrance and the hallway that led to the bathrooms and kitchen.
Most defensible position. Of course.
I slid into the seat opposite him, my back to the room. It made the hair on my neck prickle, a purely instinctive protest. I made myself ignore it. If something went sideways in broad daylight in a bar where a sunburned family of five argued over a basket of hushpuppies with—seriously, was that cheese dip?—we had bigger problems than table selection.
A waitress in cutoff shorts and a faded Home Port T-shirt came over with a loose smile and a pair of laminated menus. “Hey, y’all. What can I get started for you?”
“Sweet tea, please.” Apparently coming home had resurrected my bred-in-the-bone preference for beverages that could double as syrup.
Rios tipped his chin in agreement as he accepted one of the laminated menus. “Same.”
“Kitchen’s got the lunch specials up on the board. Burger’s always good. I’ll give you a minute.”
As she walked away, I took my own survey of the place. Despite the bigger crowd, it was somehow quieter than last night. No one was at the pool table in the back. A couple of older guys played cards at a corner table, the slap of their hands against the wood underscored by low mutters and the occasional cackle of laughter. Two men in work boots sat at the long, scarred bar, bright safety vests slung over the backs of their chairs. Behind the bar, a guy with a shaved head and forearms roped with muscle polished glasses with an intensity that suggested he’d been at it awhile. Not the same bartender who’d been on duty last night.
I grabbed the other menu, mostly to give my hands something to do. “We should talk to the bartender. And our waitress. Anyone who’s likely to have seen Priya here regularly.”
“That’s the plan.” Rios tucked his own menu between the condiments and the napkin dispenser. “We’ll order, then ask while we wait for the food. People are more likely to talk if they think you’re going to be around for a bit.”
I eyed him over the top of my menu. “Is that a law enforcement trick?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Just human nature.”
Our teas arrived, beads of condensation already sliding down the sides of the plastic tumblers. The server—her name tag read KELSEY—set them down and pulled out her order pad. “Know what you want?”
“Fried fish sandwich,” Rios said. “Fries.”
I hadn’t even read the menu. Given that no food had actually been appealing since my life blew up, I took her original suggestion. “Burger. With onion rings.”
“You got it.” She scribbled, then glanced between us. “Y’all been in here before? Don’t remember seeing you at lunch.”
“I was here last night, asking around about a missing girl.” I didn’t remember seeing Kelsey on duty, but it couldn’t hurt to get it out there.
Something flickered across her face. “Yeah, right. The college kid? The turtle scientist?”
“Grad student,” I corrected automatically. “Named Priya Shah. Have you ever seen her in here?” I pulled up her photo and tipped my phone toward Kelsey.
She chewed on the end of her pen as she considered. “We get a lot of new faces in the summer. Kinda hard to keep track unless they’re regular-regulars, you know?”
“Priya liked to work late,” Rios said. “Laptop, earbuds, coffee. Sat by herself. She was here night before last. That ring a bell?”
The waitress’s brow crinkled. “Oh. That might be the girl Jimmy said always ordered coffee instead of beer? I don’t work the late shift much. I’m usually done by nine.” She tipped her head toward the bar. “You might wanna ask Tito. He does both sometimes. He’ll probably remember more than me.”
“Thanks,” I said.
She gave us a quick nod and drifted away to drop the order ticket.
