I scoff at Saddle’s words.
The big man shrugs a heavy shoulder, knowing there isn’t shit he could say that would make me believe him. “Misty’s kept them in line.”
“Good, anything else I should know about?”
“Don’t think so. Same shit, different day,” Saddle replies, summing up how I’m feeling.
As I pivot, I catch sight of something that has me stopping in my tracks. I blink a few times, thinking I have to be wrong, but the woman sitting alone at one of the tables looks a hell of a lot like the one who followed me home. My mind tries to tell me I’m jumping to conclusions, since I didn’t really get a good look at her and I was still drunk, but I can’t shake the feeling it really is her.
Realizing I’m acting strange, I turn back to the bar. “Let me get—”
“You want the bottle?” Saddle interrupts, reaching for the shelf behind him.
“Just water,” I tell him, and suddenly, I can’t look him in the eye. Damn, I guess I didn’t think about him knowing how much I drank, but he was supplying at least half of it.
He changes course, bending down to the mini fridge and producing a chilled plastic bottle for me. “Thanks. Who’s the girl?” I ask softly, confident I won’t be overheard with the music.
He leans forward and wipes the bar’s surface, picking up the fact that I’m keeping my inquiry on the downlow. “She started coming in around the time you got sick. Stays for a few hours and leaves.”
“Has she been talking to the girls?”
“Nope, barely speaks to her waitress, but she’s a fair tipper. Drinks bourbon and Vernors. We got a problem?”
“I feel like I’ve seen her before,” I say, because I don’t know the answer to his question.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he promises.
“Let me know when she settles her check. I want to know before she leaves.”
“No problem,” Saddle agrees, then slides farther down the bar, where one of the waitresses has been patiently waiting for us to finish our conversation. I take my bottle of water and head to the back of the club.
The guy doing back hall security shifts his stance, so he’s looking at me head-on when I open the door. His shoulders relax when he realizes it’s me. “Hey, Winger,” he greets. I don’t know him well enough to remember his name, but I probably should since he’s worked for me for over a year.
I give him a nod in acknowledgement before unlocking my office. The room is stuffy when I enter, and the scent of alcohol is still heavy in the air, which makes me curl my lip.
My steps falter as I approach my desk. There’s some shit I need to handle, like a liquor order and paying bills, but the bottles I have stashed around are making me twitchy. I need to get rid of them first.
There’s a knock on the door when I’m in the bathroom, pouring another half empty bottle down the drain. “What?” I poke my head out of the stall.
Another knock comes after a second, and on my way past the trash, I drop the last bottle in with the others.
“What?” I ask when I haul the door open.
“Saddle’s been trying to reach you,” the hall man tells me while holding his phone in his hand. I reach for my pocket and realize I must have left my phone on the desk when I emptied it.
“Thanks,” I tell him before closing the door in his face. I don’t run, but I do jog over to my phone. Sure enough, there are missed texts on the screen.
Saddle:Tab requested.
Saddle:Want me to keep her here?
Saddle:Stalling.
Me:Let her go.
The shit I have to do can wait. I want to see what she’s up to.
Heavy dark clouds loom in the sky, making it seem later than it is as I exit through the alley. A memory of Rex calling me to let me know when Lucy was on her way to the backdoor pushes to the front of my mind. I’m also reminded of how fucking crazy I thought he was for tracking her the way he did and how I’m doing something similar, but this is different. I’m not following her because I want her. I just need to know who the hell she is and why she’s following me.
