“Who killed the mother?”
“Unsolved. Could have just been luck, but I’d bet it had something to do with the case. There’s an article that said she was going to take a plea deal to turn over whoever else was involved.”
“It’s a wonder they didn’t go after the girl,” I say mostly to myself, but Iron answers.
“Maybe she wouldn’t talk. I don’t see a work history, but she has to be getting money from somewhere,” he offers, implying she accepted hush money.
“Any evidence she’s tied to anyone we know?” None of this answers why she would be interested in me.
“Nah, I don’t see any connections to anyone. There’s no one on any of her accounts, nor are there any other names associated with her current address or the previous one. She looks clean to me, but so do you,” he reminds me.
“Thanks. Let me know if you find anything else,” I tell him, unsure how I feel about what I learned in the past few minutes.
“I’ll keep digging,” he promises before the line goes silent.
I make sure the call is disconnected before shoving my phone back in my pocket. I take a few deep breaths, then head back into the club. Foolishly, my eyes betray me, going right to the table she was sitting at when I left. Our gazes lock for just a moment before she looks away smoothly, as if it were just the door opening that drew her attention, but I know that’s not the case. She was watching for me.
Instead of avoiding her this time, I walk slowly past her table. Her shoulders stiffen a little—the only sign that she even notices me.
I have to admit that my feelings about her have shifted since Iron shared the info about her past. Before, I only recognized her as a possible threat, a beautiful one, but a threat all the same. Now, though, I see her as a survivor. Even if she is here to report back to someone else about me, I can’t be mad at her for doing what she has to. I would have to hate myself if that were the case.
The urge to drink is strong. Maybe it’s my proximity to alcohol and the easy access, or maybe I want to forget that people are animals.
I need to get out of here so I don’t give into the temptation. Before I can retake my seat at the bar, I get Saddle’s attention. “I’m out, text me when she leaves.”
“Will do,” he agrees, then moves on to fill more orders.
MAXINE
The backdoor swings open, and I’m caught staring right at the reason I’m sitting at this table and drinking second-rate bourbon that I’m developing a taste for.
I slide my eyes away, but not before he notices my attention. Shit,I shouldn’t be here, not again. I didn’t even lie low for a few days and check the news after killing Edward like usual. I almost sprinted out the door this evening because this was the only place I wanted to be.
Even knowing I shouldn’t, my eyes track him once his back is to me as he walks toward the bar. He lingers for just a moment, speaking to Saddle, then heads straight for the exit.
I force myself to sit still so I don’t follow right behind him. After two more songs pass, I realize there’s no way for me to know where he went, and I might as well stay put to see if he returns. If all else fails, I’ll drive by his house later, maybe even try to get inside this time if he’s not there.
I pay my tab just after ten. It’s been hours, and Winger never returned, plus it’s starting to get crowded in here and I’m not sharing my table. I give the waitress an extra five bucks because she didn’t bother me too much, then head for the door.
I’m a little slower than usual on the walk to my car, taking measured steps since I had a third drink and I’m feeling the effects. My head is on a swivel, but I’m not looking for a threat, I’m looking for Winger to make sure I don’t miss him if he returns, which is why I’m taken by surprise when someone slams into my back, shoving me up against the closed door of my car.
“Do not make a fucking sound and give me your keys,” he says calmly over my shoulder.
The feel of him up against me, weighing down on me, takes me back to a place I haven’t been in a long time—helpless. Panic kicks up my heart rate and breathing as my rational mind tries to take over and remind me I’m not a powerless little girl.
“My keys are in my bag,” I tell him as I begin to move my arm toward my chest, but I don’t have enough room to maneuver.
I feel him fumble with the strap over my shoulder, trying to pull it off me, but it’s stuck under my chest until he gives a hard yank, and it hits my chin, knocking my head back. My thoughts and vision swim for just a moment. I don’t think the alcohol in my system is helping.
The weight on my back lessens as he starts to root through my bag with one hand. Thoughts of pulling out my gun and pointing it at his chest while he’s still behind me fill my head, but I force myself to hold still for a few seconds longer. If he just wants my money and car, I should let him go, since killing him will put too much attention on me, but I don’t want to. I want to kill him for even touching me.
I inch my hand closer to my body so my gun is within reach if he tries anything stupid. His breath is rancid when he leans his head over my shoulder as if he’s embracing me. My stomach gives a pang, making me want to throw up.
“You have my keys, let me go.” I try to sound calm, but my voice trembles. I feel the rough grip of my Glock against my fingertips, but I can’t quite reach it yet.
“Open the door and get in the car.” He ignores my demand.
“No.” The single syllable is firm and defiant.
