The drive took twenty-five minutes. Finding parking took another fifteen. It was nearing midnight by the time they walked into Chord Street Bar.
Two working bartenders manned the clients sitting at the bar. One was dedicated to the waitstaff, who were already blowing and going. Chord Street was livelier. It was larger with a crush of people standing around bar-height tabletops with no stools. The bar was the center of the establishment.
“Do you want me to send you the picture of Stephanie so we can divide and conquer?” Carys asked after taking in the scene.
“Sounds reasonable.”
She let go of his hand and sent the pic. He went left. She went right.
He didn’t recognize the bartenders, but this place was larger and there could have been turnover in the last year. A smaller place like Peggie Hayes might have had a better chance of keeping their bartending staff since it had a more family-owned feel.
This was a better place to get lost, blend in, and not be remembered.
Stephanie could have been an employee or a patron. Her name might not even be Stephanie. If she committed to the name change, it made sense that she might’ve kept at least the first letter of her name for when she signed papers. It wouldn’t surprise him if her name was Stephanie or Sarah or in that ballpark.
He moved across the bar from the bartender. She perked up.
“What can I get you?” she asked. She had purple streaks in her hair and tattooed arm sleeves. A nose piercing topped off her look. She might not’ve been his type or able to hold a candle to Carys, but the look worked for her.
“I’m looking for someone,” he said.
She laughed. “Look around, handsome. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of ‘someones,’ based on the looks you’re getting.”
He wasn’t paying attention. “I’m hoping you can help me.”
“Okay-y-y-y,” she said, moving closer and leaning across the bar. “What can I do for you?”
Someone tried to flag her down from four seats away.
“Be right with you,” she said without turning her head.
He pulled up the pic and showed her the screen.
She stared at it for a long moment like she was trying to look beyond the heavy makeup. Her barback walked up and glancedat the screen as he made his way to restock ice, but Blaize was more focused on gauging the bartender’s reaction.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said. She threw her hands into the air. “I got nothing.”
And then she was gone.
Blaize had lost visual on Carys. Panic nailed him as fast as a sucker punch. He pushed off the bar to standing and turned away.
“Excuse me, sir,” came an unfamiliar voice.
THE ROOM WASwall-to-wall people, all looking to have a good time. Carys was completely out of her element here. Having been overprotected as a child caused you to go one of two paths: hog wild or afraid of every new experience. She had fallen into the second category. That fear was probably the reason she couldn’t shake the feeling someone had been inside her home. This was a good time to remind herself that fear was irrational. Having a healthy dose was good. It kept you alive. Too much and it paralyzed you. Stopped you from really living or embracing anything unfamiliar.
She’d been out of her father’s home for more than six years now, but you didn’t easily shake off the ideals that had been ingrained in you.
A slow exhale helped as she navigated her way through the growing crush of people toward the bar.
This side had a male bartender. She squeezed in between two ladies who had their backs to each other and caught his attention. Her phone was already in hand, so she went for it.
“Do you know this person?” she asked.
He barely glanced at the screen. “Nope. What can I get for you?”
“Are you sure about that?”
“A little busy here,” he said. “Do you want a drink or not?”
