Becky wiped the bar off in front of a stool when John approached. “Hi John, what’ll it be tonight?”
“Molson.”
“Right. Working eh?”
“Am I that obvious?”
She grinned. “Damn straight, John. You’ll order Black Bush if you’re here for a drink, but when you expect to be here a while, as in waiting for a client, you always get a beer.”
He returned her grin. “Guess I come here too much. I’d better find a bar where no one knows me.”
She popped the top on a Molson and poured it into a tall pilsner, letting a half inch of foam develop on the top. She placed a small square napkin on the bar, set the glass on it, and shook her head. “Don’t get that way, John. You know all the local bars need their characters to make regular appearances in order to hold onto their tourist clientele.”
He took a quick gulp from the Molson. It was cold and sharp. “Is that what I am now, Becky, local color?”
“Please. Color? No, I wouldn’t use that term. Local character maybe, but color? Who knows? Perhaps, it’s all semantics. In any case, you’re a well-known local. People ask about you when they come in.”
“Really?”
That was news to him. He had no idea that he came here often enough to have developed a name. It was disconcerting.
“Sure, you have all the requisite attributes. You’re distinctive, mysterious, and handsome.”
“Handsome?” John ran a finger down the scar on the left side of his face. He hadn’t realized Becky was nearsighted.
“Yes, handsome. Don’t think the scar makes you less attractive. It’s not what you’d call disfiguring. Ladies are intrigued by it. Many want to know how you got it.”
“What do you tell them?”
Becky shrugged. “It depends on who’s asking, but mostly we just say it’s something you picked up in the Marines and don’t like to talk about.”
He took another swallow of beer. She was right about his not liking to talk about it. It was a prime example of carelessness and of caring too much. Anytime he started feeling philanthropic, he’d touch the scar and remember what trying to be helpful could cost you. Becky was nice. Many times, she had made the nights pass enjoyably with her wit and charm.
The front door opened.
Caitlin Maxwell stepped in from the dark. She’d lost none of the furtive moves that she’d had displayed so well last night and examined the entire room before moving inside.
Becky noticed John’s gaze and glanced toward the door.
“Nice lady. Client?”
“Yes, a client.”
Caitlin swept around the counter and laid her bag on the bar. Before he could stop her, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him in a very friendly manner. The taste of her was sweet. The press of her body against his was moving.
John found himself unable to resist either the embrace or the kiss.
When Caitlin finally broke the clutch, Becky cleared her throat. “Can I get your client a drink?”
He eyeballed her with what he hoped was a menacing scowl. From the smile that lit her face, he knew he hadn’t succeeded.
He really was going to have to find a new bar.
“White wine, chardonnay, if you have it,” Caitlin said without taking her eyes off John. “Miss me?”
Becky had moved down the bar and was decanting a portion of wine into a tall stemmed glass, but he could tell she was still listening.
John’s voice came out low and tense. “Miss you? You leave the room after I distinctly told you not to. You left nothing to tell me what happened to you, and now you have the audacity to ask me if I missed you. You’ve got some nerve lady, you could have been spotted, you could have left a trail back to here, hell you could have been killed.”
“Lighten up, John. I’m fine.”
“Lighten up?”
That expression usually accomplished the opposite when directed at him. He kept his voice low. “I have neither the disposition nor the time to lighten up. I expect a little professionalism when I’m working. In case you’ve forgotten, you came to me for help.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten. But there was something I had to do, and I couldn’t do it from the hotel room.”
“And what...”
Becky’s returning with Caitlin’s wine interrupted his sentence. As much as he liked Becky, there was a limit to how much he trusted anyone.
“Let’s move to a table,” John said as he picked up his glass and started toward the back without waiting for a reply.
His usual table was vacant, and he sat down before Caitlin caught up.
She sat down next to him. “My, aren’t we touchy tonight.”
“Touchy my ass. One more stunt like you pulled today, and you can forget my help. You either follow my instructions or find yourself another boy,” John said and put more emphasis on his growl after seeing his scowl fail with Becky.
For the first time, Caitlin seemed to realize he was serious. She lowered her eyes and looked away. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d be back before you. There was something I needed to do.”
“Okay, and while we’re getting things straight, what was with that kiss?”
“Oh, I thought it’d look better if we were meeting for other than business reasons. You know how they’re always doing it in the movies.”
“This isn’t the movies. You’re not fooling anyone.”
“I don’t know, the bartender seemed convinced.”
“She’s just a kid, they’re easy to fool.”
“Sure they are.”
“Enough of this. What was so important that you had to leave the hotel?”
“After you left, I got to thinking about the connection between what happened to me and Scott’s death.” She paused.
When it became obvious she was waiting for him to ask, he did. “And?”
