Shadow of the Storm Read online

  Man, I hope he can’t see evidence of my tears. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. It’s just a lot to process.”

  He nods. “Okay. Well, the offer stands if you need anything.”

  With a wave, he turns and approaches an older car.

  Well, Zak didn’t give me up to Drew, so maybe he believes me. I hope he does. I really need someone on my side right now.

  “Why don’t I take a look at the licenses? I’m pretty good at spotting fakes.”

  I’m pretty sure they’re all genuine, but what could it hurt? “I can bring them tomorrow.”

  “I’m off tomorrow, but let’s meet up.” He finally puts the truck in gear and slowly pulls out of the parking spot.

  “You believe me?” I probably shouldn’t ask, but I’m desperate to know.

  He nods. “Bartenders are experts on human behavior, remember?”

  “But that’s a hard story to swallow.”

  “It is, but it also explains a lot. There’re so many things that make a lot more sense now.”

  And so many things that still don’t.

  “What time do you work tomorrow?”

  I scan my memory. That’s right. Tomorrow is the late shift. “3:30.”

  “How about we grab lunch? You can show me those IDs and tell me about the dreams.”

  “Sure.” The second the word leaves my mouth, I’m wondering if I spoke too soon.

  Why is he trying so hard to help me? Could be a ruse. He might be planning to hand me over to the cops. Or to the men trying to kill me. With the amount of money I have, those men might be willing to pay a nice sum to get me back.

  Or maybe he’s just a nice guy. Maybe I should stop being so darn suspicious.

  After all, Zak’s the one guy out of everyone here that I’ve chosen to trust. And he seems genuinely interested in helping me.

  I may not remember much, but I have a feeling that such a thing is pretty rare.

  ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ

  “What can I do for ya?” I smack my gum, trying to ignore the leer on the man’s face.

  “Hey, babe. Just droppin’ off a load. Tell yer boss that Big Dale came through again.” He chuckles as though he said something funny.

  I pick up the phone and punch in the extension.

  Maybe this is the one we’ve been waiting for. This shipment could be my ticket out of here.

  I hope it’s my ticket out of here. I’ve been in this place way too long.

  My eyes follow Big Dale’s every move. I can’t wait to not have to deal with people like him any longer.

  His eyes devour me. Now I know how a slab of meat feels in the hands of a starving man.

  “When’re you off, babe?”

  “My name’s not ‘babe’ and I’d never let you touch me.”

  His eyes narrow. “You stupid little…”

  Movement flashes and pain explodes across my face. My head snaps back, my teeth clacking together.

  Big Dale may not shine the brightest, but he’s faster than I expected for a man of his size.

  And he has a wicked backhand.

  My lip throbs and I touch it, drawing back fingers wet with blood.

  “Ain’t so smart now, are you?” Dale leans across my desk, his body towering over mine.

  “What’s going on out here?” A voice lashes from behind me.

  “Teachin’ your hoe here a little lesson.”

  My boss regards me with narrowed eyes before turning back to Dale. “Whatever she said, you probably deserved it. I’ve told you before to leave my employees alone.”

  Dale mutters something I have no desire to hear and stalks toward the door. “I’ll be out at my rig.”

  Cupping my chin, my boss examines my lip. “I oughta cut that guy loose. You okay?”

  “Yeah. Why do you keep him around? What kind of loads does he carry?”

  “Oh, odds and ends. The only reason I keep doing business with him is because Dale has some unique distributors.” He steps back. “Why don’t you grab an ice pack from the first aid station? See if you can’t keep that lip from swelling. I’ll take care of Dale and his load and be back to check on you soon.”

  I nod, waiting only until he walks out of the room to reach for the phone. His evasiveness and that comment about unique distributors is enough for me.

  Time to clear out of here.

  It’s too bad my boss will suffer. While there’s a lot that I hate about this job, he’s been a pretty good guy to work for.

  But I have to do what I have to do.

  No matter who gets caught in the cross fire.

  I pretend to work, but my eyes continually stray to the phone. Come on, ring. Ring!

  Time drags. It shouldn’t take this long. Something must be wrong.

  The phone rings. I snatch it up before the first ring dies.

  “He’s coming your way.”

  I drop the phone as my boss bursts through the main doors. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he strides across the room, his tennis shoes squeaking on the tile.

  He’s so busy looking behind him that he doesn’t see me reach beneath my desk for the gun I have strapped to the underside.

  But he does notice as I stand. “I just need your–”

  “Later. Something’s come up.” He looks back again, but never breaks stride. “I’ll be out the rest of the day.”

  I level the gun at him. “I don’t think so.”

  “Annalisa?” His jaw slackens. “You…?”

  I tell myself that I have to do this, that I owe him nothing. I just wish the betrayal in his eyes didn’t cut so deeply.

  My eyes flutter open. The hotel room – the only home I can remember – shifts into focus.

  The dream lingers.

  I betrayed a man who, by all accounts, did nothing to deserve it. The guilt is as fresh as if it just happened.

  This time, I don’t even question whether or not it happened. I know it did. Which means my name has to be Annalisa, doesn’t it?

  Then why doesn’t that name feel right?

  That makes two people that I know I’ve betrayed, only one of whom I felt badly about betraying. What kind of horrible person am I?

  And am I destined to stay that person forever?

  ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ

  “If these are fakes, they’re darn good ones.”

  I sigh as Zak passes the IDs back to me. “That’s kind of what I concluded, too.”

  How did I come into possession of so many licenses? I can think of several ways, none of them legal, all of them involving money that never gets reported to the IRS.

  The waitress drops off our drinks and takes our orders before slipping away.

  I’m glad Zak suggested the diner located in the casino where I’m staying. Not only is it convenient, it’s also unlikely that we’ll run into anyone we know from work.

  The last thing I need is rumors getting started about the two of us.

  Zak already gives me a ride home most nights. It wouldn’t be such a stretch.

  I tuck the offending documents away and tilt my head at Zak. “So. Still think I’m a good person?”

  “I do.” He laces his fingers together on the table between us and leans forward. “Now. I don’t know who you were before, but I have a pretty good feeling about who you are now.”

  “People don’t change.”

  “Who told you that? Sometimes it takes something major to force the change, but we change. Trust me on that one.”

  Something tells me we’re no longer talking just about me.

  And if we’re talking about Zak and traumatic events, it doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out what his major event was. “How’d the accident change you?”

  Hopefully I’m not overstepping with that question.

  But after the personal bomb I’ve dropped on him, this question is minor by comparison.

  A glaze covers his eyes, which stare unblinking at the condensation weeping down the sides of the glass in front of him. Activity bustl
es in the restaurant around us, but neither of us move.

  Finally, he blinks. “It made me grow up.”

  I have a hard time seeing Zak as an immature kid, although I know at one time he must’ve been. “How so?”

  “I took them for granted. I’d blow off family things to party with my friends. I guess I always thought they’d be there, but then one day…” A small shrug rocks his body. “They weren’t.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He takes a long drink, draining most of the soda from his glass. “Enough about me. Tell me about those dreams of yours and maybe we can piece some things together.”

  Good luck with that one.

  Although getting another take on it can’t hurt anything. Except maybe to shake his faith in my character.

  Still, if another perspective can help me make sense of things, it’s worth the risk.

  I recap the dreams from the past few days, then wait.

  “And you’re sure those are all memories? That none are just dreams?”

  “I’m not sure of anything. But they feel real.”

  He leans forward. “Okay, so say they are memories. I get why you’d turn on the tavern owner, but why would you turn on the guy from the shipping company?”

  “I wish I knew.” That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? “It’s not too late for you to change your opinion of me and get far away. Before I betray you, too.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Besides, there’s gotta be a good explanation.”

  “Yeah. I’m toxic.”

  “Maybe you work for the DEA or something. Those businesses could’ve been a front for drugs.”

  “Wouldn’t I remember something like that?”

  He shrugs. “How should I know?”

  That’s the problem. Neither of us knows what’s real and what’s not. “With my track record, I should probably quit now. I’d hate to do something to hurt Charlie.”

  “And that right there is why I don’t think you’re a bad person. You care.”

  “But not enough to let it stop me.”

  “I don’t know what happened, but there’s obviously more to the story than you’re remembering. Maybe they deserved what they got.”

  Or maybe I took advantage of the situation for personal gain.

  ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ

  “I said gimme ‘nother!” The man slams his glass down on the bar in front of me, sloshing ice onto the counter. Veins bulge in his neck and his face resembles the tomatoes used to make the Bloody Mary he’s so vehemently demanding, but I won’t budge.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but you’ve had enough.”

  “You think I don’t know when I’ve had ‘nuff?”

  Obviously not. It took all his remaining faculties to stagger to the bar after I refused to serve him. I catch a glimpse of Drew watching the exchange from down the counter, but he doesn’t intervene.

  Yet.

  I have the feeling that he’s watching to make sure things don’t escalate.

  Trying to protect me, no doubt.

  Or remembering what I did to both him and the thief last night and getting ready to protect this customer.

  “May I call you a cab? Or do you have someone here to drive you?”

  “I don’t need a ride.” He slaps down a few bills and digs in his pocket. It takes him several seconds to rip out a set of keys, which fly from his fingers. He grabs at them, his fingers catching nothing but air.

  I, however, catch them easily.

  “Gimme those.”

  “You can have them tomorrow. For now, have a seat. I’ll get you a cab.”

  His lips curl downward. “I ain’t payin’ for no cab when I got my car here.”

  If the snarled words were supposed to make me cave, then this man seriously underestimated me. “Then you can explain that to the police when they arrive.”

  “I’ll tell ‘em you stole my keys.”

  “And I’ll tell them that I’m keeping you from killing someone.”

  The man’s eye twitches. I keep a smile in place and try to maintain a kind demeanor, but guys like this make it hard.

  “Lemme talk to your manager.”

  “Is there a problem?” Drew plants his hands on the counter a few feet away from me and looks at the man.

  “You in charge here?” The man squints at Drew as though trying to bring him into focus.

  “My family owns this place, yes.”

  The man calls me a name that I’m sure I’ve been called before, even though I don’t remember it, and describes the situation in more colorful terms than a teenage boy trying to prove himself.

  The words probably sear the flesh from Drew-the-pastor’s ears.

  Drew listens without interrupting, his face revealing none of his thoughts. “Sir, how much have you had to drink?”

  The man pauses. “Dunno. A few.”

  Drew looks at me.

  “Try eight.”

  The man snorts. “That’s nothin’.”

  “Well, I support her decision.” Drew zeroes in on the man. “Personally, I would’ve cut you off at six. Now how about I call you that cab?”

  The man grumbles, but finally nods and heads back to his seat to wait.

  Drew assesses me. “I gotta say, you handle yourself really well.”

  “You have to in this line of work, right?” I grin. “Good thing you came over, though. I was a small step away from flattening that guy.”

  Probably not something I should joke about since we both know I could do it, but I can’t help myself.

  When Drew chuckles, I know humor was the right choice. “I thought that guy might need saving.”

  “You seem to do that a lot. You have some kind of superhero complex?”

  “Hey, I’m a pastor-in-training. Saving people is kind of my business.”

  I get the feeling there’s a joke there that I’m missing but I don’t ask. “Looks like you’re taking that job seriously.”

  Drew sobers slightly and shakes his head. “Honestly, I just want to help people. No hero complex here. There’s only one hero and only one who can really save anyone and that’s Jesus. It’s my job to point people to him.”

  Still not sure what I believe on that issue, so I choose not to reply.

  Someone from one of my tables drains the last of her wine. “Oops. Looks like duty calls.”

  Drew doesn’t push the issue, although I’m sure he has more to say. He can deny the hero complex all he wants, but it’s alive and thriving in him.

  The night passes quickly and the bar thins out earlier than usual. When the restaurant side of the business closes at eleven, the bar is spotted with only two small groups.

  What a week.

  I’ve only been here five nights and there’s been action almost every one of them. Have my other bartending jobs been like this? Or is it because we’re in Reno that it somehow breeds this kind of thing?

  Of course, some of that action was my own fault so if Reno is a hotspot for freaks, then maybe I’m in the right place.

  Sam and Malachi wander over, chatting like long–lost friends, and pull up stools by the bar in front of me.

  They may have just met, but they almost act like brothers.

  The disparities in their appearances, however, would banish any such option. Sam’s slumped, skinny frame and spiky blond hair couldn’t be more different from Malachi’s average build and auburn curls.

  Still, I wish I had a friend like that right about now.

  Then again, maybe I do. Zak’s sure been there for me these last few days.

  Sam leans on the bar and looks pointedly at Drew. “So what do bartenders talk about when it’s a slow night?”

  “Superheroes. If you can believe it.”

  Straightening, Sam stares at me. “You’re into superheroes?”

  Am I? Images and names of various heroes flash into my mind, along with their powers and weaknesses.

  Maybe I am. “It’s a pretty fascinating topic.”


  “Sure is.” Malachi chimes in. “My favorite hero is Jesus.”

  A short laugh bursts from Sam. “I think you’ve missed the point here, buddy. We’re talking about superheroes. You know, guys with special powers who save people and stuff.”

  “Jesus performed miracles, loved his enemies, and came to save us from our sins.” Malachi arches an eyebrow. “Sounds a lot like your definition of a superhero to me. But unlike all those other guys, Jesus is real.”

  “Oh yeah?” Sam’s tone sounds confrontational. “Then who’s his arch-nemesis, huh? The devil?”

  If Malachi notices the scorn in Sam’s words, he doesn’t comment on it. “You got it. A lot of people opposed Jesus – still do – but Satan is the driving force behind it all.”

  Okay. And this conversation just went from strange to bizarre.

  Sam looks like he’s about to instigate a fight. Time to break this party up. “Can I get you guys something?”

  The distraction seems to work. They both order, Sam a beer and Malachi a raspberry limeade.

  Big surprise.

  I wouldn’t have pegged Malachi as a drinker. Not sure why, but there’s something about him. A wholesomeness, I guess. Like the kind who would order a glass of milk.

  But a raspberry limeade works, too. I pour the drinks and drop them off.

  “So you ever coming back from the dark side?” Sam asks me as I turn to leave.

  Dark side? “What do you mean?”

  “You strictly bartending now?”

  “I’m wherever Charlie tells me to go.” Judging by how often he schedules me in the bar and the obvious lack of bartenders, I’m guessing I’ll be here for a while. “Why?”

  Sam looks down at his beer. “It’s not the same without you out there.”

  How could he know what it’s like for me to be out there? I hardly worked the restaurant side.

  “Well, you know I’m just a few small steps away.” I nod at Malachi. “And you’ve got highly skilled people working with you.”

  “How do you like this side of things?” Malachi asks, reaching for his limeade.

  “Tips are good.” How do I like bartending? It’s not something I’ve really thought about. “You know, it’s always interesting over here.”

  Isn’t that the understatement of the day?

  “Maybe a little too interesting?” Malachi’s eyes contain a knowledge that surprises me.