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  “At times.”

  My gaze traces the bar. Drew collects the check from one of the two tables, processes it, then returns to the table. After chatting for a few seconds, he turns away and the table’s occupants all rise.

  Okay, one down, one to go.

  My guess is that other table won’t be far behind. Not only is it getting late, most people hurry out when they’re the last ones.

  Drew swings by the last table, talks to the four college-age guys for a few seconds, then heads toward us. Glancing at his watch, he smiles at me. “I think we might get out of here a little early tonight.”

  Huh. I didn’t know we could do that. But if the boss’ son says it’s okay, who am I to argue?

  “Hey, Sam. Haven’t really seen you much since I got back. How’s it goin’, man?” Drew lightly socks Sam on the arm.

  Sam flinches.

  I’d have to be blind to miss the way his eyes narrow and deaf to not hear the small intake of breath. Weird. Drew barely touched him. Why the overreaction?

  Sam clears his throat. “Good. Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Really? ‘Cause you acted like I just beat you up.” Drew crosses his arms over his chest and assesses Sam. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  The answer is hardly convincing. No one else seems to buy it either, but Drew’s the only one who speaks up. “How about you show me that arm and then tell me it’s nothing.”

  Sam scowls. “Back off, okay?”

  Uncrossing his arms, Drew sits on the stool next to Sam. “Come on. We’ve known each other a long time. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I fell, all right? Down the stairs. Beat myself up pretty good. You happy now?”

  Maybe it’s just the lighting, but it looks like there might be extra moisture lingering in Sam’s eyes. The hard bob of his Adam’s apple would support that theory. He looks like he’s barely holding it together.

  But I’m not close enough to Sam to feel right pushing him for information.

  Aside from that, what do I know anyway?

  I glance at our one remaining table in time to see a man drain the last of his beer from a pilsner.

  Drew’s needed here. I’ll go check on them.

  Even though I’d really like to hear what’s going on with Sam. Not that it’s any of my business.

  I approach the table.

  “Hey, guys. Can I get you anything else?”

  “A hot chick?” A ruddy-faced stout kid asks.

  “Ooh, too bad. The Midnight Lounge dating service closed five minutes ago.”

  The guys roar like my lame joke was hilarious.

  “Hows about your number?” The guy next to the stout kid asks. With his baby face and large blue eyes, he barely looks old enough to drive, let alone drink.

  “How about a refill, instead?”

  A third guy speaks up. “Nah. I think we’re good to go.”

  “All right. Separate tickets?”

  The third guy nods and I head off to prepare their tickets.

  Sam, Drew, and Malachi appear deep in conversation and I make a point of not getting too close. I don’t want to disturb whatever is going on over there.

  No matter how much I want to know what they’re saying.

  It’s strange how comfortable everyone seems to be around Malachi. Especially since he’s the newest one here. Yet from everything I’ve seen, he’s able to put everyone at ease and get them talking.

  Must be a nice talent to possess.

  He really ought to be working the bar. Although I feel like he’d be more likely to talk people out of drinking than to mix the drinks they request.

  I process the college guys’ credit cards, drop them back off at the table, then get to work wiping down the other tables.

  Something’s off about Sam. I wonder if there’s anything I can do to help.

  Huh. Maybe Drew’s not the only one with a hero complex.

  “What can I do?”

  I gasp at the male voice behind me and whirl, my hand smacking one of the chairs, which wobbles on two legs before settling back in its upright position.

  Drew holds up his hands. “Sorry. You’d think I would’ve learned better than to surprise you, right?”

  “Obviously it doesn’t take much.” I draw in a deep breath. “I have a few tables left, but I haven’t touched the bar yet.”

  “Got it.” He turns to go, but pauses after only a step. “I noticed that Zak gives you a ride most nights. I hope you don’t think this is weird, but do you need a lift when we’re done?”

  I want to turn him down on principal alone, but I’d also really prefer not to walk in the cold, dark night, too. Especially after what happened with those guys the other night.

  Still, I’m not sure I should accept.

  What if he’s bad news? Maybe he sees this as his chance to get even after what I did to him.

  I shake the thought off. That’s stupid.

  A vengeful pastor-in-training who is friendly by day and murderous by night? How paranoid can I possibly be?

  The man saved my job after all. Charlie was ready to fire me and Drew talked him out of it.

  Drew’s never given me a reason not to trust him. Besides, if you can’t trust a pastor, who can you trust?

  I cock my head to the side. “That superhero complex coming through again?”

  He smiles. “Call it what you like, but I don’t like the idea of you walking alone at night.”

  “It’s only a few blocks.”

  “Then it wouldn’t be out of my way. What do you say?”

  “A ride would be nice. Thanks.”

  The way his smile grows to a grin tells me I gave him the answer he wanted to hear. I just hope it was the right decision.

  This last week has proven to me that the wrong decision could cost me my life.

  Ten

  Ice stings my face as I push through the back door. Drew follows, locking the door behind us.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I survey the frozen parking lot. Sparkles dot the blacktop like glitter and the lone car in the parking lot stands like a frozen sentinel under a blue-hued light.

  “You need a better coat.” Drew falls into step beside me.

  “I’ve noticed.” Yet another thing that I haven’t taken time to do. “Is it always so freakin’ cold out here?”

  Drew stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Well, it is winter. But this is an unusually cold spell, even for this time of year.”

  Swell. And I just happened to pick this place to flee to.

  Why couldn’t I have picked something with a beach and tropical climate?

  File Maui under the next location for me to go when I have to flee for my life again.

  Drew’s car turns out to be a four door sedan, not new but not ancient either. Frankly, I don’t care if it’s a rust-coated beater, just as long as the heater works.

  The lights flash as Drew unlocks the doors and opens mine for me.

  Huh. I guess chivalry isn’t dead. At least not here.

  Maybe it’s the pastorly thing to do.

  He hurries around and climbs in, starting the car and cranking the heat to blast the ice from the windshield. “So. Where to?”

  “The Grand Royal.”

  “As in the casino?”

  “One and the same.”

  The questions are practically etched across his face but evidently he’s not sure if he should ask.

  I save him the trouble. “I got a pretty good weekly rate and haven’t found anything else just yet.”

  “Well, it’s a nice place to stay. Heck, I’d like to live there.”

  “Yeah, but it’ll drive me into the poorhouse before long. Tips aren’t that good.”

  “True enough.” He turns on the windshield wipers, which scrape across the thin layer of ice, dislodging a little but not enough to see.

  “So is Sam okay?”

  He studies me for a second. “He’s in a rough place and could really use
some friends.”

  Curious. “So he didn’t tell you what was going on?”

  “You’ll have to ask him yourself. It’s not my story to tell.”

  Another pastor thing? Fair enough, I suppose. Except that Sam and I aren’t all that close so I doubt he’ll tell me.

  Not sure why I care anyway. I have enough problems of my own without taking on someone else’s.

  He runs the wipers again. This time the blades push the slush away.

  “So, Stormy. What brought you to Reno in such a hurry?”

  How does he know? Could he be connected to my past? And I was stupid enough to get in the car with him. I force myself to remain calm, even as the car seems to shrink around me. “What makes you think it was in a hurry?”

  “You’re living in a hotel. You obviously didn’t have a plan.”

  Okay, that’s a logical train of thought. This constant paranoia has got to stop.

  I swallow hard. Drew seems trustworthy enough. Maybe I should tell him the truth. Besides, as a pastor, he’d be required to keep it a secret, right? And he’s protecting whatever information Sam gave him, so that’s proof that he can keep his mouth shut.

  I open my mouth, but the truth lodges in my chest.

  I can’t.

  So I switch to my cover story. “There was this guy. And, well, things got ugly and I had to leave fast. I’d lived here once before and didn’t know where else to go and, well… here I am.”

  He shoots me a serious look as he pulls out of the parking lot. “I meant what I said before. If there’s anything I can do to help, just say the word.”

  “Thanks.” Time for a change of subject. “So you grew up working in a bar and decided to become a pastor. What made you choose that?”

  “I love Jesus and want to help people know and grow in Him.”

  “But still, there must’ve been, I don’t know, a defining moment or something, right?”

  He thinks for a second. “I guess maybe that would go back to high school. A buddy of mine invited me to his youth group. I went, then kept going back. It’s where I came to know Jesus. Anyway, the youth pastor started discipling me. He got me plugged into a mission trip the church did every year. I went a few times and it was on one of those trips that I just knew. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

  A mission trip. Sounds interesting. I wonder if I’ve ever done anything like that.

  Somehow, I doubt it.

  “Tell me about the mission trip.”

  “We’d go to a sister church in Asia and minister to the people there. One year we helped build a well, another year we worked on an orphanage, another year a school. And all the while we’d tell people about Jesus.” He swallows hard. “I was actually serving as an adult volunteer on one of those trips when my mom died.”

  “I’m sorry.” No point in mentioning that Zak already told me a little about that. “What happened?”

  “Breast cancer. They didn’t catch it until it was stage four. It taught me to not take people for granted. You never know how long you’ll have them.”

  First Zak, now Drew.

  It sounds like sage advice. For those who have people in their lives, anyway.

  He turns the corner and pulls into the loading zone of the Grand Royal.

  “Thanks for the ride.” I reach for the door handle and pause, my gaze searching his face. Sorrow lingers in his eyes, but his smile is genuine in spite of it. "And for telling me.”

  “Any time. Sleep well.”

  “You, too.”

  I step into the cold, close the door, and give a small wave before hurrying into the warmth and chaos of the casino.

  Maybe it’s the amnesia thing, but I can’t imagine what Drew’s gone through.

  Is my mother still alive? What if she dies while I’m here trying to figure things out?

  What if I’m a mother? What if I have a family? What if they’re in danger right now because of those men who are after me?

  Tears burn my eyes.

  I rush through the casino and into the empty elevator. As the doors slide closed, I let the tears fall.

  It’s been almost a week and all I have are more questions.

  I inspect my fingers. No sign of tan lines or anything to indicate that I usually wear a ring, but that’s not conclusive proof of anything.

  Other than how little I truly know about my own life.

  Who am I? When will my memory return?

  Another thought floods my mind, drying up my tears and chilling me more than the air outside had only a minute ago.

  Will my memory return? Or will the rest of my life be nothing more than a series of fleeting thoughts and names and fears?

  ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ

  I cringe as a woman who probably couldn’t sound any worse if she tried attempts to hit a particularly high note on a song that used to be a Christmas song.

  Now, it’s nothing but awful.

  Yikes. And this is why you’d never convince me to get up there.

  Zak was right about one thing: karaoke night is entertaining. What he failed to mention is that I should’ve brought some earplugs, too. Not everyone who thinks they’re talented really is.

  Either way, it was definitely worth coming in on my day off to enjoy the experience.

  And suffer with the rest of my coworkers.

  “Well, this has the eerie feeling of déjà vu.”

  Sam’s voice sounds from my right and I turn. “Hey…”

  The words die in my throat. A welt traces the side of his face and an eggplant pocket settles beneath his left eye. His eyes themselves look dim, like any flames of happiness he’s ever known have been thoroughly snuffed out.

  “What happened?”

  “Never pick a fight with someone bigger than you.” He shrugs. “Guess I’m not as tough as I like to think.”

  I don’t think there’s a fighting bone in Sam’s body. He’s the image of peacekeeper.

  And yet he wants me to believe he picked a fight with someone.

  Not a chance.

  “Seriously. What. Happened?”

  “What can I get you?”

  Okay. Obviously he doesn’t plan to talk about this now. But I have no intention of letting the subject drop indefinitely. “A barbeque chicken sandwich? With garlic fries? And water with lemon?”

  “You got it.”

  He walks away, shoulders slumped as though his burdens are too great for him to carry. Maybe they are. How can I get him to share those burdens, though?

  Okay. I really need to get my priorities straight.

  I only look moderately better than Sam. My problems likely outweigh whatever he’s dealing with and I think I can help?

  Maybe I am crazy after all.

  My thoughts refuse to drop the matter, though.

  If I had to guess, I’d suspect some kind of domestic abuse. He’s never mentioned a girlfriend or wife or anything, but if the relationship is sour, he might not.

  On stage, the diva finishes her song and bows to a smattering of random applause.

  They’re probably all clapping because she’s finally done.

  Next up, some guy starts crooning a country tune. His hat is bigger than he is and his voice has a whiny quality.

  Yeah, buddy. Don’t quit your day job.

  He’s replaced by a metal-studded girl who screams some heavy rock number. That song lasts way too long.

  A couple of guys who might be in college, but are probably only in high school, take the stage and do some weird rap thing. They’re not awful, but if singing is their goal, I sure hope they have a backup plan.

  “Hey. What’re you doing here on your day off?”

  I turn as Drew approaches. “After everything I heard about karaoke night, I had to check it out for myself.”

  Drew grins. “So. Is it exceeding expectations?”

  “Oh, it’s doing something to them, all right.”

  He laughs. “Not a karaoke girl?”

  “You’d neve
r catch me up there.” I watch the would-be rappers do some weird jerky movements with their hands. Oh yeah. That’s cool.

  “I’m with you. You wouldn’t want me up there either. I can’t carry a tune for anything.”

  A tone-deaf pastor. Do the surprises never end? “I thought pastors had to be able to sing.”

  “No, just talk a lot.” Drew gestures to the empty bench across from me. “May I?”

  It’s basically his restaurant and he’s asking permission? Then again, at the moment I’m a paying customer, not an employee.

  Still, I don’t mind the company. It’s better than sitting alone.

  I nod.

  He slides onto the bench, half facing me, half facing the stage. “So where’re you from?”

  Wish I knew.

  What does Stormy’s license say?

  I’m saved from an immediate reply by Sam’s arrival with my dinner.

  He falters when he notices Drew. “Drew? Hey, man. What’re you, uh, can I get you something?”

  “Nah. I’m good.”

  I try not to stare at Sam’s injuries, but it’s hard. They’re just so obvious.

  The rap duo ends. Drew is still staring at me and I realize I never answered his question.

  “I’m sorry. What did you ask again?” I know very well what he asked, but Sam’s arrival bought me a few seconds to consider my response.

  It still only delays the inevitable.

  “I asked where you’re from.”

  “A constant state of confusion?” I force a small laugh. He has no idea how true that statement is.

  He chuckles. “I think I’ve heard of that place.”

  “Not highly recommended.” I take a drink. Well, I know I flew out of Charleston. Maybe it’s best to stick with that. “It’s Charleston.”

  “That explains the slight accent I detect.”

  New music starts playing, but I don’t look at the stage to see what we’re in for next. “How about you? Did you grow up in Reno?”

  “Born and raised. Might sound crazy, but I love this town. And there’s no shortage of work for pastors.”

  Somehow I don’t think he means only preaching Sunday morning sermons.

  A smooth male voice drifts across the sound system.

  There’s something familiar about it.

  I turn toward the stage.