Shadow of the Storm Page 4

Zak’s right. The narrow face, high cheekbones, pointed chin, and large eyes all look like me. Her coloring is darker and I don’t have glasses, but still… we could pass for sisters.

  “What happened to her?” I know I shouldn’t ask, but the question has a life of its own.

  “Car accident. A drunk driver hit the car head-on, killed our parents, and put her in a coma.”

  A drunk driver? And he works as a bartender?

  I manage to stop that question before it leaves my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “Is what it is.” He glances at the other end of the bar. “Oops. Looks like I’ve got a new group.”

  He offers a tight smile and moves away.

  Wow. I guess we’ve all got baggage, huh? While I’m haunted by what I can’t remember, he’s haunted by what he can’t forget.

  Not sure which is better.

  I lift my glass. Fizz pops against my lip as I take a drink.

  I love root beer. I always have. Ever since my grandfather…

  A gasp slips from me. I remember my grandfather! And having root beer at his house on summer afternoons.

  I dig for more.

  He had red hair. But I never knew him that way, only saw it in pictures. He was bald by the time I was born.

  What else?

  Nothing else comes. I snatch up the root beer and take a long drink. Then wait.

  Still nothing.

  Ugh! It was so close.

  Okay. So that’s all I’ve got for now. It’s a start, right?

  “Still doing okay?”

  I jerk. The root beer sloshes over the edge of the glass onto my hand.

  “Sorry.” Zak twists around to grab a damp rag from the sink behind him. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I want to argue that he didn’t scare me, but the evidence is all over the counter. “It’s fine.”

  He hands me the rag so I can wipe my hand, then mops up the small puddle on the counter. “Sorry to dump all that on you earlier.”

  “You didn’t dump anything. I asked.”

  “Still. I normally try not to think about it when I’m here, but, well, like I said…”

  “I remind you of her.”

  It makes perfect sense, really. Aside from that, bartenders listen to everyone else’s problems, but does anyone listen to theirs?

  After a glance around the room, he rests both hands on the bar. “So, I gotta say. I’ve been a bartender a long time and there aren’t many people who hang out alone in a bar drinking root beer.”

  “I didn’t want anything stronger.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Honestly? I’m not looking forward to the walk home. It’s cold and I hate the rain.”

  His attention swivels to the windows. “See, now that makes sense. Don’t you drive?”

  “I don’t have a car.”

  “So you walked here?”

  “Well, I didn’t foresee this coming, obviously.” I gesture to the rain-drenched windows. “Actually, I was trying to get a feel for this place. Charlie just hired me. I start tomorrow.”

  “Cool. Welcome aboard. I’m Zak.”

  Spelled with no “c”, according to his name badge. “Stormy.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He pauses, studying me for a few seconds. “I know it’s none of my business and I shouldn’t ask…?”

  “Ask what?” Of course I know what he’s talking about. The bruises, cuts, and general scruffiness of my appearance couldn’t be hidden, not even by makeup.

  But if he really wants to know, he’s going to have to come right out and ask.

  Besides, it buys me a little time to formulate an answer. Somehow telling him that I’m running from strangers who want to kill me seems like a bad idea.

  “You, well, look like you went a few rounds with someone with a nasty punch.”

  “I just got out of a bad relationship. He didn’t take it well when I left.” Once again, the story pours out of me. “But don’t worry. That was in another state, so the trouble didn’t follow me.”

  “Lucky for him. We take care of our own here so if he shows his face, know that we’ve got your back.”

  Oh yeah? And what will they do? Let loose the dogs?

  Okay, that’s pretty terrible of me. But still, what does he really think he can do about it?

  Then again, Zak looks like he could bench press me with one hand. He can probably handle his own against pretty much anyone.

  Assuming that person doesn’t have a gun, which is not true of the guys after me.

  “I better get back to work.”

  As he moves away, I focus on the big screen TV at the other end of the room. A guy with a stiff face and hair that probably wouldn’t move in a tornado fills the screen. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but the closed captioning is on and the words are barely large enough for me to make them out.

  He says something about politics, then moves on to the murder of a CFO for some tech company on the East Coast.

  At least it’s more interesting than staring at the bottles of alcohol lining the wall.

  “Ya know, I hate to see a pretty girl drinking alone.”

  I whip around, thankfully not sloshing my root beer this time, to see a scrawny kid standing a few feet away, hands buried in his pockets.

  Did Zak check this kid’s ID? ‘Cause he seriously looks like he’s about fifteen.

  “Then look away.”

  The guy slides onto the stool beside me. “And if I don’t want to?”

  “Then I’ll have to insist.”

  The guy hesitates. Must’ve been pretty sure that I was desperate enough to fall for whatever lines he threw at me. A half glance over his shoulder, then he refocuses on me. “I’m good company.”

  I glance behind him to see a table with four other guys, all about the same age as the one in front of me, staring directly at us.

  So. That’s how this works.

  I force a smile. “Go on back to your friends. You lost this round.”

  I swivel away from him. There’s nothing to look at now except the bottles of alcohol on the wall opposite me, but it beats looking at him and carrying on this pointless exchange.

  I sense him hesitating.

  Just go away.

  A painful second passes before he stands and moves away.

  “Aw, you were iced, man!”

  Rowdy college boys. Seriously.

  “I think you broke his heart.” Zak heads my way, chuckling.

  “More like his pride.”

  “Hey, the male ego is a delicate thing.”

  “I’m sure he’ll never get over the rejection.” Like he’ll even remember this in the morning.

  “He’ll probably need years of therapy.” Zak shakes his head in mock sympathy.

  “Then maybe he should learn to say no when his friends dare him to talk to a stranger.”

  “You’ve got a point.” Zak nods at my nearly empty glass. “Need a refill?”

  “No thanks. I’m good.”

  Zak meanders back down the bar.

  That felt good. Verbally sparring with someone like I’m just a normal person, not some freak who doesn’t even recognize her own face.

  I turn back to the news. The waxed man has been replaced by a woman who looks like she hasn’t eaten in weeks. The screen behind her shows rain, snow, and wintry mix in the forecast for the next few days.

  Oh, joy.

  Maybe I’ll splurge on a cab. I can afford it, right? And I have a job now, so my financial status is even better.

  Never mind that the hotel alone will eat up anything I make here and then some.

  I wonder if they offer any kind of special weekly rates. Or maybe I just need to find something more affordable.

  I really don’t want to leave such a nice hotel, though.

  Well, I don’t have to decide tonight. I’m paid up through tomorrow. I can decide then.

  For now, I’m beat.

  I glance at the windows again. The rain has turned to snow.

/>   Well, that’s marginally better to walk in. Isn’t it?

  Doesn’t matter. I can’t sit here all night. I’ll have to head out in it at some point. Why not now?

  I drop a five dollar bill on the counter by my empty root beer glass and stand.

  A bitter wind bites through my sweater. Okay, tomorrow I have got to get a jacket.

  My shoes crunch on the layer of white coating the ground. Glitter sparkles on the snow beneath the street lights.

  If it has to be so miserably cold, at least it’s pretty. That’s about the only consolation since I think I might freeze to death walking the next three blocks.

  I can’t even run. Not that I feel inclined to do so, but the layer of ice underneath this pretty white film would make running dangerous.

  I’ve been beat up enough for one week. No need to add to it.

  The casino comes into view. Almost there.

  The wind pushes me through the front door, where warmth envelopes me like a glove.

  Gloves. That’s another thing I’ll have to pick up tomorrow. Especially since it looks like I’ll be walking everywhere for the foreseeable future.

  I ride the elevator up to the seventh floor, wishing it would move just a little bit faster. I’m not sure how much longer these legs of mine will hold me up.

  As I enter my room, I scan for any sign of trouble.

  Not sure what that would be, just anything that looks out of place. Nothing stands out.

  Still, it’s best to be sure. I secure the door behind me and check the entire room – closet, bathroom, shower, even under the bed.

  I’m alone.

  After changing into the yoga pants and sweatshirt, I collapse into bed. The lights are still on, but my eyes are already sliding closed.

  ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ

  No doubt about it. I have definitely waited tables and bartended before.

  Unfortunately, there aren’t any memories tied to that knowledge. But the ease with which I pick up on both aspects of the job leave no doubt that it’s familiar territory.

  Charlie had me work alongside Sam for the first few hours, then partnered me with Zak when the bar’s traffic increased.

  Zak kept a close eye on me for the first hour, then backed off.

  Evidently he decided that I know what I’m doing. Crazy how I can be so proficient at this yet know so little about myself.

  At least the evening has flown by.

  Better yet, being busy has left me very little time to dwell on my situation and even less time to think about what I don’t know.

  I hit the button on the blender and turn to pour a scotch on the rocks while the margarita blends.

  I deliver the drinks and weave through tables, checking on the people sitting at each one.

  Another glass of wine for one, a Strawberry Daiquiri for another, a Heineken on tap for someone else.

  I stopped carrying a notepad hours earlier. Each order files neatly into my mind.

  At least my memory is good for something.

  I round another table and nearly trip over a man’s foot stretched into the aisle.

  What if I’d been carrying a full tray of drinks? Don’t people think about these things?

  Maybe he prefers to wear his alcohol rather than drink it.

  Pretending as though I meant to stop at his table anyway, I flash him a smile. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Nah. Think ‘m good.” The words slur together, evidencing that I wouldn’t have given him anything else – except his check – anyway.

  “All right. You ready for your check?”

  He stares at me, his attention settling well below my face. Red zigzags across the whites of his sunken eyes. “We oughta get together later. When’re you off?”

  Right. File that invitation under the “not in this lifetime” heading.

  Of course, I can’t tell him that. Not that I think the rejection would even register, but I can’t have him creating waves. Just in case.

  “Oh, it’s much later than you’d want to wait. Let me get that check, okay?”

  And maybe Zak will do me a favor and deliver it.

  I print off his check and scan the room for Zak.

  Zak’s busy with what looks like a bachelorette party. No biggie. I can handle one guy.

  I prepare the other customers’ drinks, grab Red-Eye’s check, and head back out on the floor. After dropping off the drinks, I head for Red-Eye, but stop on the opposite side of the table and slide the bill across the polished surface.

  “Here you go.” My tone sounds sweet enough to give him a cavity. “I’ll be your cashier when you’re ready.”

  What I really want to tell him is that he should be ready now, but I can’t.

  He hasn’t really done anything wrong. Except forget that proper etiquette dictates you look a woman in the eye when addressing her.

  Still, I can give him the benefit of the doubt and blame the alcohol for that.

  As I turn to go, a vise closes around my wrist and jerks me back. “I’m ready.”

  Somehow I don’t think he’s talking about the check.

  I gently twist my wrist away from his grasp. Although he says he’s ready, he has yet to remove a credit card or cash. In fact, the slip hasn’t moved from where I set it. “You haven’t even looked at your bill. I’ll give you a few minutes, okay?”

  A small shiver rocks up my spine as I stride away.

  I try not to look his direction too often, even though I can feel his gaze crawling all over me like insects.

  At least the bar is busy enough that I have an excuse to ignore him.

  “How’s it going?”

  I start, sloshing the foam off the top of the glass and over my hand.

  A man’s voice. Behind me.

  The thoughts click through my mind about the same time that I realize I know that voice. Charlie.

  I set the pilsner on the counter and reach for a rag to wipe down the outside as I look up. Amusement and apology linger in Charlie’s light brown eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s not your fault. I’m just a little jumpy, I guess.”

  “Everything okay?”

  As if they have a mind of their own, my eyes stray to Red-Eye, who still hunches over his table with his attention fixated on me. I quickly look away and force a smile I don’t feel. “It’s fine.”

  “You sure about that?” He turns and stares at the man, who averts his gaze and digs out a wallet.

  “Yeah.” A shuddery breath escapes and I hate myself for it. “He’s had a few too many and is kind of creeping me out.”

  “Want me to ask him to leave? I don’t tolerate any form of harassment. It doesn’t matter if it’s an employee or a customer.”

  Right. And I can be known as the wimpy new girl who couldn’t even handle one drunk.

  “No, it’s okay. I think he’s getting ready to go anyway.”

  As if to prove my point, the man drops a few bills on the table and stands. He walks a surprisingly straight line to the door. Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as I’d thought.

  Which makes him even creepier.

  Charlie watches until the door swings closed behind him then turns back to me. “Don’t think that you have to put up with being treated poorly just because someone is a customer, okay?”

  “Got it.” I offer a mock salute and a grin.

  The beard curls in a small smile, but his eyes remain serious. “I don’t mean to pry, but may I ask about the bruises?”

  It’s no surprise that he asked. Honestly, I’m surprised it took him as long as it did. The bruises are darker today than ever before. The makeup I bought dulls their vibrancy but can’t completely conceal them.

  I could refuse to answer, but it’d likely make him suspicious of me. Best to be open and stick with the same story I told Zak.

  “I just got out of a bad relationship. He didn’t take it very well when I left.”

  He studies me silently for a few long
seconds. “Well, Zak serves as our bouncer so be sure to let him know if that guy shows up here.”

  “He won’t. He doesn’t even live here. This happened as I was getting ready to leave town.” I glance around. “I should get back to my customers.”

  Charlie nods and moves off down the bar.

  The rest of the evening flies by and before I know it, Zak is walking me through closing procedures.

  It’s all pretty basic and is so familiar that I’m sure I’ve done it all before, even if it’s not accompanied by specific memories.

  Zak drops the cash down a chute into a safe. “Okay. That pretty much does it. See you tomorrow?”

  “And the next day, and the next.” I smile. “Charlie has me working the next five days.”

  “Welcome to my life.” He gives a small wave and heads toward the kitchen.

  I don’t know where he’s going and I don’t spend much time dwelling on it. It’s late and I’m beat. My body aches and my feet are throbbing.

  I should’ve bought better shoes.

  Exiting through the employee door off the kitchen, I step into the parking lot. No snow, rain, or hail today, but it feels like walking through the world’s largest freezer.

  Never did pick up a heavier coat.

  I wrap my arms around myself and cross the parking lot.

  Only four vehicles remain. As I pass a shiny silver BMW, I hear movement behind me. A hand lands on my shoulder and a body presses in close to mine.

  “I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

  I know that voice!

  My breath freezes in my chest. No one knows me here. No one should be waiting for me.

  That leaves only one option. The men who tried to kill me.

  They found me!

  Five

  My stomach lurches.

  I have to get away! I’ve come too far for them to catch me now!

  The hand moves from my shoulder and feathers across my throat. Another hand wraps around my midsection, fingers splayed across my stomach. Breath tickles my neck.

  Wait a second. This isn’t exactly the touch of someone wanting to kill me.

  “I had to see you again.”

  It’s the guy. From the bar earlier. The creepy one who wouldn’t stop staring at me.

  That’s why his voice is familiar. I just heard it an hour or two ago.

  I squirm against his grasp. “Let me go.”