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  The one closest to me offers a polite smile. “ ‘Fraid we’re on the clock, ma’am. We’re looking for this guy. Have you seen him?”

  They pass over a mug shot of a scrawny white guy.

  Something about him seems familiar, not that it should. But what?

  Wait a second! It’s the guy from last night! Younger, thinner, and more sober, but definitely the same man.

  “He was in here last night, but I think Zak,” I nod at the other end of the bar where Zak is charming two middle-aged women, “scared him off.”

  “Had he ever been in here before?”

  “I don’t know. This is only my second day.”

  The second cop takes the picture and heads for the other end of the bar. The first one stays with me.

  Unfortunately.

  “So he was here last night. What do you remember about him?”

  Other than the fact that the guy was a creep and stalker? “Well, he’d had a little too much to drink, but seemed to handle his liquor well.”

  “Did he say anything? Was he with anyone?”

  “No. He sat there,” I nod at a table that currently has a young couple sitting at it, “for over an hour, hit on me, then left.”

  “And you didn’t see him after that?”

  Should I tell him? I have no reason to keep the truth secret, except that it ensures the cop will stand here and question me further.

  But Zak will likely tell the other officer about the encounter in the parking lot. It’ll look a whole lot more suspicious if I’m not forthcoming about the incident. “He was waiting in the lot when I left.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah. Tried to feel me up, but Zak came out and gave him the impression that we’re together and the guy backed way off.”

  “He left without a fight?”

  I nod Zak’s direction. “Have you seen Zak? The guy was like half his size. Yeah, he left without a fight.”

  The cop’s gaze rakes across me and he gestures to the bruises on my face. “He do all that to you?”

  “No. Let’s just say I have bad taste in men.”

  His eyes narrow. “You filed charges against him, right?”

  If I play this right, maybe I can gain his sympathy rather than his suspicion. I avert my eyes. “I left. I didn’t want anything…” I exhale a rough breath. “Anything more to do with him.”

  I look up, the cop’s face blurring. A tear burns down my cheek as I blink rapidly.

  Honestly, I’m not sure if the tears are real or something I conjured up in order to manipulate the man.

  Either way, I’m good. Scary good.

  The cop compresses his lips. “I get that, but we can’t do our job if you don’t help us out.”

  I swipe at the tears still lingering in my eyes. “I know. But I, I just couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

  His eyebrows shift down. Sympathy, if I’m reading him correctly. “Well, back to the guy from last night. Did you see where he went?”

  “No. But he was driving a silver BMW. I don’t know the model, but it was a cute little sporty thing.”

  The cop drops a business card on the counter. “If you see him again, or if you decide to file charges against your ex, give me a call, okay?”

  I glance at the card before slipping it into my pocket. “Sure thing. What do you want with him anyway?”

  The cop hesitates. “We need to question him about an ongoing investigation, but that’s really all I can say. Just use caution if you see him again, okay?”

  So the guy’s dangerous. Great.

  I sure attract the wrong kind of crowd, don’t I?

  “You’ll be my first call.”

  The cop walks toward his partner, who is turning away from Zak. The two confer for a few seconds before leaving.

  Phew. Dodged a bullet on that one.

  Although I don’t know why I think that. The cops are supposed to help people in dangerous situations. Why do I think they’d do anything less if they knew the truth about these bruises on my face?

  Might have something to do with being arrested at some point. That memory was pretty vivid.

  And I know it was a memory, not just my imagination running wild.

  I don’t know why I was arrested or where it happened, but it did happen. Recently, I think.

  I’m a criminal.

  No question about it. I probably brought all this mess on myself by getting involved in… whatever it is I’m involved in.

  At least I didn’t slip and say something I shouldn’t have. My secret’s still safe and I have no intention of blabbing it to the world, much less the police.

  Because if they knew about the various identities in my possession, they’d probably lock me up.

  And maybe, just maybe, I deserve it.

  Six

  The evening passes in a blur. It’s after eleven before the bar starts to slow down.

  Wonder how Malachi did tonight?

  I scan the restaurant, where I see Malachi helping Sam clear a table. The two are laughing together like old friends.

  Maybe they are. I didn’t ask Malachi how he heard about this job.

  And frankly, I don’t really care. I have my own job to do. Refill glasses at one table, deliver the check to another, casually flirt with a table of college guys as I pass by.

  I learned early on that a little flirting can exponentially increase my tip.

  Not sure where I learned it or exactly how, but – just like I knew how to do this job – I know it’s true.

  Of course, it can also lead to situations like last night, but those are the minority. I try to make a point of not flirting with anyone who acts overly interested or who has had too much.

  It usually works.

  Except with guys like the one from last night. I didn’t even flirt with that guy because he gave me the creeps from the minute he sat down, yet he still crossed the line. Multiple lines, actually.

  Grabbing a rag, I wipe down the empty tables.

  Man, am I beat. Thanks to that nightmare, I didn’t get a lot of sleep and this has been a tiring day.

  “Can I help you with that?”

  I jerk, bumping my hip against a chair that teeters before settling back on all four legs.

  I whip toward the voice to find Malachi standing a few feet away, a hint of a smile on his face.

  “I’m sorry.” Laughter underscores the words.

  “Yeah, you sound it.” Even though I’m still trying to catch my breath, his amusement is contagious. “I think you scared a year off my life.”

  “I don’t normally have that effect on women.”

  My heart still tap-dances. “I didn’t hear you come up. Anyway, to answer your question, no thanks. I’ve got this.”

  “I know you do, but thought maybe you could use an extra set of hands. I’m here anyway.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but the servers usually just clock out and go home.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure you don’t need help, I guess I’ll leave.”

  I don’t want him to go. The knowledge slams through me. How weird is that?

  More importantly, why don’t I want him to leave? While his auburn curls and quick smile probably earn him lots of tips from the girls, they don’t work on me.

  No, there’s something else. That mysterious quality that drew me earlier is back in full force.

  “How’d tonight go?” The question is out of my mouth before he’s made it one step.

  He turns back. “Really good.”

  “It looked like you picked it right up.”

  “Well, I had a good teacher.”

  Right. Like I did sooo much to help him. From anyone else, it would’ve sounded like kissing up, but from him it feels totally sincere.

  “Do you know Sam?”

  “Just from here. Why?”

  I offer a slight shrug. “It looked like you guys were friends or something.”

  “He’s a good guy. Doesn’t exactly have things easy, but none of us d
o, right?”

  There’s a knowing in the words that cuts through the small talk. It feels like we’re no longer talking about Sam.

  It feels like this conversation has shifted to me.

  But that’s ridiculous. There’s no way he could know about my past. Or lack thereof.

  Unless he’s somehow connected.

  Is it possible? That he’s linked to Charleston and my past and those men who tried to kill me?

  Relax. He’s probably just using generalities. Life is tough, after all. For all of us.

  And my bruises don’t exactly hide the fact that something big happened to me recently. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it wasn’t something good.

  Then why can’t I shake the feeling that he knows more than he’s saying?

  “So the live music is a nice touch. Do we have it every night?”

  Good question. “I really don’t know. I’ve been here a whopping three nights, only two of them as an employee, and there was music each time, so maybe.”

  “Yep.” Zak walks over to join us. “Live music every night. Karaoke on Mondays. Usually draws quite a crowd and is good for some laughs.”

  Well. That should be interesting.

  I look around. Only one group left in the bar. The college guys I flirted with earlier. Who are technically Zak’s customers, not mine.

  “So how does Charlie find people to perform?”

  “You kidding? A town like this there’s no shortage of people wanting to break into music or showbiz. People audition for Charlie or send him a demo and he either accepts or declines. Once they’re in, they can sign up for as many nights as they want.”

  Zak checks his watch. “I’m gonna get the bill ready for those guys and suggest they wrap up their night.”

  Which means I’d better get these tables wiped down in a hurry.

  Malachi doesn’t ask again but simply crosses to the bar and retrieves a rag. He starts on the table next to mine. “Maybe I’ll try out karaoke on Monday.”

  Gutsy. Especially in front of people you have to work with on a daily basis. “You sing?”

  A nod. “I love music. Always have. I guess it runs in the family. How about you?”

  Do I? It’s crazy that I can’t remember something so basic as my own talents. “I don’t sing, if that’s what you’re asking. But I like to listen to people who are good at it.”

  “So what do you like to do?”

  “Act.” The idea pops into my head so suddenly that it just might be the truth. Especially considering how convincingly I’ve stepped into my role as Stormy the bartender.

  “Really? Theatre, film?”

  “Theatre. There’s something about live shows.”

  “I hear you. The acting isn’t drowned out by the special effects like it is in movies.”

  “Exactly.” I move on to a new table. “Have you done any acting?”

  “Nah. I’m not much of a performer.”

  “But you said you sing.”

  He pauses and looks up at me. “For me, singing is about the music. It’s a way for me to use the gifts God has given me to glorify Him. There’s nothing better than that.”

  Hmmm. So Malachi is one of those religious types.

  Am I?

  I don’t think so, but it’s hard to say. What do I believe?

  I have some vague memories of old stone buildings and stained glass windows, but they feel too distant and indistinct to be something that really matters to me.

  Then again, what do I know?

  “So you’re into the whole church thing?”

  Malachi chuckles. “Not in the sense you’re thinking. The true church is not a building, it’s the people who use the building. It’s a group of people who love God and choose to follow Him.”

  “Why follow a God you can’t see?” The question slips out before I think it through, although I don’t know that I’d retract it, even if I could.

  It’s a valid question.

  What’s so great about God that people would follow Him?

  Malachi wipes down a bench, but his eyes are fixed on me. “Seeing isn’t everything. Not being able to see Him doesn’t change the fact that He’s there and is always working around us. It’s like gravity. Or wind. Or heat or cold. You don’t doubt that any of those things exist, do you?”

  I release my rag and cross my arms over my chest. What kind of stupid question is that? “Of course not. But it’s not the same. No one follows those things.”

  “Because they’re inanimate. But God is not. You can’t see Him, but He’s always working and you can see the evidence of His handiwork all around you. Like you see and feel the effects of gravity on your body.”

  I get his point, but I’m not convinced. At least, I don’t think I am.

  One thing’s for sure, though. If I do believe in God, I don’t believe He’s working around me. My life feels too out of control for that.

  Unless I’m nothing more than a pawn in some cosmic chess match.

  Well, if that’s what God is like, I don’t want anything to do with Him. If He’s even there.

  I move to another table, the distance between Malachi and me growing enough to kill further conversation. Cleaning the tables goes much faster with two of us and by the time the last customers are out the door, we’re ready to close down.

  “Looks like my work here is done. See you both tomorrow.” Malachi heads for the exit with a small wave.

  “Give you a ride?” Zak asks as we gather our things.

  Well, he didn’t kill me last night.

  That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an ulterior motive, though. He could still plan to kill me. After what happened with that guy last night, there’s even a perfect patsy to pin it on.

  That’s completely ridiculous.

  If he wanted to kill me, he’d had plenty of opportunity to do so last night.

  Besides, he’s given me no reason to distrust him.

  I make the decision before I can change my mind. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  “So what’s your story?” He holds the door for me and I precede him into the winter air.

  Why’s he asking? More importantly, what is it he wants to know? “My story?”

  “Yeah. Who are you, where do you come from, that kind of thing? Somehow you got me to spill mine already, so it’s only fair for me to learn yours.” His tone is teasing, spoken with the ease of someone who is used to learning a lot about people.

  “Not much to tell, really.” Actually, there is, but I can’t tell him. Even if I suddenly really want to.

  It would be so nice to have someone to confide in. Someone who might even be able to help me piece it all together.

  But I can’t. It’s too dangerous.

  He might turn me in to the police. Or tell other people who would turn me in.

  “Are you from Reno originally?”

  “No. This is actually my first time here.” I think. Now to keep the story consistent. I’m pretty sure Stormy’s license had a New York address… “I’m from a small town in New York.”

  “You don’t have the accent. I’m surprised.”

  Is that suspicion in his tone? “So I’ve been told. I took speech and theatre classes in college so I likely lost it during those years.”

  Is that true? It just came to me, but it feels right.

  Not that my feelings are necessarily reliable.

  “Speech and theatre and now you’re waiting tables?”

  “Those things don’t pay the bills.” Time to deflect the conversation. Away from me. “May I ask you something?”

  “Shoot. I’m an open book.”

  “I hope I’m not out of line, but how can you keep working in a bar after…” I can’t bring myself to vocalize the accident that changed Zak’s life. Besides, there can be no doubt what I’m talking about. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve asked myself the same thing a million times.” Even
in the dark, I can see the hard swallow. “I guess maybe I don’t know what else to do. This keeps me busy. Besides, it gives me some power over how many drunk drivers are on the road.”

  “Because you can cut them off any time.” In a weird way, it makes sense.

  “Yeah. I was working this job before the accident and Charlie really helped me get through it. He and Drew are like family now.”

  “Drew?”

  We reach his truck and Zak unlocks the doors. “Charlie’s son. He worked at the Lounge for a while before going off to seminary.”

  “His dad owns a bar with slot machines and he’s training to be a priest?” Okay, technically a family-friendly restaurant, but still.

  It sounds like a bad joke. I half expect Zak to start laughing about how he had me going on that one.

  “Pastor, actually.” He cranks the key in the ignition and his truck responds with a throaty growl.

  “Huh. Charlie didn’t strike me as the religious type.” Not sure why, though. Maybe the fact that he sells alcohol.

  “He’s not. I guess Drew got into it in high school and it just went from there. That was before I knew them.”

  “You haven’t mentioned Drew’s mom. Is she not around?”

  “She died about four years ago. It was a dark time, but we got through it together.”

  So much tragedy in one place. “What happened to her?”

  “Cancer. They caught it really late. She only lasted about a month after that.” He turns the heat up higher. “Drew was off on some missions trip and couldn’t be reached. He didn’t even find out about it until after she was gone.”

  Pressure builds in my throat and I struggle to hold back tears for someone I don’t even know. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah. At least I got to go to my parents’ funeral.”

  “What’s the prognosis on your sister?”

  “Not good. The doctors have actually been trying to talk…” His words catch and his breathing thickens. “They want me to stop life support. But I can’t.”

  The poor guy.

  He’s as damaged as I am. How could I have ever been suspicious of someone so broken?

  I don’t know if I have a sister, but I can’t imagine having to make such a decision.

  “Part of me knows I should. The doctors say it’ll take a miracle for her to come back from this.”

  I don’t think I believe in miracles, but for Zak’s sake, I really want to. “I hope it happens.”