“Sure, Eva. I’ll do a good job. Can I help with anything else?”
“Yeah, you can get upstairs and brush your teeth. It’s well past nine and you need to be in bed.”
His lip curled out into a pout. “I don’t like sleeping. I have dreams.”
“Read a couple of the books King got you for school.”
“I don’t like reading.”
“Reading or bedtime.”
“I’ll read.”
They passed through the kitchen; Bobby said good night to King, and Eva followed the kid up the back staircase. Fifteen minutes later she’d checked under the bed and the race car quilt on top, in the closets and even behind the blue curtains. She picked a baseball book from a stack by his bed. “I’ll leave the light on, okay?”
He nodded stiffly. “Okay. Did you check the windows to make sure they were locked?”
“Twice. Locked tight. No bad guys are getting in this room.”
He eased his grip on the sheets a fraction. “Okay.”
He conned her into reading a few pages of his book. When she handed him the book, she hesitated.
A kiss good night didn’t seem right. He wasn’t her child. But just to get up and leave felt rude. She settled for a pat on the head. “I’m right downstairs if you need me or King.”
“Thanks, Eva.”
Eva moved down the steps, wondering who had messed Bobby up so badly. No child should be so terrified of his own shadow.
Customers inundated the bar and several patrons held up glasses, trying to catch Betty’s attention. Eva slipped behind the bar and made quick work of serving several of the more impatient customers.
She set a cold beer down in front of an older guy who just about lived at King’s. “Here you go, Stan.”
Stan, an older man with thinning hair and a double chin, pouted just as Bobby had. “No one takes better care of me than you, Eva.”
“We aim to please, Stan. Need anything else?”
“Not now. ”
Betty greeted Eva with a grateful grin. “Thank God. I can’t keep up with all the drinks.” She tucked a stray blond curl behind her ear and checked the notebook in her hand.
A man at the end of the bar waved his glass impatiently and called for another Vodka Collins. Betty moved to go but Eva smiled. “I got it.”
Eva mixed the drink, remembering this was the man’s third round and he liked four cherries on a toothpick in his drink.
“How did you remember he likes extra cherries?”
She never told anyone she could recall details very easily, but most noticed quickly. “Don’t know.”
“God, I wish I could remember things like you. It’s all I can do to remember whether a sandwich order is toasted or not.”
“It just takes practice.”
“I’ve been at this three years. You haven’t been here six months.”
“I’ve always had a good memory.” Photographic was more accurate. Facts, figures, details stayed with her. Of course, the irony was that she could not remember the most critical minutes before Josiah died. She had reason to kill Josiah and a part of her believed she had struck the fatal blow. But as the years had passed, the not remembering haunted her. Those minutes likely were the real reason she’d accepted King’s offer. Those minutes drove her to the computer lab to search out what she could about Lisa, Sara and Kristen. And now it seemed those minutes controlled her future.
Betty tucked her pencil in her starched hair. “I never would have figured King would do the foster parent thing.”
“He seems like a natural.”
“I heard after his wife and kid died it changed him. I guess no one figured he’d want parental responsibilities again.”
King had lost a wife and child. She’d never known. Her heart twisted and ached for him. His unending patience with Bobby now made so much sense.
“You know what happened?” Betty said.
“I never ask about anyone’s past.”
“Why not? ”
“None of my business.”
“Aren’t you a little curious?”
“Nope.” The only past she cared about now was her own and those missing minutes.
Sara Miller, a.k.a. Drama-Girl, sat in the bar nervously tracing the glass rim of her second gin and tonic. In the background a guy played a jazzy/bluesy song that reminded her of Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Young professionals, clad in dark suits and silk dresses, packed the bar, making her feel safe for having chosen this place to meet her on-line guy, Red Horseman.
She’d been looking forward to this all day. The stress at the office chewed on her constantly these days and she needed a break. For years she’d worked back-breaking hours to stay ahead of the pack, but recently, work, which had been such a refuge at times, had felt like prison.
So much rode on this new client’s ad campaign. “It’ll make or break the agency, Sara,” her boss had said. “Show me you are still number one and get us the Impact Sports account.” And she had. At dinner tonight, she’d won the biggest contract the Fairchild Agency had ever earned.
But for the first time, she worried if she could actually deliver on the job. The payout would be huge, but it would require hundreds of hours of her time in the next month. As the firm’s top account executive, she’d already been averaging one hundred hours a week and she didn’t know from where the time would be carved.
Sara sipped her drink. She should have been at the office now, incorporating the notes from the client dinner into a memo for tomorrow’s staff meeting. However, her thoughts were only for Red Horseman. She could break from work for a while.
Sara checked her watch. He was three minutes late. Which wasn’t exactly late late but it felt like forever. She couldn’t afford to stay too long. Like it or not, she needed to get back to her office to write that memo.
Her phone buzzed beside her on the bar and she glanced down, praying it wasn’t her office. The display read Red Horseman. “Please don’t cancel.”
Hey, I think I’ve got the wrong bar, his message said. I’m down the street at King’s. She hadn’t been there in years—not her kind of crowd. Too working-class.
Smiling with relief that he wasn’t canceling, she typed. I’m at Renegades just down the road.
Directions? I have no sense of direction.
His helplessness was sort of endearing. It was nice to be in charge once in awhile. I’ll come to you.
You’re the best.
Sara paid her tab and headed out of the bar, whistling and feeling more excited about life than she had in a long time. Get a grip, her brain warned. You’ve only just met this guy on-line. He could be such a loser.
But they’d connected so well.
She moved outside, away from the noise and the smoke and into the darkness. For a moment she savored the quiet and clean air. Getting her car would be easy, but the night air coaxed her to walk. King’s was only a few blocks away or less than five minutes if she hustled.
Shoving long fingers through her hair, she headed down the street, her high heels clicking on the cobblestone street.
Halfway down the street, someone called out her name. The voice sounded husky, hoarse even.
“Hey, Sara! Where you headed so fast?”
Friendly, and at ease, whoever called out clearly knew her. No doubt she’d met this person at a business event where she elevated f
ake smiles and light conversation to an art form. But tonight she wasn’t in the mood to play nice or guess Who Am I? She wanted to see Red Horseman.
“I’m in a rush,” she said, tossing a careless smile as she kept walking.
“Hey, I understand.” The person skimmed along the stone wall bordering the sidewalk, just in the shadows. “Just wanted to say hello.”
She tossed a quick glance, ready to tell whomever to scram when a zap of pain shot through her body and her knees buckled. Another zap to her side and she landed facedown in the street.
Rough hands grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. Before her thoughts could clear, a van door opened and she was dumped inside. A needle jabbed her arm and the world immediately spun out of control. The last thing she remembered was the door closing.
Detective Sinclair’s phone call caught Garrison and Malcolm as they were leaving the medical examiner’s office. She had gotten Lisa Black’s credit card receipts.
“Anything jump out at you?” Garrison said.
“Lisa Black preferred the upper-class hotels and bars in D.C. She likes expensive lingerie and good wine.” Her crisp voice cut through the lines. “There is a D.C. bar she visited more than any other. It’s called Moments.”
“We found matches in her condo from Moments.”
“I guess she figured she could hook up with a better kind of guy in a nice place.” Sinclair snorted. “We all know bad guys don’t have money.”
Garrison checked his watch. “We’ll swing by and see what we can find out. ”
Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck. “Going to be a long night?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Where we headed?”
“D.C. bar call Moments. It’s located in the Walter Hotel.”
“Can’t wait.”
When they arrived at the hotel bar, a glittering marble floor, crystal chandelier and soft piano music drifting through the room, greeted them. The Tuesday-night crowd amounted to a few couples sitting at secluded side tables and a few people at the bar. “I guess the regulars come later.”
“I suppose.”
Garrison spotted the bartender and moved toward her. Long blond hair swept into a twist accentuated her high cheekbones just as her crisp white shirt and tight black slacks showed off her figure.