Chapter 3
T he dark-haired pixie skitters around the bar like a mosquito drawn to a light.
She hasn’t had a break in the three hours I’ve been watching her this shift. If she hadn’t taken a nap between her dinner shift and the bar shift, I’d be worried she was going to pass out on her feet.
But even with the nap, the fatigue shows in her eyes. As tucked away in a dark corner of the bar as I am, she hasn’t noticed me yet. Last night was the first time I let her see me, but I’ve been watching her for days.
She’s too caught up in work to notice much outside of the drinks she carries and the drunk assholes she has to maneuver around to do her job .
She’s a hard worker, which surprised me. I’d expected to find her hiding out, avoiding her troubles. Tracking her down was even more of a challenge than I had thought it would be when I agreed to do Alexander Volkov a favor.
Mira Pierce hadn’t just run away from home; she’d covered her tracks as well as she could. She relied on cash, so tracking her through credit cards and debit cards didn’t help. And she’d stopped using her cell phone months ago.
“Do that again and you’re out of here!” The redheaded waitress working with Mira tonight shoves a finger in a guy’s face two tables over.
“What? I just wanted to say thanks, darlin,’” the drunk asshole’s words slur as he wobbles on his stool.
“Don’t touch the girls.” The bouncer slaps a hand on his shoulder. “Do it again and you’re gone.”
“Whatever.” The drunk guy waves his hand in the air. “Fine. Fine!”
He shrugs off the bartender’s hand.
“Fuck off!” A fight is brewing near the pool tables.
The same two men from last night who couldn’t keep their heads cool are back tonight. And it seems whatever their problems with each other are, they’ve carried them inside with them.
My phone dances on the table as a text comes through from Sasha. He’s been doing more tracking for me on another issue I had to put aside to follow the Pixie around the Midwest.
No movement. You going there next?
I glance up toward the pool tables as the yelling and chest thumping escalates. Men who can’t control themselves turn my stomach. These are the same men who will grope a waitress and hope to get her alone so they can shove a tongue down her throat and call it a conquest.
Keep tabs for me. I’ll let you know.
After I shoot back my response, I finish off the beer I’ve been nursing for the last hour. What I really want is an old-fashioned, but I tried one last week, and the bourbon they have here is far from top shelf. This is purely a beer and whiskey dive.
“Whoa!” Another shout goes up as a fight breaks out. One fist flies through the air, then another.
I’m barely off my stool, moving to position myself where I can watch Mira to be sure she doesn’t get hit like she almost did yesterday, when I see her dive between the men in an attempt to break them up.
Damn it. Impulsive fool.
Shoving the men starting miniature brawls on the sidelines aside, I push my way toward the main fight. I’m too late. A fist lands, striking Mira across her chin and sending her spiraling back. In the next instant, she’s on the ground, crumpled in a ball.
Charlie, the fucking bouncer who should have been there before the first fist was thrown, jumps in and grabs one of the fuckers, shoving him back until he’s pressed against the wall.
“Fuck, Brad. You knocked her out!” The guy who the fist had been intended for stands over Mira.
I want to rip his head off, but first I need to see if she’ s all right. She’s not getting up off the floor, and when I squat beside her and roll her to her back, I see why. A cut about an inch long runs along her eyebrow, and it’s deep. She must have hit the edge of the pool table on her way down.
“Get them away,” I bark as the crowd starts to inch closer to get a look at the bleeding waitress on the sticky floor of this shit place.
“Oh, shit.” The redheaded waitress meets me on the floor, casting her gaze over Mira. “She’s out cold.”
“Fuck. I didn’t mean to get her—hey, let me go!” I turn for a second to set eyes on the asshole who landed the punch.
The prick must feel my glare on him, because his eyes go wide before he meets my stare. Even in the dimness of the bar, I can see the color running from his face.
I meet Charlie’s hard stare over the prick’s shoulder. He gives me a little nod, a sign he’s reading me loud and clear and drags him through the crowd, away from me. I’ll get to him later.
“She’s waking up.” The redhead pats Mira’s cheek. “Hey, you awake?”
Mira’s eyes flutter open, and her forehead wrinkles as her eyes come into focus.
“What…what happened?” she asks, raising her hand to her head.
“No, don’t touch.” I pull her arm back down, getting her hand away from the open wound and alerting her to my presence in the process.
Her eyes go wide when she recognizes me .
“The ambulance is on the way.” Henry, the owner of this hole in the wall, pipes up.
“Why?” She keeps looking at me.
“Because you hit your head hard. You need stitches, and they’ll want to check for a concussion,” I say, playing along with the others.
The last thing I want is her in the hospital. I’ve stitched up worse wounds than this but getting her out of here right now, while everyone’s watching so intently, will be more trouble than it’s worth. In my work, flexibility is key. I can make this work.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, blinking up at me.
“Checking in on you.” I force a smile and a calm voice.
The redhead stares at me. “I think we got this, thanks.”
She tries to push me away, but I maneuver Mira so she’s lying with her head on my knee.
“They’re here!” Henry yells. The music that was blaring only minutes ago has stopped, and most of the crowd has backed away to allow the paramedics through with a gurney.
I give Mira over to the EMTs and back away to blend in with the onlookers. No one knows me here, and a stranger being too involved in Mira’s situation will stick out.
From further back in the crowd, I watch as they load her, unwillingly at first, onto the gurney after having cleansed the wound and tried to stop the bleeding. Head wounds bleed like a motherfucker, and her cut is pretty deep. It takes them time to get it under control.
“You need stitches, and we can’t do that out in the field,” the EMT dressing the wound tells her.
“Just go, Mira. Let them check you out,” the redhead pushes. Mira finally agrees and lies back as they roll her from the bar.
By the time they pull away from the bar with their lights flashing, I’m in my car and ready to follow. There’s only one hospital in this town, but I’m not letting that ambulance out of my sight.
As we drive past the police station a few blocks down, I take note that the asshole who hit her is being taken out of the backseat of a cruiser and led into the building.
Good. They can hold on to him for now, and then he’s mine.
When I get to the emergency room, I head for what looks like the entrance to the exam rooms. An older woman with a pair of glasses swinging from her neck on one of those pearl chains stops me.
“Excuse me, hun, you can’t just go back there. Are you here to see someone?” She gently tugs on my jacket sleeve, and because she’s half my size and has the look of my own grandmother, I don’t shove her off me.
“I’m looking for Mira Peterson.” I give the fake name she’s been using.
Only changing her last name was probably easier for her not to screw it up. Answering to a brand new name can be hard, and she needed to keep up appearances.
“She just arrived by ambulance.” I offer when she starts to tap away on her computer.
She looks over the brim of the glasses she’s perched on her nose in order to see the computer screen. “Only family members are allowed back there during an emergency. Are you family?”
“Her husband.” I say with finality.
There’s absolutely no way this woman or anyone else would believe I’m related to Mira. I’m over six feet tall, and Mira might hit five three if she stands on her toes.
My answer appeases the old woman. “I thought so. You looked like a concerned husband the way you rushed in. Let’s get you back there. They have her in room three.”
I let her lead me through the swinging double doors to the exam rooms. In the middle of the section is a large circular desk where the nurses and doctors are working on computers. A few are paired up at a set of view boxes, looking at x-rays of what looks like a broken arm.
“Here she is. The doctor is in with her already.” The old woman pulls back the curtain that acts as the door.
The doctor is leaning over Mira, peeling off the gauze the EMTs taped over her wound. I stand at the foot of the bed, staying out of his way while he does his exam. She hisses when he probes the injury, and I have to stuff my fists into my pockets.
“Well, the bleeding has stopped finally. These head injuries usually look worse than they are. It definitely needs some stitches; it’s pretty deep, and we’ll want a head CT to be sure there’s no swelling or internal bleeding.” The doctor stands up straight, exposing my presence to her.
Her eyes go wide when she sees me, and the doctor follows her gaze to me, suspicion written all over his face.
“Sorry. I had to follow behind in the car.” I look from the doctor to her. “I promised Megan I’d call when we knew you were all right.”
“You are?” The doctor remains staring at me.
“Rurik. Mira’s husband.” I grab her feet with both hands and gently squeeze, making it look like I’m just holding her. “She really hit the table hard when she went down.”
“A table?”
Her eyes still wide, she swallows, then purses her lips. It’s faint, but it’s there. Reluctant acceptance. At least for the moment.
“Yeah.” She clears her throat while moving her attention back to the doctor. “Some guy at the Dive Bar accidentally punched me, when I went down, I hit the edge of the pool table.” She fills in the story.