Chapter 31
Before I left the room, I put the tube of lipstick in my jacket pocket, then headed out the door.
I exited through the back of the building, taking the car in the parking garage in case Knox had figured out we were staying here and was watching for our car.
Based on the car keys James had left on the nightstand, I knew he’d taken the luxury car to the meeting.
Once I found the car, I drove toward the bar, ignoring the first two calls from Carter. As I neared the bar, I answered the third one.
“What the hell are you doing, Harper?” he demanded furiously.
“You know,” I said in irritation. “I love how you and James conveniently forget I was a cop. I’m not some simpleton playing amateur sleuth. I know what I’m doing.”
“And I sure as hell bet you had backup,” Carter shot back. “Right now you have none.”
“I can handle myself,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m in disguise. No one will know it’s me. If James is in there I doubt he’d even recognize me.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” he grumbled, then he snapped, “Fine. If you’re gonna insist on doing this, you need to check in and let me know what’s goin’ on.” He added, “So when you disappear and Skeeter gets back and needs to look for you, at least I’ll have a few clues for him to follow.”
“Very funny,” I scoffed.
“Actually, it’s not funny at all. I want to make it clear that I told you not to do this.”
“You’ve made that very clear.”
“I recorded that so I can prove it to Skeeter later when he threatens to fire me.”
“That’s not gonna happen, Carter,” I said, some of my frustration fading. “And I’ll check in with you.”
“Thank you.” He paused. “I guess it goes without saying: be careful.”
I released a dry laugh. “Got it.”
I hung up and pulled into a parking spot on the street, a half block between the bar and the last known location of James’s phone. I considered bringing the backpack in but decided it would look suspicious. The gun at my ankle would have to do.
I headed down the sidewalk, scanning the windows of the businesses as I made my way to the intersection. Most businesses were closed, but the few that were open were small, the interiors lit enough for me to see he wasn’t inside.
I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned when I spotted his car twenty feet ahead, parked against the curb.
My heart began to race I approached it, scared I’d find him dead inside.
I held my breath when I reached the passenger side window and peered inside, then closed my eyes as relief rushed through me. It was empty.
So where was he?
I slowly spun around, taking in the businesses around the corner, trying to figure out if he could have had a destination other than the bar. But everything looked closed, even the diner.
Time to find Razor.
I sent a text to Carter, telling him I’d found the car, but there was no sign of James, and I was headed to the bar.
As I walked toward it, I worked on a plan to get information. Since I couldn’t just walk up to Razor and ask him if he’d seen James, I was going to have to get him talking. That meant I had to gain his interest.
The bar was dimly lit when I walked in. I gave myself two seconds to let my eyes adjust and search for Razor. There were about twenty men and a handful of women in the room, most of them at the tables and booths. None of them looked like him.
I stifled my disappointment as I headed to the counter and hopped up on a stool, several feet away from two men, the only other customers sitting at the bar.
All the bottles on the wall in front of me made me realize this was a moment of truth.
I’d known I’d have to face this issue, but now it was staring me square in the face. I couldn’t order ginger ale or club soda. I needed to fit in, and that would post a neon sign over my head.
Dammit.
What did this mean for my sobriety? I was surprised at the sting of tears, but I blinked them away. I had to focus on finding James.
A bartender who looked like a linebacker with a big bushy beard headed over to me. “What’re you havin’?”
I scanned the shelf behind him, then came to a decision. “A finger of McClellan.” I reasoned if I was drinking expensive Scottish whisky, it made sense that I’d drink it slowly.
He cocked an eyebrow. “The good stuff, huh?”
“That and a bottle of water.”
He gave me a curt nod and walked away.
I sat back in my stool, slowly scanning the room like I was a woman on the hunt for a man.
I was halfway around the room when I spotted Razor in a booth talking to a man sitting across from him.
I didn’t recognize the guy, but I pulled out my phone and set it on the counter. I needed to get a photo of him.
The bartender returned with my drinks, sliding the whisky onto a napkin and setting the unopened water bottle next to it. “Ain’t seen you in here before,” he said, giving me a slow once-over.
“That’s because I’m new to Little Rock,” I said, shooting him a don’t fuck with me glare.
“Where’d you move from?” he asked, still studying me.
“Memphis.”
“What made you move to Little Rock?”
My expression hardened. “What is this? Twenty questions? What the fuck does it matter where I moved from?” I nodded to the glass. “I’m here to enjoy a good whisky and check out the local men.”
The sharpness was deliberate. Meek women didn’t pop into biker bars alone. I had to prove I belonged here or possibly be harassed. Or worse.
It must have worked because he lifted a hand in surrender as a grin spread across his face. “Fair enough. Enjoy Scotland’s finest.” His gaze flicked to the glass as though he was waiting for me to prove my point.
Steeling my back, I reached for the glass. I was terrified to take a sip. If I started, I wasn’t sure I could stop. But if I got shit faced, I wouldn’t have the wits to find James.
I lifted the glass up anyway, letting a small sip of the amber liquid pass over my lips. The rush hit hard, warm and familiar. I lowered the glass, trying to make it look natural while I clutched the tumbler like it was either armor or a snake waiting to bite.
He seemed satisfied and sauntered to the other end of the bar.
I needed to take a photo of the guy with Razor, but I couldn’t just snap one. A selfie would be the best way to get it, especially since they were directly behind me, but I doubted selfies were the norm here. Then I remembered the tube of red lipstick in my jacket pocket.
I slipped it out, then opened my camera phone to selfie mode and held it up to reapply my lipstick, making sure I had a good glimpse at the two men in the booth in the upper corner of the frame. It was dark enough it took a moment to snap the photo.
The man with Razor glanced up and his face darkened. He leaned over the table and said something to Razor. I lowered my phone to my lap and quickly sent the image to Carter in a text. Then, to be safe, I deleted the image and put the phone to sleep, all while acting like I’d just finished primping.
“Did you take a photo of me?” a gruff voice said to my left.
I picked up my glass and slowly turned to face the man, not surprised it was Razor. I looked him up and down. “Why would I take a photo of you?” I asked in a condescending tone.
“Give me your phone.”
I shot him a stern look. “Like hell I will.”
His face reddened. “Give. Me. Your. Phone.
I set my glass down. “Fuck you, asshole. But if you’re so damned paranoid, I’ll prove to you I didn’t take your damned photo.”
I opened the phone and started to pull up the photo library, realizing I’d just screwed up again. This was a new phone with a new account. There wouldn’t be any images.
Only there were multiple photos of the girls James had on his phone.
I doubted that was much better. Still, I made a show of lifting my phone and quickly shuffling through the images, hoping he wouldn’t realize what he was looking at. I lowered my phone, put it to sleep, then set in on the bar face down while giving him a patronizing smile. “Happy?” I snapped.
“Then what the fuck were you doin’?”
“Using my camera as a mirror to put on lipstick,” I said, pulling out my tube and showing him. “So, I can look good for big, burly men.” I made an expression of disgust. “But not for assholes like you.”
I turned away from him, pretending I didn’t give a shit that he was towering over me. After a couple of seconds, he said in a softer tone. “Let me buy you a drink to make up for accusing you.”
“Fuck off,” I said, keeping my gaze on the bottles on the wall behind the bar. “I can buy my own drinks.” Then to prove my point, I lifted my glass and took another sip, ignoring the blissful feeling of the smooth fire coating my tongue.
I wasn’t sure what my plan was here. I needed to chill, or I might piss him off and either get kicked out or have the shit beat out of me, a definite possibility given his previous domestic violence charges.
Or he might see me as a challenge and hang around to wear me down.
I figured it could go either way. But I was counting on the fact that the bartender recognized me as a newcomer, and Razor might appreciate a fresh prospect to screw.
He slid onto the stool next to me and leaned close. “I said I was sorry. You had your phone up. What else was I supposed to think?”
I glanced over at him with a dry look. “What are you, famous? You think I’m paparazzi?
He laughed. “Nothin’ like that.” He flashed a toothy grin. “What can I do? I can’t have a pretty thing like you pissed off at me.”
“Tell you what,” I said. holding my glass from the top between my thumb and index finger. “You can try to convince me you’re not an asshole while I finish my drink, and if you’ve convinced me, then I’ll let you get the next one.”
“Oh, I am an asshole, sweetheart,” he said with a dry laugh. “But I can-not be an asshole to you.”
“Charming,” I sneered, then took another tiny sip, letting the glass stay on my bottom lip long enough for it look like I’d drunk more.
“You haven’t been here before,” he said as he flagged the bartender.