“Hey, Doc?”
I turn, anticipation making my heart beat faster than it has any right to do.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not done with you yet.”
Chapter Three
Parker
The Cadillac under my control starts to knock, the V8 engine finally ready to give up and die as I practically roll past the sign welcoming me into Rockford Beach…for the second time in the last four months. To be fair, the old girl has done me proud since I arrived in the US and picked her up from a dodgy dealership.
Allowing the car to roll to a stop, I pull over to the side of the road and sigh. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The plan was to arrive all fresh and rosy, a smile on my face, a letter in my hand, and plenty of money to spare so I could set myself up and not look like a complete scrounger. But no…said plan was fucked up the arse by an uppity cunt who stabbed me literally in the back for dancing with her man—bet she regrets that now, though, while she’s pushing up daisies in the dirt.
And the US healthcare system is no joke. I actually had to pay to not die. So now I’m poor as a motherfucker and I will have to walk the rest of the way.
It’s almost dark, the sky a dusky blue as the sun sets, and I grab my bag and suitcase from the back seat, leaving the keys inthe car because, well, I have no more use for her. The wind is blowing a soft breeze against my pale skin as I start walking, the heat from the day retreating and cooling me down. I love this time of night, the transition in the colors of the sky and the smell of salt wafting up from the sea nearby.
It feels like this place could be home…as long as I find him and maybe don’t kill anyone else. That would be good.
The wheels of my bright-purple suitcase scrape across the asphalt behind me as I pass a gas station, the dull noise drowned out by the sound of cars continuing on their journeys around me. Lucky fucks. I could steal a car. It’s not like I’m a novice, but I’m trying to avoid unwanted attention and start a new life, not live the same old shit from before.
Sounds of life from the large town make me pause and take a deep breath. This is the same point I faltered last time. Although, I had my car then and I parked in the parking lot beside the gas station.
Will he even want to see me? I have spent the last year of my life wanting nothing more than to see him. If my mum hadn’t been American, it would have taken longer. Thank you, dual citizenship and the occasional trip across the pond when Mum wasn’t too doped up, meaning the majority of my paperwork to be here permanently was already dealt with. Then I applied for my new social security number before I flew over so that I can actually work here legally too. Only took two weeks…
Fuck it, I’m going in the bar again. I walk past the gas station and through the parking lot beside it toward the same bar I frequented when I came before. A sensible person would avoid it or pass on by without a glance, but I am not she. I need some Dutch courage and there’s a guy I need to thank, because I’m polite like that. Also, if there happen to be more assholes inside too, then I wouldn’t be mad. I just need to avoid getting stabbed again.
Waiting four months before returning felt like a whole other lifetime, but realistically, I needed the dust to settle because I don’t fancy getting arrested for murder in a foreign country. I constantly checked the Internet for local news stories about the death of the woman, but nothing ever came of it so I’m pretty sure I’m in the clear. Those asshole guys with her must have covered it up, but I hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out for sure.
“Ma’am, would you like us to put your suitcase in the coat check?”
I fucking love the American accent. It doesn’t matter what lilt they have to their words, it’s always considerably better than my bog-standard, boring London one.
“No, thanks, I’m just here to find someone.”
He nods, his bleach-blonde hair falling into his eyes. He looks like the stereotypical surfer dude who hangs around at the beach on his off days—if I can stay, surfing is on my to-do list.
“Should be easy, it’s Wednesday so we’re not busy tonight.” Grinning, he steps aside so I can enter, wheeling my case behind me. Amusement dances in his gaze as he eyes my luggage, a clearly held-back smile on his thin lips, but he doesn’t say anything else.
The sun has disappeared completely before I am fully inside the bar and it doesn’t take long to realize the surfer dude was right. This place is dead. There are three men propping up the bar, disheveled suits and all, seemingly enjoying after-work drinks. And there are only two tables occupied; one by a group of women excitedly taking selfies and filming each other drinking their fancy cocktails, the other by some loved up couple holding hands over the small round table between them.
None of the people in here are the man I hoped to find. Although, the chances of him being here mid-week, four months later, were slim.
The clink of glasses and the pouring of shots has me inching closer toward the bar. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m stalling. This whole bar detour is me stalling. I did exactly the same thing last time.
“Whiskey, please.”
The bartender smiles politely and pours my drink as I sit on one of the tall, backless stools. I place my backpack beside my case, at my feet, and slide the money on the bar.
More people begin to fill the place up as the minutes—okay, hours—pass by, but it’s still relatively empty for a thriving bar. Not that I would know with my limited knowledge of one visit on a Saturday night.
I’m three whiskeys and four tequilas in before the first man approaches me, a cocky grin telling me he thinks he actually stands a chance. Now, I’m no prude, far from it, but I do have some standards, and a beefy prick with greasy hair tied atop his head into a shitty bun is not the one.
“Can I get you a drink?” He sidles up beside me, briefly glancing down to my case but opting to ignore it.
I could say no, but who am I to refuse a drink?