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I was lucky to have the use of it, spending weeks in a cast, the same amount of time kept in my father’s basement, provided with a taste of what happened to soldiers who didn’t follow the man’s orders. That had never occurred again. I’d toughened up, refusing to care about anything or anyone but money and power.
“I’m well aware, Ivan, but it’s best to rule out the possible obvious. Have Juan and another one of our younger Spanish soldiers do a little reconnaissance in South LA for the next couple of weeks. I want to hear word on the street we wouldn’t ordinarily hear.”
“Clever.”
“Thank you very much.”
“And what are you going to be doing, boss?” he asked slyly, knowing full good and well I had something up my sleeve.
“We’re headed to Alaska. Jacob as well. It would seem the clues are leading us there. Have him find us a private place to stay.” Jacob was from Alaska, a made man I’d worked with for years. His expertise in the environment and the culture could come in handy, Ivan’s as well since so many of the people living in Sitka were from Russian descent.
“Fuck. Isn’t it cold as a witch’s tit up there?”
“You’re from Siberia. How could cold bother you?”
“Because I’ve lived in LA for most of my life. When do we leave and for how long?”
“Tomorrow,” I said in passing, studying the kamikaze soldier one last time. “For an undetermined period of time.”
Maybe it would do me some good to get the hell out of Tinsel Town, if only for a little while.
CHAPTER 4
Sabrina
The Pioneer Saloon was my kind of joint. It was full of Alaskan men who worked hard for a living and desired to play even harder after they’d spent long hours in their respective professions just to make ends meet.
Since my face and position were both widely known throughout the town, I was usually left alone when spending a night out with the girls. I’d never been the frilly type, preferring dive bars filled with pool tables and dartboards to high dollar clubs where chicks got dolled up in dresses that cost more than I made in a week. I owned one pair of black heels I’d had for almost five years. They’d served me well for two weddings, three funerals, and a baby shower of a girl I’d barely gotten to know in Phoenix.
As far as dresses? Well, I hadn’t been in one for as long as I could remember. Tonight was no exception. I was wearing my usual off-duty attire of tight blue jeans, a Henley shirt, and my favorite pair of boots. Whether or not I attracted a man wasn’t on my radar so neither was dressing up.
I was here to play a couple of games, do a few shots, and enjoy time spent with my posse. The four of us had started to call ourselves that after Kathleen had come into the fold, savoring the two or three nights a month we could get together, just the four of us.
And after the last couple of days, I needed a little R & R more than usual.
The images of the murder continued to ravage my mind from the sheer brutality.
Damon had attempted to get in touch with Carlos Desposito, the owner of the house where the crime had occurred, but the man was on some business trip in South America. From what my deputy had been told, the man was out of reception range for his cell phone. If that didn’t raise red flags, I don’t know what would. While I’d run the fingerprints of the victim through my database, the fact he didn’t have a record hadn’t allowed easy identification.
His dental records were taking longer, although my instinct told me that would prove to be a dead end as well. While it was possible the man had been a squatter, I had a feeling the missing key to his identity had to do with Carlos. Even running his name through our system had proved rather useless. The man didn’t have so much as a parking ticket.
I remained on edge, my hackles raised, concerned this wasn’t an isolated incident. For tonight, I’d try to get my mind off the situation. Maybe a fresh perspective would provide me with a plan of some kind.
After taking a deep breath I walked inside, immediately drinking in the scent of bad aftershave, stale cigarettes from long before, and whatever alcohol had stained the old wooden floors. The saloon had definitely seen better days but was a signature bar well known and loved by almost everyone.
It was also owned by the third generation Sampson—Jenika, one of my best friends. She’d never wanted to take over the place from her father, but after the untimely death of her brother in the Marines, she’d felt it her obligation to do so.
The less than luxurious profession was far removed from her days as a model making a hundred thousand a shoot. However, she was damn good at it.
As I milled through the crowd of mostly regulars, a few mugs of beer were lifted in my honor, other gruff guys turning their backs on me. A few of them had landed their sorry asses in my jail cell, mostly for being inebriated in public. For that, they’d learned to hate me.
No, I wasn’t loved by everyone given I was tough as nails. I’d learned the hard way that was vital in order to stay alive on the brutal streets of LA. The girls were in the back at what had become our usual table, a round top all the regulars knew to leave alone. Jenika had no issue reminding them the table was ours until the end of time.
I’d always teased her about being okay with spending time at her own bar when she was off duty, but she’d insisted she’d prefer the place to any of the few others located throughout the town. She’d also insisted she had to watch her place like a hawk, but that was only an excuse and we all knew it.
Located directly across the street was a lovely but quaint hotel catering to tourists who came to hike, fish, or enjoy whitewater rafting then headed across the street to the local pub to wet their whistle.
That included a fair share of gorgeous outdoorsy men, a couple she’d even hooked up with over the years.
