Page 43 of Dark Obsession

He stepped down out of the cab and closed the door. Opening the monster hunter tackle box in the bed, he selected a silver cross and slid it into the front pocket of his shorts. After twisting side to side twice to loosen his spine—and grunting again at the gentle tug on his healing injuries—he headed for the door.

It was, indeed, a bar, and the interior matched the vibe of the outside. Walls painted black, with a long bar on one side and four booths with black vinyl seats and tables lined up against the other. A few tables with chairs were scattered throughout the area between, a couple occupied by men and women, all of whom turned to look at him. He nodded and sat on a stool at the end of the bar closest to the door. A woman stood behind the long stretch of dark red polished wood, studying him. She had a wide face and nose, and she looked tough and tired of everyone’s shit. He guessed she had at least a baseball bat close at hand. More likely a shotgun.

She waited a few seconds, almost as if gauging whether or not he’d run out before she could make it down to him. When he remained on the stool staring back, she sighed and approached. She was broad shouldered and wide-hipped, but she carried herself well and moved with authority. A faded denim shirt over a white t-shirt looked clean and fresh. Her hair was dirty blond and pulled back into a tiny knot at the base of her neck.

“Want something?” Her voice was low and surprisingly warm.

“Yeah. A beer.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Any particular brand catch your eye?” She tipped her head to where empty bottles were on display above the cash register.

His cheeks warmed, and he ordered something familiar. When she turned away to grab the bottle from the cooler, he pressed a palm against the cross in his pocket, reassuring himself it was still there. The woman twisted off the cap and set the bottle before him.

“Cash or tab?”

“Cash.”

“Five fifty.”

He slid a ten across the wood. She placed the change before him, held his gaze a moment, then returned to the center of the bar. Cody sipped his beer and slowly took stock of the place. Beyond the far end of the bar was a back area that hadn’t registered when he’d first walked in. Three guys and two women stood around a pool table there, all wearing some combination of denim and leather. All ignoring the game and staring right back at him.

Darkness crowded the edge of his vision, and an empty feeling bloomed in the top of his head. Dropping his eyes to the beer, he took another pull. The cold, sharp taste helped bring him back.

The glow of a phone screen lit up one of the booths near the back, catching his eye. He glimpsed the face of the Spirit’s driver—shadowed eyes, heavy scruff, hollowed cheeks. Cody looked away, back toward the bartender. She was drying a glass, but had her eye on the guy in the booth.

“Hey, Marlowe, can we get another pitcher back here?”

The shout came from one of the guys standing by the pool table, and the bartender—apparently Marlowe—waved in acknowledgment before slotting a pitcher under a tap. She carried it and fresh glasses back to the group, and Cody heard a few whispers he couldn’t make out. A short time later, Marlowe returned to her spot behind the bar. She caught him watching and gestured his way.

“Need another?”

“Yeah,” he said without thinking about it. Dammit, he didn’t need another beer, but he was too nervous for this undercover bullshit. She grabbed a fresh bottle from the cooler and opened it as she approached. When he held out another ten, she waved it off. “This one’s on me.”

“Oh, um, thanks. But you don’t have to do that.”

“I know. It’s just my friendly nature.”

He snorted a laugh as she checked the guy in the booth over her shoulder.

“Friend of yours?” Cody asked, lowering his voice.

When she gave him her attention again, he noticed the vibrant blue of her eyes. Another long silence, and then she said in that smooth-as-river-rock voice, “Haven’t seen you here at the Screw before.”

“My first time.” He squinted. “Did you say The Screw?”

“Name of the place. The Rusty Screw.”

“Got it. Okay. There wasn’t a sign.”

“Some places don’t need one.”

He nodded, then lifted his bottle and waved it to indicate the bar. “Well, I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks.” She wiped a ring off the bar, but threw another look over her shoulder.

“He making you nervous?”

“Most people make me nervous.” She studied Cody as if sizing him up. Then she leaned in slightly, and he found himself doing the same. When she spoke, her voice was so low he could barely hear her. “Third night in a row he’s been here. Buys one beer and nurses it all night. Just sits there, watching people.”