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“We didn’t need it then, sugar,” Markie explained, standing next to Allister.
“How’d ya find me?”
Markie tapped his temple. “Good memory.”
The bartender observed but she didn’t make a move. The kid shook his head at her and Allister slowly released him, piecing together possible scenarios. “We need to see the man in charge.”
“Why?” He was visibly more shaken with each passing second.
Allister sort of felt sorry for the guy. He couldn’t have been a day over twenty-two. “Look, Markie said you were cool at the airport.”
The fellow stood a little taller. “Yeah, and?”
“Said you mentioned this place. We need your help. We need to talk to the owner.”
“You want to talk to my dad?” He balked at that. “That’s not a good idea, man.”
“Your father owns this place?”
“Yeah, but he’ll knock me out of the state if he finds out I hooked up with you guys in an airport and you followed me here.”
“He already knows.” A buff guy in his early to mid fifties stepped out of the shadows. He tapped the bar in passing. “Thanks, Chelle.”
The bartender smiled sweetly. “Don’t mention it.”
“What can I do for you boys?” He swung his gaze at his son and the young man’s friend. “Get in the back. Wait on me there.”
Allister extended his arm. “I’m Allister McCall. This here is—”
“I don’t care about names,” the fellow interrupted him. “Don’t plan on giving you mine either. Why are you here?”
Markie clucked. “See, I ran into your—”
“We ran into your boy,” Mac said, interrupting Markie, given the fact he’d stepped into his twink persona, the one he’d practiced and perfected for the last man he’d dated. “He didn’t say anything he shouldn’t. He’s a good kid. Recommended your bar, more or less, and we happened to remember it.”
“If you came here for a drink then pull up a seat,” the man said, narrowing his eyes. “But you ain’t here for a cold one. Are ya?”
“Our women were abducted at the airport,” Harley said. “We believe you may be able to help us.”
“Women?” He scanned the crowd behind Allister. “How many?”
“Four.” Allister found it rather odd that he would ask for a number first.
Mac and Harley flinched at that response, too. Did he know where they could find their ladies?
“How come you came here instead of calling the cops?” He propped up his elbow on his forearm and stroked his chin. “What’d they do?”
“It’s not what they did, it’s who has them and why.”
“Who has ’em?”
“A guy named Seth Parkinson.”
The blood drained from the fellow’s face. “Parkinson?” He frowned. “Never heard of him.”
Allister lost his cool and probably would’ve attacked the man for lying then if Harley hadn’t pushed him back and stepped forward with reason. “Look, dude. It’s written all over your face. You know who he is. You know what he’s capable of.” Harley shoved his hand in his pocket and retrieved his phone. He flashed a picture of Ellie and Sable.
The man said, “Look like women to me, but they aren’t ordinary women. Are they?”
