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Alerted by Asher’s surname in the conversation, I openly eavesdropped, glancing in the direction that Knox told Pick to look.
“Fuck. What the hell is he doing here? I thought he was still in prison.”
It took me, like, half a second after that to figure out who they were talking about.
Snapping my fingers, I pointed at each man, remembering the news report Jodi had been watching when I’d gotten home from practice.
“Was he being held at Statesburg?” I couldn’t refrain from asking because I suddenly remembered Asher mentioning that, and oh, shit.
Fuck was right. This could not be good.
When both Knox and Pick sent me scowls for butting into their conversation, I cleared my throat. “It’s just...they showed something on the news earlier, saying about fifty inmates from Statesburg prison had been set free on early parole because the place is being shut down, and the other surrounding prisons were too crowded to take them all in.”
“Holy shit,” Knox murmured, sharing a concerned glance with Pick, who also looked worried.
Since I’d already bulldozed my way into this much, I just kept going, because seriously, I had to know. “Who’s Miller Hart? He’s Asher’s dad, isn’t he?”
Unease crossed Pick’s face before he reluctantly nodded. “Yeah.”
“Ah...fuck.” I turned back to study the man who’d killed Asher’s mother. “This can’t be good.”
“Do you think he’s here because of Asher?” Knox asked Pick.
But I was the one who answered. “Of course he’s here because of Asher. Why else would he come here? Asher’s his son...not to mention the only eyewitness to seeing the guy kill his wife. It was probably Asher’s testimony that put him away. If he’s at all vengeful, hell yes, this would be the first place he’d come.”
“Wait. How did you know Asher was the only eyewitness?” Pick eyed me with a funny kind of suspicion. “Did he tell you that?”
I shrugged. “It...came up.”
“Shit,” Knox spoke up suddenly. “He’s headed this way. What do we do?”
Pick took control, pointing. “Knox, get Asher to my office. Now. I’ll get rid of this fucker.”
But Knox shook his head. “Screw that. You’re not dealing with Miller Hart by yourself. He’s old and pathetic, but untrustworthy as hell.”
“I’ll get Asher out of sight,” I offered.
Pick shot me a surprised yet grateful glance. “Thanks.”
As Knox leapt over the counter to follow Pick toward Miller Hart, I scanned the stage area for Asher. The karaoke machine started playing a One Direction song, so whatever he’d been helping a customer do, he must’ve finished. That meant he was probably headed back to the bar. So I started toward the stage to intercept him, weaving and sometimes pushing through people to get to where he had to be.
I ended up almost plowing into him as I dodged around a gossiping horde of women, and suddenly there he was.
We both pulled up short, not expecting to see each other.
His eyes went wide with surprise and what looked like leery apprehension. “Sticks. What—”
“Oh, thank God,” I blurted over him, urgently waving him to follow me as I darted toward a huge opening that led down a wide, but low-ceilinged hallway. “Come on, come on, come on. This way.”
I was shocked when he actually did come. “Why? What’s going on?”
“We need to get out of sight.” I clutched his upper arm as soon as we hit the less-crowded hall. “Which door leads to Pick’s office?”
Eyebrows crinkling with confusion, he pointed. “That one. Why? Wha...?”
I yanked him into the room with me and slammed the door. Then, panting hard, I leaned against it for good measure.
After stumbling off balance from my tug, he regained his balance to gape at me. “What the hell, man?”
