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Matt looks behind him, but his gaze doesn’t swing in our direction. There’s a lot of telltale signs that someone is nervous—sweaty brow, fidgeting, difficulty maintaining eye contact. He doesn’t display any of those things, but there’s a frenetic energy to him. Something that seems a little...off.
It’s those details—the small inconsistencies—that often unravel a criminal’s plans. They’re also what make some cases hard to crack, because we can’t arrest someone based on a “feeling.” Well, I can’t arrest anyone full stop. I’m only here to gather information, to try to make a link between this case and the one I worked five years ago.
“He’s going out back,” I whisper. “Bartender is going with him.”
Hannah turns to see where they’re going. The two men disappear into a door markedstaff only.
“We should follow them,” Hannah says.
“We’ll get stopped in a heartbeat. Or it willlooklike we were following them.” I rake a hand through my hair and then I’m struck with an idea. “I wonder if this place backs onto an alley. We could go around.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” She slides off her stool and musses her hair so it looks a little wild. “Stay here.”
“Don’t even think about it.” I reach out to grab her wrist, but she dodges me, giggling as if I’ve said something incredibly funny. Then she turns, weaving through the tables in a way that’s ever-so-slightly unsteady, like she’s a bit drunk.
Dammit, Hannah.
I sit on my stool, stewing for a bit. I know what she’s doing and I know it wouldn’t be the first time an undercover cop got intel by pretending to be drunk. Hell, it wouldn’t be thethousandthtime. But we don’t know what’s back there. We don’t know where the exits are if she gets trapped. We don’t even know what the plan is because we don’t fucking have one. We were supposed to be keeping an eye on Matt by waiting until he left the building and then slipping out of the pub to follow him discreetly.
Only we’d had no idea he’d walk straight into our stakeout spot.
I donotlike the idea of Hannah going back there alone. The female bartender doesn’t even give her a second look—after all, there’s nothing unusual about a tipsy girl in a pub. Hannah makes out like she’s headed for the ladies’ room and when she clumsily sidesteps two women coming the other way, she ducks into the same door Matt went through a few minutes ago.
Then she’s gone.
Immediately my body reacts with visceral displeasure—my heartbeat kicks up a notch and my pulse pounds in my head. I don’t like this at all.
She’ll be fine. Hannah is a perfectly capable police officer and she knows what she’s doing.
But I’ve already broken out into a sweat, my palms itching as I rub them down my thighs, trying to quash the sensation. No, something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones. I get off my stool and try to follow her. But my plan is foiled when I attempt to enter the staff door and a big, burly guy comes out the other way carrying two plates.
I attempt a casual laugh. “I’m sorry, my wife had a bit to drink and I think she went through here.”
“I didn’t see anybody.”
“Is that the kitchen?”
The guy looks at me suspiciously. “Yeah. Kitchen and our loading dock. But I didn’t see anyone.”
The loading dock.
I head out the front of the pub and immediately curl around to the right. If there’s a loading dock, then there’s a way for vehicles to get in.
I race around the corner, my heart thudding like a fist pounding against my rib cage. In my mind, the worst-case scenario is already playing out. Hannah surrounded, vulnerable. But my mind is playing tricks on me and suddenly I’m seeing something old.
Photos. Blood splatter. Bullet holes. Mum. Dad. My brother. The girl I thought I’d be with forever.
“Hannah!” I call as I turn the corner.
I’m panicking. The feeling washes over me like sickly sludge, addling my brain and my ability to think. I see her. She’s talking to a group of men and one of them grabs her arm. There’s a smile on her face, but it’s brittle like old plaster.
Fuck.
I storm up the alley, dodging the stinking garbage bins that smell like rotten food. There are three guys, one of them is Matt. If I go in too hard, we might lose any chance of being able to talk to him later. I could royally screw this up. But no amount of logic will stop me now, not when I see the guy who has Hannah’s arm in his meaty grip tugging her away from the group and further down into the alley.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hannah
