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“Okay. Where do we start?”
ChapterThirty
It took him longer than he liked to find her. He made the mistake of starting in Illinois, hoping she’d slip up and circle closer to home, before branching out and checking the other surrounding states. He’d come up empty in Indiana and Ohio but finally found exactly what he was looking for in Pennsylvania.
She was waiting tables at a bar again—her favorite—and he’d been sitting on it for the last forty-eight hours. Normally he would snap a few photos and immediately call his client to verify identity and provide a location, but he wasn’t ready to hand her over yet. He wanted some time alone with her first, but she never fucking went anywhere by herself.
She was either with some skinny girl with ugly blue hair, a blonde with big tits, or a dark-haired man that touched her like they were pretty cozy. The first time he saw the asshole put his arm around her, he’d nearly snapped his steering wheel in half.
He couldn’t exactly explain why he was so obsessed with her. It wasn’t his usual MO, but he’d spent a lot of time looking for her, and he deserved a little reward. It’s not like he’d be able to brag about this later to all his friends. Not that he had many friends.
He checked the time on the dash when he saw a shadow cross over the window in the bar’s front door and made the snap decision to do something else he never, ever did. Attempt to make contact.
With his body acting independently of his brain, he got out of his truck and jogged across the street. It was empty, obviously; he’d only just watched them unlock the door. He claimed a small two-top table about halfway down the row and waited. He didn’t know if she was working today, but he hadn’t seen her leave yet either.
The blonde pushed through the swinging door separating the dining room from the kitchen, and he barely hid his disappointment. On any other day, he’d appreciate the sway of her hips and that thick, round ass and the generous handful of her breasts. Today he wanted someone else.
“Hi,” she said sweetly, her accent a little less abrasive than the others he’d been listening to for days. “Welcome to The Black Orchid. My name’s Clara. Can I get you something to drink?”
“A Coke. Or what do y’all call it up here? Pop?”
She smiled. “We’re still serving soda here in Philly. You’ll have to go further west for pop. I’ll be right back with that.”
He gave himself a moment to stare at her ass as she walked away, but then his eyes were roaming the bar. It was a decent place with a lot of wood accents and simple brass fixtures. Simple but expensive and clean.
The blonde emerged from the kitchen again with a glass and a straw in her hand, and he tried to imagine Delaney walking toward him instead. The thought of her smiling at him, greeting him, serving him without knowing he would be her downfall made his dick hard. If only she were here to really fill out the fantasy.
Clara set his drink down on a napkin and gestured to the menu. “You ready to order, or do you need a minute?”
“I need a minute, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure thing.”
“I hope you’re not working by yourself today.”
She paused in her retreat to the kitchen and tilted her head while she studied him. There was something sharp and measuring in her gaze underneath the customer service politeness.
“Don’t worry. There’s always someone around to help out. I’ll check back on you in a few minutes.”
She returned his smile but shot a look at the guy wiping down the bar that had the kid shooting him a curious glance. That girl was sharp. But she was tiny. She’d be easy to overpower if he had a mind to. Lucky for her, he was here for someone else.
The door opened, and a couple of college kids came in and sat at the table right in front of him. They looked like regulars based on the greeting they got from Clara and the way they made small talk. While she was preoccupied with them, he pulled up the photos of Delaney he’d taken with his high-powered lens and sent to his phone.
Her holding hands with the dark-haired man, taking the trash out, laying ice melt down on the front steps, but his favorite was the one he’d snapped of her standing in the window of what must be an apartment above the bar.
Her hair was wrapped up in a colorful scarf, exposing the long line of her neck. Her arms were bare, and the tank top she wore hugged her torso and gave him the perfect view of her breasts. Smaller than Clara’s, but he didn’t mind that.
He couldn’t tell from the photo, but he liked to imagine her nipples poking against the fabric just like he imagined standing behind her, wrenching them until she begged him to stop, fucking her until he was sated. He’d beat off in the shower that morning to the fantasy of tying her up and making her take his cock while she cried.
He wanted to experience the real thing before he was forced to call his client. But he was stuck with the images he conjured up in his head because the bitch apparently walked around with a fucking escort. He hit the lock button on his phone to make the screen go dark as Clara stepped up to his table. Didn’t need her to raise the alarm.
“How are we doing over here?”
“Great. I think I’ll take a bowl of the stew.”
She smiled. “Can’t go wrong with that one. I’ll bring you out a basket of bread. Did you want anything else?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s it for now. Hey,” he said before she stepped away. “How late are y’all open tonight?” There was that searching look again. “I think my wife might like this place,” he explained. “I thought I could bring her back for dinner if it works with our schedules.”
