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"Native?"
"Yeah."
"From Texas?"
"Mhmm."
"What tribe?" the green-eyed woman pressed. She was sure asking a lot of questions.
Rachel said,"Cherokee."
The woman nodded slowly, seeming to accept Rachel's answers. "Well, I don't know any Candace, but I can ask around for you. What's your name?"
"Rachel," she said, sticking to the first name she had given.
The woman extended a hand. "I'm Jade."
Rachel shook her hand and offered a small smile. "Thanks, Jade. I appreciate any help you can give me."
Jade gave her a nod before turning to walk away. Rachel watched her go.
The woman paused at the back of the room and promptly ignored Rachel, leaning against a heavyset man that looked like he belonged to the long haul truck she'd spotted in the parking lot.
The trucker was eyeing the few women in the lounge like a chef at a meat market, looking for the perfect cut.
Clearly, Jade wasn't interested in helping.
Rachel glanced around and met attention that was mostly indifferent or downright hostile.
She was a stranger in this place, and stranger meant trouble.
Her eyes landed on a woman behind the counter, near the drinks. The bartender was a pretty, young woman, but wasn't wearing makeup. She had a small two-spirit beadwork necklace.
The woman met Rachel's eyes. Something passed between them. It was like two otters in a giant ocean of fish. Very few natives mingled outside the reservation these days, and Rachel wasn't sure if the sentiment was the same as she remembered, but shared history meant something.
At least...
So she hoped.
She approached the bar, leaning against the lacquered surface.
A man in a suit, on a terrace above her, was watching the customers with a lazy gaze. A guard. She wouldn't want to catch his attention.
She ignored the man and instead faced the bartender on the same floor as her.
"Excuse me," Rachel said, raising a hand.
The bartender turned to her. "Yeah, what can I get for you?"
"I'm not here for a drink," Rachel said, keeping her voice low. "I'm looking for a girl named Candace. You know her?"
To the point. She'd never claimed to be good at undercover work. Rachel was far too blunt and direct for such a thing to be effective. But she didn't blink as she waited.
The bartender's expression shifted, and Rachel could see the fear in her eyes. "You a cop?"
Rachel shook her head. "No, I'm not a cop. I'm trying to find her for a friend. Maybe this will help." Rachel pulled out a photo from her pocket, showing it to the woman. "That's her."
The woman shrugged. "It's hard to say. This place can be temporary, and people come and go all the time."
