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She headed over to their tables and stopped when she saw something that couldn’t be right. She blinked her eyes and squinted, trying to be sure of what she was seeing.
Over in the corner of the bar, Greg was talking quietly with someone who shouldn’t be standing there acting like he wasn’t a wanted man.
Spencer.
Even with the full beard and a goofy tourist cap that covered his dark blond hair, the identity of the guy with the build and the arrogant confidence of a runway model was unmistakable.
The two of them were talking so intensely they didn’t seem to notice anyone else around them. She fought the urge to plant herself in front of him and demand an explanation for everything he’d done to her over the past year, knowing on some level that to do so would be foolish. She wasn’t capable of restraining him or keeping him here until the authorities could arrive.
She had to get Reynolds back here. First, she needed proof that he was here, proof that could be given to the authorities in tracking him down.
Grabbing her cell phone from her pocket, she held it up and snapped the photo. Then another, before calling Reynolds.
One ring. Two. Three…
He answered. “What’s wrong?”
“Spencer’s here. In the bar. You’ve got to get back here.”
“Wait. Spencer’s there?”
“Yeah.”
Spencer shook his head at whatever Greg said to him and turned his head. She froze, her stomach dropping as his gaze locked on hers. He grinned slowly and shook his head.
“He’s seen me,” she whispered, even as her voice hitched with emotion and her stomach clenched in nausea.
Spencer turned back to Greg and said something that seemed to be final before he stepped away and started for the exit. He paused to look back at her, tipping his head at her in a mock salute.
“He’s leaving. You’re going to miss him.”
“Waverley, I’m nearly there. Whatever you do, just wait for me. Do not go after him.”
But he was slipping from sight, the blue cap almost out of view. “I have to. You won’t be back in time.”
She moved along the side of the bar, keeping away from the crowded dance floor, making it easier for her to reach the street in a few seconds’ time. Spencer’s blue cap wasn’t too far ahead and she picked up her pace. “I can see him. He just passed that tee shirt shop we went into earlier.”
“Great. Now wait there,” Reynolds said.
Spencer took a sudden right turn and disappeared out of sight.
No. No! He couldn’t get away like this.
Panic that it was too late to catch him and all of this was for nothing had her sprinting forward, the phone forgotten in her hand. She turned right where she’d seen Spencer disappear and was suddenly brought up short by a hand that grabbed her arm and pulled her back into a dark side street.
She was shoved abruptly against the building as the hand tightened hard enough that she dropped her phone, hearing it fall somewhere around her feet.
A mix of fear and outrage fought for dominance, and she looked up, unsurprised, into Spencer’s face. “Spencer. You son of a bitch,” she snarled.
He tutted. “Language, Waverley. What would your father say if he heard you?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I was thinking the same thing about you. You never cared for these get-togethers before. I would have thought skipping them would be one of the benefits of our divorce. And yet here you are. And not quite alone.”
“How would you know? Have you been watching me?”
“Waverley, Waverley,” he said, shaking his head. “Still so gullible. So naive. Do you really not know who that guy is you came with? Who RJ is?
