blind or an idiot, maybe both. A moment later, the twelve dropped into the pocket. Nice rhythm there, he thought, trying to focus on the game again.
For the next couple of minutes, Sarah made it look easy. She sank the ten, the ball hugging the side all the way to the pocket.
Leaning against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, Miles twirled his cue stick in his hands and waited.
The thirteen ball dropped into the side pocket on an easy tap in.
With that, he frowned slightly. Strange that she hasn’t missed a shot yet. . . .
The fifteen, on what can only be described as a lucky bank shot, followed the thirteen a moment later, and he had to fight the urge to reach for the pack of cigarettes in his jacket.
Only the eight ball was left, and Sarah stood from the table and reached for the chalk. “I go for the eight, right?” she asked.
Miles shifted slightly. “Yeah, but you’ve got to call the pocket.”
“Okay,” she said. She moved around the table until her back was toward him. She pointed with her cue stick. “I guess I’ll go for the corner pocket, then.”
A long shot, with a bit of an angle needed to get there. Makeable, but tough. Sarah leaned over the table.
“Be careful you don’t scratch,” Miles added. “If you do, I win.”
“I won’t,” she whispered to herself.
Sarah took the shot. A moment later the eight dropped in, and Sarah stood and turned around, a big grin on her face. “Wow— can you believe that?”
Miles was still looking at the corner pocket. “Nice shot,” he said almost in disbelief.
“Beginner’s luck,” she said dismissively. “Do you want to rack them again?”
“Yeah...I suppose so,” he said uncertainly. “You made a few really good ones there.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Miles finished his beer before racking the balls again. He broke, sinking a ball, but he missed his second shot.
With a sympathetic shrug before she began, Sarah proceeded to run the table without a miss. By the time she’d finished, Miles was simply staring at her from his spot along the wall. He’d set aside the cue stick halfway through the game and had ordered two more beers from a passing waitress.
“I think that I’ve been hustled,” he said knowingly.
“I think you’re right,” she said, moving toward him. “But at least we weren’t betting. If we were, I wouldn’t have made it look so easy.”
Miles shook his head in amazement. “Where did you learn to play?”
“My dad. We always had a pool table in the house. He and I used to play all the time.”
“So why didn’t you stop me from showing you how to shoot before I made a fool of myself?”
“Well... you seemed so intent on helping me that I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Gee, I appreciate that.” He handed her a beer, and as she took it, their fingers brushed lightly. Miles swallowed.
Damn, she was pretty. Up close, even more so.
Before he could think about it any further, there was a slight commotion behind him. Miles turned at the sound.
“So how are you two doing, Deputy Ryan?”
He tensed automatically at Otis Timson’s question. Otis’s brother was standing just behind him, holding a beer, his eyes glassy. Otis gave Sarah a mock salute, and she took a small step away from Otis, toward Miles.
“And how are you doing? Nice to see you again.”
Miles followed Otis’s eyes toward Sarah.
“He was the guy I told you about earlier,” she whispered.
Otis raised his eyebrows at that but said nothing.
“What the hell do you want, Otis?” Miles said warily, remembering what Charlie had told him.
“I don’t want anything,” Otis answered. “I just wanted to say hello.”
Miles turned away. “Do you want to go to the bar?” he asked Sarah.
“Sure,” she agreed.
“Yeah, go ahead. I don’t want to keep you from your date,” Otis said. “You got a nice gal, there,” he said. “Looks like you’ve found someone new.”
Miles flinched, and Sarah saw how much the comment stung. Miles opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His hands balled into fists, but instead he took a deep breath and turned to Sarah.
“Let’s go,” he said. His tone reflected a rage she’d never heard before.
“Oh, by the way,” Otis added. “The whole thing with Harvey? Don’t worry too much about it. I asked him to go easy on you.”
A crowd, sensing trouble, was beginning to gather. Miles stared hard at Otis, who returned the gaze without moving. Otis’s brother had moved off to the