She sucked in a deep breath. “I said I was f**king sorry."
Raj laughed abruptly. “You know, I think that's the first time I've ever heard you swear,” he said, just to irritate her.
"Yeah? Well, then, f**k you again. Let me out of this f**king car."
"No."
"No?" she all but screamed at him. “I am so sick of you—” Her words were chopped off as he cut across three lanes of traffic, slicing between two huge eighteen wheelers with only inches to spare, before zipping down an off-ramp and dumping into one of Buffalo's working class neighborhoods. Next to him, Sarah had released her death grip on the armrest and was looking around, scanning the streets. She probably had no idea where they were, probably never ventured too far away from the campus with its trendy restaurants and tidy bars.
Raj, on the other hand, knew exactly where he was going. He made a series of quick turns down narrow streets and pulled onto a smear of blacktop in front of a seedy-looking bar. He parked, got out of the car and started across the poorly lit lot without saying a word. He clicked the remote in warning and heard her swear softly. She opened her car door and he smiled, feeling the angry heat of her gaze on his back. He stopped at the bar's entrance, waited politely until she caught up and then opened the door and gestured for her to go in ahead of him. She paused to peer cautiously through the door, gave him a dubious look and crossed the threshold. Raj chuckled and followed her inside, letting the door swing slowly shut behind him.
Sarah shuffled to a halt just inside, letting her eyes adjust. It was even darker inside than out, especially once Raj let the door close with a muffled thud. She was aware of him crowding impatiently behind her and she stepped aside, watching as he strode across the room. A trio of cheap, tin wall sconces hung on the opposite wall, the kind with a pattern punched into the metal to shed a dim, yellowed light on a row of banquettes. There was a long bar to the right, with tired-looking twinkle-lights around the mirror. Raj called out something to the bartender in Polish. The bartender grunted and headed for a small freezer unit sitting on the counter at the far end.
Sarah threaded through empty tables to the bar where she took one look at the dull, sticky surface and decided to stand. Raj had no such qualms, he was leaning forward with both elbows, one foot cocked on a railing which might have been brass in some long-ago former life. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You want something to drink?"
"What are you having?” she asked.
"Vodka,” he snorted, as if it was a stupid question.
"I'll have the same."
He barked out a surprised laugh and called to the bartender who reached beneath the bar and produced two shot glasses. Carrying the glasses in one hand and a frosty bottle of vodka in the other, he deposited both on the bar in front of Raj with no comment. The label on the bottle was in Polish, but it wasn't one of those trendy made-for-America Polish vodkas in a beautiful bottle, and Sarah had a feeling the alcohol content was quite a bit higher.
Raj picked up both glasses and bottle and headed for a booth in the darkest corner of the already dark room. Sarah saw little choice but to follow him.
"Have a seat,” he said. He took his own advice and slid onto one of the benches, dropping the glasses onto the table and twisting off the bottle cap with a snap of metal seals. The vodka was so cold, it poured more like thin syrup than liquid, the alcohol preventing it from ever freezing solid.
"You guys drink a lot,” she commented. She brushed off the bench seat across from him and sat.
He gave her a lazy look. “That's all we do, sweetheart."
She hated it when he called her sweetheart like that. Like what he really wanted to say was bitch, but he was too polite. “That's not what I meant and you know it,” she said.
He smiled and pushed one of the brimming shot glasses across the table to her. “Have a drink. You'll feel better."
She doubted that. She wasn't much of a drinker, but the few times she'd indulged it had made things far worse, not better. She looked down at the small glass, now frosted white from the cold liquid. His chuckle made her glance up quickly to meet blue eyes which were as icy as the vodka in front of her. His gaze moved slowly down to the glass and back up again in blatant challenge. Damnit. Sarah drew a breath, picked up the shot glass and brought it to her lips. Her eyes watered immediately from the alcohol fumes and she hesitated, but he was watching her with that patronizing smile of his.
She opened her mouth and threw the freezing liquid straight down her throat, feeling the muscles there contract in shock. She choked, fighting down a reflexive cough, refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as her stomach burst into flames. Jesus Christ! How did anyone drink that stuff?
Raj laughed appreciatively. “Nazdrovia,” he said and tossed back his own shot, slamming his glass to the table and immediately lifting the bottle again. He gestured at her glass, but she shook her head, still unable to speak, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. Raj slid out of the booth, strolled over to the bar and came back with a glass of water, no ice.
"This will help,” he said, putting it on the table in front of her.
Sarah waited until she was sure she could open her mouth without gasping for air, then picked up the glass and sipped slowly. The water was just slightly cooler than room temperature, soothing her traumatized throat and washing away the residue of what was surely pure alcohol. She grabbed some cocktail napkins from the table and dabbed her eyes with them, their rough texture like sandpaper on her overheated skin.
"Not much of a drinker?” he asked.
"That,” Sarah rasped, “is not drinking."
"It is where I come from."
Sarah took another sip of water and another, before she trusted herself to say anything more. “Will you tell me what you found out from Regina?"
He gave her a cool look.
"I'm the one who found her, not you,” she insisted.
He still didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows doubtfully.