The slight waver she detected in his voice told her there was more to his excuse but she wasn’t in a position to push.
“Damian,” Varik said as he stood up. “It’s late. Freddy and Reyes aren’t going to have full results on any evidence until tomorrow. I think it’s probably best if I took Alex home for the night.”
“Good idea,” Damian agreed. “Both of you get some sleep.”
The brief flash of thought that flooded the bond let Alex know sleep was the last thing on Varik’s mind, and for once, she couldn’t have agreed with him more.
twelve
TASHA OPENED THE DOOR OF THE DUCK ’N’ COVER AND was greeted with a chorus of raised voices and drinks from the scattered regulars. She nodded and waved to them in turn as she picked her way through the tables to the bar.
The Duck ’n’ Cover was a popular bar located outside Jefferson’s city limits and therefore had no need to worry about noise ordinances when bands played. Housed in a converted cotton gin building, it featured a rusted tin exterior and a worn and uneven plank floor. The tables and chairs were all garage sale or flea market finds of differing shapes and sizes. Neon signs advertising the various brands of beer on tap clung to the exposed wall beams that supported the intricate open-framework rafters. The most distinctive feature, however, was the countless names and messages that had been written on every available and reachable space—walls, tables, bar, signs, and even the mismatched curtains covering the wavy-paned windows.
Tasha reached the bar and hoisted herself onto one of the secondhand bar stools. While she waited for the bartender, she checked the cryptic text message she’d received on her cell phone.
MEET TONIGHT, 7:00 AT DUCK ’N’ COVER. BRING JOURNAL.
The message itself didn’t concern her as much as it probably should. It was the number displayed as the message’s origin—12-29-1995, her daughter Maya’s birthday—that worried her most. She knew a trace would prove fruitless. Countless websites allowed text messages to be sent from false numbers. Staring at the number displayed on her screen, she wondered how much of her personal life, of Maya’s life, could her mysterious callers access?
“Hey, shug,” Dinky Kincaid, the Duck ’n’ Cover’s owner and bartender, greeted Tasha with her trademark smile. Drawn-on black eyebrows that arched too far up her forehead made her look as though her face had frozen in a scandalized expression. Short, round, and proudly displaying her ample cleavage, Dinky was a force to be reckoned with and few in the bar ever dared to cross her. She set a bowl of popcorn in front of Tasha and tilted her head. “You’re looking a little long in the face tonight, honey. Rough day?”
Tasha crunched a few kernels of the stale unbuttered popcorn and nodded. “Got a letter from my ex. He wants sole custody of my kid.”
Dinky pursed her bright red lips and shook her head as she began mixing liquids from different bottles. “My ex tried that once. He didn’t get very far though.”
“How did you deal with it?”
“Start with the one on the right.” Two shot glasses thumped on the bar in front of Tasha. “I shot him in the ass,” Dinky said with a wink.
Tasha’s eyes widened.
The other woman cackled and fluttered a pudgy hand against her chest. “Oh, Lordy! I’m joking. I hired a lawyer and took him to the cleaners. We wrung enough money out of his sorry ass for me to buy this place.”
Tasha picked up the first of the shot glasses. “Maybe I should talk to your lawyer.” She slammed the drink back and swallowed. The chilled liquid left an acid trail to her stomach, where heat bloomed and seared its way to the back of her throat. Coughing and sputtering, she grabbed the second glass and downed it. The heat dissipated. When she could speak again, she asked, “What the hell is that?”
Dinky smiled. “I call it a Bayou Bomb. Couple of drops of Tabasco in the first one give it a real kick.” She swept the glasses from the bar. “As for my lawyer, I don’t think he lives around here anymore, but you could probably track him down. Name was Caleb Lockwood.”
Tasha choked on her popcorn. Coughing, she beat her chest in an attempt to clear the obstruction. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She struggled for a clean breath.