puzzled at its behavior.
I stared, too, even more puzzled. Because the car had veered around me—it had changed its course because of me.
Whoever was driving had seen me.
Chapter 20
I was missing something and it nagged at me. Why had Danny left Maggie so abruptly at dinner? Had that been him in the car behind her? Or had it been Hayes? And if it was Hayes, how had he known where she’d be? Was it someone else entirely, someone I was overlooking? I tried to remember the size of the headlights, to gauge the car’s height, but it had happened too quickly and I had been panicked.
It all led back to Danny.
I waited with Maggie while she changed her tire, then I headed back to town with her, trying to figure out what to do next along the way. We passed the Double Deuce, its neon lights blinking out their promise of TEQUILA SHOTS and COYOTE UGLY GIRLS, though the women who danced on the bar of the Double Deuce had more in common with ugly than with girls. A job as a dancer there was one step above being a prostitute, and I mean that pretty much literally. The moment most of them stepped down from the bar, they became one. I knew because I’d visited there often on the job, tracking down murders, busting dealers, and most often, dragging reluctant witnesses to court on time. It was a favorite hangout of recidivists and criminals smart enough not to be caught. So much so that I had avoided it on my days off, on the theory that it was mixing business with pleasure.
Still, it was just the sort of place where Danny would be, nursing his wounds at Maggie’s rejection, or cooking up some drunken scheme to get what he was after. I needed to find out what it was that he was after.
When she stopped at the intersection near the Double Deuce, I slipped from Maggie’s car and searched the parking lot of the bar. There was no sign of Danny’s car, and the place was way too far out of town for anyone to be there without one. I stuck my head in the door, just in case, following a blousy bottle blonde in too-tight jeans inside after she was done doing a biker and a couple lines of coke in the backseat of her car. As the double doors opened, I was hit with a wave of bad air, badasses, bad smells, and the sounds of Bad Company over the sound system.
But no Danny.
I returned to the parking lot just as a group of bikers staggered out, ready to weave their way home or to the next bar. What the hell. It had been a long day. I’d hitch a ride back to town on a chopper and go from there.
When a behemoth with forearms the size of hams climbed on a souped-up Harley and revved his engine, I didn’t hesitate. I clambered on behind him, wrapped my arms around his black leather jacket, and admired the death skull embroidered on its back. He pulled out of the parking lot and took off like a rocket. It was a pleasant ride to town, full of lights whooshing past, sudden sounds that would buzz like angry bees and be long gone, far behind us, before I could recognize them, and a cold wind that swept away my worries. I tipped my head back and let the biker’s excessive speed sweep me away. I was filled with wonder at the night.
I enjoyed my ride so much that I was reluctant to leave my big friend behind by the time we reached the center of town. But all things—both good and bad—must come to an end. I climbed down and patted my oblivious host on his massive shoulders in thanks. He unwittingly belched a rumbling reply. I headed for Shenanigan’s as it was only a few blocks away. If Danny was anywhere, it was probably there. It was his comfort zone, the next best thing to passing out at your own kitchen table.
Danny was not there among the tired room of regulars, but I discovered his car parked on a side street. The sight of it sitting alone beneath a streetlight gave me a bad feeling. There was only one other place nearby where he’d be.
It was past midnight, but obsession doesn’t keep regular hours. I fully expected to see Danny hiding beneath the big tree growing partway down the