I was concentrating so hard on not tripping or doing anything else idiotic that I didn’t realize the pulse of the room had changed when Vance grabbed my hand.
I also didn’t catch the look on Hank’s face when he saw Vance take my hand, which was good because if I had, I would have tripped for sure.
* * * * *
Vance took me to Lincoln’s Road House, a motorcycle bar skirting an off-road on I-25. He settled me at a high barstool at a table. I glanced around, thinking that perhaps I should have changed my outfit. Denver was definitely a jeans town and, at Lincoln’s Road House, jeans were practical y required.
I noted that optional were black leather chaps.
Vance bought me a beer, a pop for himself, got some menus and sat across from me.
“How’re you doin’?” he asked, watching me closely.
“My life’s a total shambles, my body stil aches and I’m pretty certain I’m going to have a scar on my face to remind me daily of this precious time in my life,” I told him. “How’re things with you?”
“Better than you.”
“Vance, honey, that isn’t saying much.”
He smiled.
I crossed my legs, looked at my menu and noticed Vance move out of the corner of my eye. I glanced at him but he was looking over my shoulder.
I turned around and saw Mace enter the bar from the back.
Mace did a chin lift to Vance, got himself a beer and then came over and sat beside me.
He gave me a once over and said, “Nice outfit.”
“Thanks,” I replied.
“I thought you were on a stakeout,” Vance said to Mace.
“Matt relieved me. I hate stakeouts. Fucking boring. Any word from Ike?”
Both Vance and Mace’s eyes slid to me.
I was taking a pul from my beer and I waved my free hand at them. I set the beer on the table and said, “I know about the holding room and the planned ass-kicking. I’m al right with it.”
Mace looked at Vance.
“I think I like her,” Mace remarked.
“Take a number,” Vance replied.
Good God.
“Is anyone going to feed me?” I blurted to stop them talking about liking me.
Vance did his shit-eating grin, then we ordered.
My purse rang so I opened it and grabbed my phone. It said “Annette Cal ing”. I flipped it open.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” she said back.
Oh no.