Problem Child (Jane Doe #2) - Victoria Helen Stone Page 0,50

that pulled in.

His short brown hair is mussed as if he’s stressed-out, and he’s wearing black slacks and a blue polo shirt with a wind turbine logo. He’s the boss, and the two guys with him aren’t thrilled they got stuck sitting there.

At a table on the other side of the room are two truck drivers. I recognize the Hispanic guy who was hauling one of the blades because I’d never forget that shaggy mullet anywhere. We’ve got a whole little wind industry convention here.

I take off my sweater to reveal the tight white T-shirt beneath it and get up to move toward the jukebox. As I pass the quieter table, I gasp. “Oh my God, are y’all with the windmill company?”

One of the men snorts derisively, but the boss smiles. He looks about thirty. Young to be in charge of a bunch of bigger, stronger guys. Dark circles age his eyes, and his teeth look a bit yellow. He’s probably a smoker and maybe an insomniac too.

“Yes, ma’am,” he offers politely. “That’s us. But they’re wind turbines, actually.”

“Turbines! Oh gosh, that’s right. I’m so silly. Turbines. Well, I just think they’re so pretty and pale against the blue sky. Do y’all put them up and everything?”

“We oversee installation when there’s one going up, yes. And we do maintenance and repairs, of course.”

“I saw the trucks outside. Don’t y’all just love your job? This is so exciting!” I bounce a little and watch three pairs of eyes dart toward my breasts. Well, one pair lingers more than darts, but the boss himself is far too polite to gawk. “Well,” I say with a coy smile, “I’ll let you get back to your drinks, but I might have some questions for you later.”

“Ask away,” he says. “I’m Derrick.”

When he holds out a hand, I take it between both of mine and gently squeeze. “That’s so sweet, Derrick. Thanks for being nice to me.” His cheeks flush just the tiniest bit.

I let his fingers slide out of mine, offering the slightest warm pressure as I bite my lip self-consciously and tip my smiling face away from his. As I continue toward the jukebox, there’s a moment of silence behind me, then some muffled snickering. I hear Derrick whisper something short and hard, but the snickers don’t stop.

The boss man isn’t an ideal target, because he may think of himself as setting a good example for his men, but he is my best bet for information. The other guys would be big on boasting and low on return.

As I formulate a way to pump him for information, I realize there’s another prize for the taking here. Derrick undoubtedly has some sort of universal key to the wind turbines, and a shock of hot excitement slices through me at the thought. I can get Derrick alone to question him about Morris Equipment and I can make my windmill dreams come true.

If anyone can give me a tour, it’s the boss man. And good examples aside, he might also be desperate to look like a big boy in front of his blue-collar employees by walking me out of here.

It works to my advantage that Derrick is only mildly good-looking and is a little on the short side. Maybe five-six. He wasn’t such a gentleman that he stood when I came over, so it’s hard to tell his exact height. Regardless, I doubt he gets much attention—or any attention at all—from random women in bars.

I put a slow sway into my ass as I walk, then lean over to look at the jukebox selection.

I don’t really like music, so I’m only making a show of it. Music is a tool used to outwardly express emotion or amplify the feelings we already have, so why would I care about it?

I tip my hips to the right and then to the left, my gaze sliding aimlessly over the rows of choices. But then I see a song I recognize! “Big Red Sun Blues” by Lucinda Williams. I liked to sing that song when it was too damn hot outside. How it managed to get so unbearably humid in this dry scrub prairieland was always a mystery to me.

Complaining about the heat ate up whole months of my life when I lived in Oklahoma. The tornado warnings were a relief whenever they came, because there was usually a cold front behind them.

I’m about to ask one of the men for change when I see an American Express sticker at