Real Shadows - M.E. Clayton Page 0,21

didn’t have to voice them the way I had.

I had been a jerk-no. I had been an asshole and I could own that. The problem was I couldn’t find Fallon to apologize. I could squawk all day until the end of time about how I’d had a fucked-up day, but that still didn’t excuse my behavior. And it was more than just disappointing Trevor and hurting Karla. My parents didn’t raise me to mistreat people. And if they were alive today, they’d both be kicking my ass.

And, if I was being completely honest, my shitty day hadn’t been the only thing to throw me off at Trevor’s. I hadn’t really given any thought to what Fallon Reese would look like, but when I walked out onto the back deck, I had been momentarily stunted by her stunning looks.

Fallon’s hair was the darkest shade of ebony and it had been hanging loose around her shoulders, giving off a soft curl at the ends. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of light blue that were fringed by dark long lashes. When she stood up to shake my hand, I noticed her body had been damn near perfection in her simple jeans and cotton t-shirt. Her tits were a handful and her curves were femininely subtle. She had a realistic body; no plastic surgery turning her out like a cartoon.

No doubt about it, Fallon Reese was a beautiful woman, and that’s why this whole stalker thing had thrown me off. Yeah, I didn’t have to be a dick, but the question of why this stalker hasn’t attacked her yet was still valid. If I were obsessed with a woman who looked like Fallon, I’m not sure I could have stayed in the shadows as long as this guy has. Granted, I was assuming it was a guy, but who knew. She admitted to not knowing a thing about this person, other than they liked to torment her.

I ran my hands down my face, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to live with this wretched feeling if I couldn’t find her to apologize. I was sitting in the parking lot of Roadies’ because I hadn’t been able to find Fallon anywhere else. I had even driven all over town looking for Jacob, but when I had finally found him, he told me-in no uncertain terms-that he was going to mind his own business on this one.

Roadies’ didn’t have anyone registered under the name Fallon Reese, but if she was being truthful about everything, then I didn’t imagine she’d get a room under her real name. If she had been willing to let Karla talk her into handing everything she had over to a virtual stranger, my guess is she was using a fake I.D.

The neon lights to Pit Stop’s called to me in a way that only a man who has had a fucked-up day could appreciate a shitload of alcohol right now. I pulled away from Roadies’ motel office and found an empty space in between the motel rooms and the bar. Roadies’ and Pit Stop made a killing located on the highway, and travelers often extended their one-night stay into two. Brant was just that friendly.

I got out of my truck, locked it, and headed into the Pit for a beer. Probably some shots, too. If I couldn’t find Fallon, I needed to drown this remorse. I walked through the door, and the bar was laid out like most hold-in-the-wall drinking establishments. The bar was right in line with the front door and ran the length of the west wall while the east wall was lined with dart boards, a shuffleboard, and a couple of arcade games. The restrooms were in the back, and there was a jukebox and a couple of pool tables near the back entrance. It was dimly lit, and the ambiance matched my mood perfectly. I gave the room a quick, mildly curious glance as I walked towards the bar and that’s when I saw her.

Fallon was sitting at the end of the bar, a beer in hand, and a couple of empty shot glasses in front of her. My chest thumped with the idea of apologizing to a drunk Fallon because I couldn’t imagine this would go well at all, but I wasn’t a coward. And frankly, I deserved whatever scene she might cause. I walked towards the empty barstool next to her and sat my ass down.

Without saying a word, Darren placed a cold