teenagers on the verge of adulthood from difficult homes. A grown man vanishing in the night, though—this was new to her.
“This isn’t like a murder investigation.” Folding her arms, Baxter leaned against DJ’s empty desk. “After today, there won’t be much to get from the police because they won’t know any more than you do. Your information will come from the people who know Rayne personally. As soon as this breaks in the morning, you’ll have to compete with not just the local TV stations but stations from Atlanta and Charleston. But you got there first and you know everybody involved already, so you have an advantage.” Her dark eyes had a predatory gleam. “If Rayne’s friends trust you before the shit hits the fan, they’ll want to talk to you over all the outsiders. Convince them you’re someone they can trust. Make sure the story stays ours.”
She lowered her voice, although they were alone in the room.
“We need this, Harper. This story could keep Charlton off our backs.”
* * *
When her shift ended at midnight, Harper was too wired to think about going home, sitting on that little porch, watching the driveway for monsters.
She could have gone to Rosie’s with DJ, but she didn’t want to deal with the TV news crowd. In the end, it always turned into a competition—everyone acting tough, comparing war stories.
She wanted to talk to someone who really knew her.
She drove across the historic district, tires thumping on cobblestones as she made her way around the city’s picturesque garden squares, with their statues of stalwart generals. The elegant old buildings were beautiful in the pale amber glow of the streetlights, but she kept her eyes on the rearview mirror. Every time she turned a corner, she waited to see if anyone would appear behind her. But the streets were still.
Only when she was certain no one was following her did she turn down a short, scrubby lane not far from the Savannah College of Art and Design.
There were only two businesses on this street—a clothing shop popular with art students, and the Library Bar.
She pulled into an empty space at the end of the street, well away from the lights.
Before getting out, she checked her face hurriedly in the mirror, smoothing her tousled auburn hair and rubbing smeared mascara from the corner of her eye. When she was presentable, she climbed out.
She could hear music thumping as she approached the bar. The air held a faint, sweet hint of marijuana smoke. Harper smiled. To her, the scene was as familiar and comforting as home cooking.
For months now, she’d been carefully avoiding her old routine. She rarely went to Pangaea, her favorite coffee shop. And she only came to the bar now and then, when she was feeling lonely.
Junior, the bar’s hulking bouncer, grinned when she walked up, revealing a jeweler’s array of silver and gold teeth.
“Harper McClain. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Right back at you.”
Perched on a tall stool just inside the front door, he tilted his large head as he contemplated her. “Where’ve you been? You hiding?”
“A little,” she admitted.
“Bonnie said you might have some trouble.” A calculating look entered his usually warm brown eyes. That look told her Junior had seen his own trouble. “Well, you won’t have any problems in the Library. If you need anyone taken care of I know people who can do it. You got me?” He held up a fist the size of a brick for her to bump. “No one messes with my people.”
She was touched. It wasn’t every day someone threatened to have her enemies killed.
Inside, the place was packed. The sickly sweet smell of spilled beer hung in the humid air.
She’d forgotten today was Thursday. Ever since the bar’s owner had instituted a two-for-one drinks night, Thursdays had done massive business. Three bartenders were on hand to deal with the young and very drunk crowd. Andi was newest: she had glossy, raven-black hair and wore a swoosh of eyeliner above fake lashes as long as butterfly wings. Tony (buffed, with dimples that earned him huge tips) had been working the late shift for nearly six weeks now. He was the strong, should-be-silent type.
The shift manager was Bonnie Larson. She wore a miniskirt and cowboy boots, topped by a black T-shirt that read THE LIBRARY BAR: LAST OF THE MOJITOS. Her long, white-blond hair was streaked with hot pink and pulled up into a high ponytail that swirled behind her as she swung four