checking the mirror and taking a roundabout route as he drove back to the hotel. “It’s possible. But Graves’s note mentioned Weaver. If Weaver killed Petrov for not getting the job done, then he’s probably gunning for Graves, too.”
“How does Graves know we’re looking for Weaver?”
“Either Petrov told him or he heard me asking Petrov about him that night.”
“So you think Graves might be willing to trade information in exchange for our help.”
“Could be.”
It was crazy. Helping a man who’d been trying to kill her. Or at least hurt her badly enough to convince her to stop her investigation. But the way things were going, nothing surprised her.
Her stomach growled, reminding her they hadn’t eaten breakfast, and it was well past noon. “I’m starving. Let’s stop and get something to eat.”
Bran cut her a look. “Yeah...I’m hungry, too.” But the hunger in his eyes as they fixed on her mouth had nothing to do with food. Her insides curled. Maybe staying at home tonight wouldn’t have been such a bad idea.
EIGHTEEN
The air was crisp and cold, the night pitch-black as Bran pulled into the big asphalt parking lot. The Red Rooster Bar and Grill on B Street out I-25 was a single-story flat-roofed structure at the back of the lot, a cross between a cowboy bar and a bikers’ roadhouse. Dirty pickup trucks, motorcycles, and paint-faded beaters were parked haphazardly out front.
As Bran pushed open the door and surveilled the dimly lit interior, he noted the array of vehicles exactly matched their owners. Frayed jeans, scuffed boots, and battered cowboy hats at one end of the bar, bikers in studded black leather at the other.
It was an uneasy mix that undoubtedly kept everyone entertained.
Bran urged Jessie toward a pair of empty wooden barstools. The decor was part Old West saloon with a long bar and a carved wooden backbar, but the neon signs, mostly Jack Daniel’s, Shiner Bock, and Coors, were pure twenty-first century.
A bartender with greasy black hair and a black T-shirt that said Come Back with a Warrant walked over to take their orders. “What’ll you have?”
Bran glanced over at Jessie, who looked a little too fetching in her skinny jeans and ankle boots and low-cut sexy pink sweater. He’d tried to talk her into something a little more modest, but she’d rightly pointed out she’d fit in better in what she had on. Since she was right, he’d sucked it up and escorted her out of the hotel room.
“I’ll have a Lone Star,” Jessie said.
“Same for me,” Bran said. The beers arrived, not as cold as he liked, but he wasn’t there to drink so it didn’t really matter. He tipped up the bottle as he scanned the room for Digger Graves. They’d arrived early so he’d have time to do a little recon before Graves showed up. No sign of a trap, but he hadn’t really expected one.
He figured Graves was in deep shit with Weaver. He needed their help to stay alive.
It was a little after ten o’clock when Graves walked in, brown hair slicked into a man bun, worn jeans, and a long-sleeve camouflage T-shirt under a khaki vest.
“That’s him,” Jessie said, tipping her head toward the door. She had pulled her hair up in a ponytail, which made her look younger and even more tempting. Half the bar had been staring since she’d walked in. Reading the lust on their horny faces, Bran clenched his jaw against an urge to start throwing punches.
It was a new sensation, this possessive feeling for a woman. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t seem to get a handle on it.
Graves spotted them, made eye contact, and headed for a table at the back of the bar. He ordered a drink from a big-haired, buxom blond server and leaned back to survey the room.
“Let’s go.” Bran tossed money on the bar for their beers and set a hand at Jessie’s waist, making it clear she was with him as they began weaving their way through the battered wooden tables scattered around the room.
When they reached Graves’s table, Bran pulled out a chair for Jessie and one for himself. Graves’s order arrived, a boilermaker. He tossed back the shot of whiskey and chased it with a swallow of beer. Bran ordered two more Lone Stars just to fit in.
He waited till the server walked away, then turned to Graves. “So I guess you know your buddy Petrov is dead.”
Graves tipped up his beer and took a long swallow.