time he pulled into the dirt parking lot in front of Mack’s Roadhouse out on East Colfax Avenue. The lot was about half full, a few battered, mud-splattered pickups, a row of customized bikes, mostly Harleys, a couple of BMWs, and a few crotch rockets.
Bran turned the SUV around and backed into a place in the darkness at the edge of the lot. Always better to be ready if you needed to leave in a hurry. He could hear a band playing country rock a little off-key as he strode toward the entrance.
Two guitarists and a drummer pounded away on a stage on one side of the room. Old plank floors, motorcycle parts on the walls, photos of scantily clad women in various poses and bare-chested bikers in leathers. A shuffleboard clacked in the background.
Bran made his way to the long bar and sat down on one of the black vinyl stools. The bartender, a sleazy looking dude whose shoulder-length brown hair needed washing, mopped the counter with a dirty rag.
“What’ll ya have?”
“Lone Star and a shot of Jack.” You didn’t drink just beer in a place like this. Not if you wanted information.
The bartender set the drinks in front of him and Bran shot the whiskey back. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“Haven’t seen you in here before.”
“Haven’t been in before. Just passing through unless I find a reason to stay.”
The bartender’s wet rag made a circle on the bar. “You a vet?”
“That’s right.”
“Afghanistan?”
“Kandahar, Helmand Province, a few other scenic spots.”
“Fun times.” The bartender chuckled and relaxed, headed for a customer at the other end of the bar. Bran sipped his beer and let the time spin out. He had no idea what Tank looked like and only a slim possibility that he would get lucky and the guy would actually show up there tonight, though Hawk’s informant had said he was a regular.
He made a trip to the men’s room, which was down a long hallway out of sight. A back door at the end of the corridor opened into the parking lot, locked with a dead bolt but no alarm. The two-stall men’s room might prove useful. It was close to the exit, and the women’s room was on the other side of the hall so noise wouldn’t be a problem.
He filed the info away, returned to his barstool, finished his beer, and ordered another. He checked his black army wristwatch. Three minutes till time for the phone to ring.
He sipped his beer and set the bottle back down on the bar. Right on time, the phone jangled and the bartender walked over and grabbed it off the wall.
“Mack’s Roadhouse.”
Bran could almost hear Jessie’s feminine voice on the other end of the line asking for Tank. He had called her earlier and set up the scam, hoping to draw the guy out.
“Sorry, lady. Tank ain’t here. Got a regular pool game on Tuesdays. Probably be here then. You want I should tell him you called?”
As planned, Jessie told him she’d call back, and the bartender hung up the phone.
Bran felt a rush of anticipation. Tank wasn’t there tonight, but he was definitely a regular and tomorrow looked good. He waited just in case, figuring the bartender would mention the call if he spotted Tank coming through the door, but it never happened. It was nearly closing when he left and started home.
Jessie would be in bed by now. Just thinking about her sleeping in one of his T-shirts, her pretty breasts forming soft mounds beneath the fabric, made him start getting hard. He clamped down on the unwanted shot of lust and concentrated on the road.
Jessie’s door was closed when he headed down the hall toward the bedroom next to hers. He told himself to just keep walking. It was late and she needed her rest. He’d texted her earlier and thanked her for the help, and she’d texted back, telling him to stay safe, but it wasn’t the same as talking.
Arousal slipped through him. Not that talking was all he had in mind.
He sighed and kept moving, had just opened the door to his room, when Jessie’s door cracked open and a head of sleep-mussed, fiery blond hair popped into the hall.
“You’re home,” Jessie said. “I was worried.”
He only had so much willpower. Walking back, he stopped in front of her, wished he wasn’t so glad to see her. “You should be sleeping.”