Page 168 of Unexpected Heroine

Shit. Damn. Fuck.

The bar is virtually deserted. Unsure whether it’ll have a positive or negative impact on my mission. Less witnesses or people to get in the way. Yet harder to blend in. Can’t exactly breeze into the bar unnoticed to scope it out when there’s only a handful of patrons.

I expected this place to be busier on a Saturday night. Only three cars here. They close in fifteen minutes, assuming this is the kind of place that keeps business hours and honors alcohol-serving laws. Low probability there.

The small, dirty windows lining the building’s exterior are cluttered with neon signs, making it impossible to see inside. Even with my binoculars. Good thing I brought better toys.

After parking in an abandoned lot a couple of blocks away, I fire up my tablet and connect it to my infrared drone. We used this toy when we rescued Kri and her foster daughter from one of Lenkov’s strongholds a few months back. Handy little fucker—the drone, not Kri’s daughter. That would be weird.

Good thing Klein keeps a steady stream of experimental gadgets coming through. He’s always up on the latest tech. We ordered six more after that op.

Launching the drone out the window, I navigate it via an app on my tablet to the bar and circle the perimeter to check for heat signatures.

I spot five people, plus a cat. Based on the size and shape of the figure, I suspect a female is bartending with the feline lingering near her feet. Not sure that meets health department regulations, but it’s not my problem. Two larger figures look to be playing darts on one side, probably males. And a couple sits at a table in the corner.

Oddly enough, my instinct is to be more concerned about the cat than the humans inside this shit hole. So much for the newfound empathy Lettie taught me. Must have taken it with her when she left.

The idea of hurting a pet repulses me to my core. A memory of the black dog at Sue and Leo’s yesterday pops into the front of my mind.

Shaking my head, I actively force my thoughts back to the mission.

After switching from infrared to HD camera mode, I attempt to see inside the bar through one of the windows. At most, I get glimpses of body parts. An arm or a back. The top of someone’s head—black hair, not red. Nothing helpful.

So much for that.

I fly the drone back to my position and tuck it away quickly in my gear bag. A minute later, I’m driving around to the rear of the bar with my headlights off. Pulling my ballcap low, I exit the car. Quietly, I approach the back of the building and hover by the rear door near a dumpster.

The smell of rotten trash and soured liquor hits my nostrils, making my stomach clench. When I crack open the back door an inch, stale cigarette smoke meshes with the other foul odors. Shaking off the disgust, I focus on identifying sounds from inside the bar.

A low thrumming of bass from the music system.

No loud conversations.

No singing.

No clatter of dishes or glassware.

Nothing other than the music and some muffled voices.

Taking out my pen-sized listening device, I zero in on the conversations inside, listening through a single earbud. Moving the laser pointer from one side of the building to the other, nothing significant stands out. Unfortunately, I don’t know what Kadin’s voice sounds like, which leaves me unable to determine where to head once I’m inside.

Undoubtedly, Lettie would know his voice. And that thought sickens me.

It’s decision time. Do I wait for him to come out or enter to retrieve him?

Glancing at my watch, I decide to give it five minutes since it’s approaching closing time.

If the bartender exits for a dumpster run, I’ll painlessly subdue and question her.

If Skidmark or the others leave the bar through the front, I’ll hear it and can follow in my vehicle. Fortunately, it’s a small place so I won’t have any trouble hearing the front door to the bar opening or a car ignition starting in the front lot.

And so I wait.

Four and a half minutes to go.

My mind shifts through scenarios, preparing for a myriad of outcomes. As the clock ticks on, a familiar steadiness settles in my chest, preparing me for battle. Nothing better than real-life experience to enable you to find a sense of calm in a dangerous situation. Fortunately, I have a lifetime of tumultuous moments to call upon. From the time I was a child until I was a trained killer with the flag on my shoulder, navigating volatile circumstances has been second nature.

Ninety seconds left.

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