Page 169 of Unexpected Heroine

After visualizing various scenarios, I click the trunk latch on my vehicle’s key fob. I need it open when I return with my target.

Seventy-five seconds.

I tap at my KA-BAR knife, holstered on my belt.

Seventy seconds.

Glancing at my vehicle, I visualize my exfil.

Sixty seconds.

Pulling my SIG out of my appendix holster, I check the safety and ammo before tucking it back inside my waistband.

Forty-five seconds.

Visions of Lettie spring across my mind unprompted, fracturing my practiced concentration. I see the bruises. The welts. The burns.

Blinking it off, I enter the bar through the back door before the five minutes are up.

Fuck waiting. I want him now.

My undetected entry puts me in a supply room. Plastic cups, napkins, and paper products fill the metal shelves on both sides of the narrow room. Cleaning supplies along the bottom.

Silently creeping to the doorway leading to the back of the bar, I take a quick peek into the room, hoping to spot Skidmark’s reddish-orange hair. No luck so far. He isn’t one of the men standing by the dartboard and pool table. I suppose he’s seated with the female in the corner.

Fuck.

Enough women have been hurt because of that sick bastard. With her there, my options of getting him out of the bar are less.

When the bartender bends down to grab something out of a cooler, I seize the opportunity to dash out of the supply room, bypassing the bar, and end up in a hallway with my back to the wall. Three or four steps to my right, the hallway opens to the game area, where the two men are laughing and carrying on. Two steps to my left is a unisex restroom. A partition conceals me from the bartender and the table where the tango should be sitting with the unidentified female.

An idea takes shape for how I can enter the customer area while appearing like a patron leaving the restroom.

Reaching to my left, I open the bathroom door, hoping it’ll slam audibly. It does.

Two seconds later, I stride from the hallway with the cap pulled down to shield most of my face. The men playing darts pay me no mind.

The bartender looks up from the cooler. “Didn’t see you come in, handsome. It’s past last call, but if you drink fast, I won’t tell.” She throws a coaster on the bar and winks at me.

In my peripheral, I notice the redhead fucker at the small table with a dark-haired female. His seat positioning has him looking away with only the side of his face visible. He makes no move toward me.

Slowly, I approach the bar and make limited eye contact with the bartender. “Bottle of Bud, please.” I toss a ten on the counter, acting nonchalantly to avoid drawing attention.

Sitting on the stool, I keep my ears open to all sounds around me. The hushed conversation from Skidmark’s table. The laughter from the two men in the game area. The low hum of the coolers behind the bar. The bartender singing along to the music under her breath.

Having my back to the main room feels wrong on so many fucking levels. There’s no mirror lining the wall to provide a view behind me. Can’t stay like this, even if it blows my cover.

Once she sets the beer down, I grab the bottle and spin around on my stool, putting my back to the bar. With one eye on the door and the other focusing on Skidmark’s side of the room, I take a slow sip.

As soon as the cool liquid hits my lips, an unusual sense of panic spikes through me. On reflex, I spit the beer back in the bottle out of fear it’s drugged.

For the first time tonight, my pulse speeds up, and uneasiness surrounds me. I set the bottle down on the bar behind me and take a deep breath, attempting to regain control.

What the fuck was that about?

The moment when Lettie threw the iced tea across the kitchen at her apartment the other night sails through my mind, making me long to comfort her. I can only imagine how she feels.

Fucking hell. All these emotions are wrecking my concentration. Try as I might, I can’t seem to keep them at bay for long.

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