Page 33 of In Her Sights
“Of course we need a plan.” She frowned at his profile. “Several plans, if possible.”
“Huh.” He rubbed his jaw, the rasping sound of the heel of his hand against day-old beard stubble making her shiver. She wasn’t sure if she liked the sound or not. It made her feel overly sensitive, like his rough cheek was brushing the delicate skin over her spine. The mental image immediately sent heat to her face and other places, and she tore her gaze away from him, focusing grimly at the now-green stoplight. “Why?” he asked as he accelerated. She liked how he drove, competent but not cocky, assertive but safe.
“Why? Because we need one! What do you do?” The heat in her cheeks began to gradually subside, although she still didn’t want to risk looking directly at him. He’s like an eclipse, she decided. It was utterly tempting to stare at him, but it was equally dangerous. Carefully keeping her gaze directed through the windshield, she tried to ignore the urge to watch him. “If you don’t have a plan, do you just run in there willy-nilly and hope things work out?”
“There’s no willy-nilly-ness.” That was the John Carmondy she was most familiar with, his faux offense ruined by the amusement clear in his voice. “I just go with the flow.”
“Go with the flow,” she repeated flatly. “I don’t like that plan. That’s how you end up in the dumpster behind Dutch’s, possibly missing some fingers or your tongue.”
He winced, looking a little horrified as he pulled up to the curb and parked in the lot across the street from the bar. “Why would I be missing my tongue? How would a plan protect my tongue?”
“If you fail to plan, you plan to fail, and failing at Dutch’s would be very bad.”
“I still don’t see how my fingers or tongue would be in danger.”
She waved dismissively, remembered her vow to stop doing that, and sat on her hand. She wondered how many times she’d made that gesture without noticing and grimaced. Although she caught John’s curious look as she tucked her fingers beneath her butt, she ignored it. “Arguing about it isn’t going to get us anywhere. I have a plan. Let’s go.”
As she got out of the SUV, she pretended not to hear John’s sputtering noises and bit back a smile. Once she closed the door, she didn’t wait, but strode down the sidewalk toward Dutch’s. Langston didn’t really have an official bad part of town, but the area they were in was probably the least pleasant. Dutch’s was in the industrial east end of Langston, surrounded by warehouses and gated yards enclosed by chain link and razor wire. The streets were dimly lit, the sodium lights spread thin, leaving deeply shadowed sections between the occasional pools of pale illumination.
The boxy buildings and narrow streets, as well as the way the rectangular shadows crept well past the curb into the lane, gave Molly a claustrophobic feel, and she quickened her pace. She didn’t want to say it, but she was glad to have John with her. Although she would’ve hated to pull any of her sisters away from their work finding Jane, Molly would never have ventured into this neighborhood—and definitely not into Dutch’s—alone. She was brave, but she wasn’t stupid.
Before she’d gotten halfway down the block, John caught up with her. “So?” he asked.
“What?”
He huffed impatiently, and she had to hold back another grin. John’s dramatic noises and gestures were unexpectedly endearing, not that she’d ever admit that to him. “What’s the plan?”
“I thought you wanted to willy-nilly it.”
“Not if you have a plan. If there’s a plan, then I want to be part of the plan, and not just find out later that I was an unknowing part of someone else’s machinations. I want to be part of the inner circle.” He sketched a curved line in the air that encompassed both of them.
“Fine.” She sighed, long and audibly, pretending as if she were horribly put-upon. “If Sonny’s there, I’m going to text a couple of deputies to head this way. Then I’m going to get in his face and distract him while you come up behind and cuff him. We’ll take him outside, put our backs to a wall, and wait for the cops to arrive and take him off our hands.”
He was quiet for a few moments before he admitted, “That’s not a bad plan.”
“I’m an excellent plan maker.” She wasn’t going to be modest about one of her few solid skills. “I also have a plan B and a plan C in case something goes awry.”
“Are you going to share with the class?”
They’d almost reached the door of the nondescript building, and a big, crabby-looking guy was watching them approach—the bouncer, Molly guessed. She lowered her voice. “Let’s hope for plan A. Otherwise, just follow my lead.”
Ignoring John’s low groan, Molly pulled her ID from one of her many pockets and extended it to the waiting bouncer. Although he scowled at her, he accepted the driver’s license, his gaze running over her in a way that wasn’t sexual, as if he was evaluating the likelihood that she’d get into a fight. It was a welcome change and a cautiousness that Molly could rally behind, so she stood still and quiet as he finished his assessment. As he handed back her driver’s license, he gave her the smallest, tightest dip of his chin, which she took as approval. Obviously, he couldn’t tell that she tended to tackle people rather regularly.
He regarded John more sourly, and Molly couldn’t blame the bouncer. After all, it was obvious that Carmondy would win whatever brawl he was involved in. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if he’d be allowed in.
“Watch yourself,” the bouncer finally grumbled, and Molly let out a silent breath of relief that she wouldn’t have to go it alone. She slipped past him with John close behind her. Once she’d made it through the narrow entryway that seemed like a fire tragedy waiting to happen, she paused to examine the bar.
From the warehouse-like exterior, she’d expected something huge, but the main section of the bar wasn’t very big. She couldn’t exactly call it cozy, but she could see the entire space from her spot by the entry, even with the low mood lighting. The old-school rock music was loud but not breath-stealing-ly deafening like a club would be. The place was busy but not packed, and the crowd was…interesting. She saw some tatted and pierced twentysomethings, a handful of biker types in their sixties, a couple of hard-faced middle-aged guys in suits at a booth toward the back, and even a couple of people wearing cowboy hats.
“Eclectic place,” John said in her ear, as if he’d read her mind.
“Yeah.” She ignored the brush of his breath across her ear and the side of her neck, trying to stay focused on their objective. “Do you see him?”
“No.”
On first scan, she didn’t, either, and her heart sank at the death of plan A. It had been such a simple and painless plan, too. On to plan B. Straightening her shoulders, she moved toward the bar. Before she reached it, she caught a flash of movement in the corner of her eye. Swiveling her head around, she grabbed the briefest glimpse of Sonny Zarver before he disappeared down a hallway marked Bathrooms.
“There he is,” John said, but she was already moving, weaving in and out of the crowd toward the spot where Sonny had disappeared. She didn’t want to take the time to text the deputies, worried that he would slip away while she was busy on the phone. John would just have to sit on him while they waited for the cops to arrive. The tiny smile that touched her mouth at the mental image disappeared quickly as the patrons seemed to pack in tighter around her. Over the sound of the music, there was a muttering rumble, and Molly increased her speed, elbowing her way through the thickening crowd. From the glares and sneers being directed her way, she figured this group must be Sonny fans, and the sooner she and John could get out of Dutch’s, the better.
