I rolled my eyes as my phone buzzed for what felt like the billionth time. I pulled it from my pocket and slid the bar on the screen to answer it.

“Conrad,” I stated.

“I’ve been trying to reach you.” Brandt’s annoyed tone assailed my ears.

“And?” I didn’t appreciate being badgered, even if this was the guy paying me.

“And you haven’t given me an update! It’s been three days since you left Atlanta. What progress have you made?”

My eyes narrowed at accusations in his tone. “First, I don’t care how much you are paying me. Talk to me with that attitude again and I’ll break your face. With your own fist.” I gave him a very brief moment to let that sink in. “Second, when I have news worth sharing, I’ll let you know.” I hung up on him.

Within seconds the phone buzzed again, and I turned it off. To be honest, the cell service here was shit anyway, and I fully planned to use that annoyance to my advantage. His impatience could have sabotaged my plans to bring her back peacefully.

I pushed my phone back into my pocket as I walked through the door of Fallview Tavern & Grille. The place was packed, and the only open seats were a few spots at the end of the bar, farthest from the stage. I settled in and flagged down the bartender.

“What can I get ya?” He eyed me curiously.

“I’d love a beer.” I pulled cash out of my pocket.

“Sure.” He took a few steps backward and placed an empty mug under the bar gun. A push of a button dispensed my favorite beverage. He slid it to me and took the bills I’d placed on the bar.

I took a swig and sighed. That was some damn good beer. I looked up to see the bartender staring at me.

“Can I help you?” I did my best to keep the irritation out of my voice. It wouldn’t do to start a fight on my first real night out. The plan was to make friends, not alienate them.

He smirked. “I’m Simon Turner.” When I didn’t reply, he continued. “How long have you been in Havenwood Falls?”

“A couple of days,” I countered. “My name’s Conrad.”

He nodded. “Well, welcome to our little canyon, Conrad.” He busied himself with an empty glass. “Have we met before?”

I froze. “No, not that I can remember.”

“Yeah, probably not. You just seem familiar.”

The strum of a guitar caught my attention, and I shifted my eyes to the stage. A petite young woman with short silver hair sat on a stool, acoustic guitar in her hands. My distance from the stage made it a little difficult to see her clearly, but I could see the glint of piercings. When she turned her head, there was a large dark marking on her neck. I could only assume she had some kind of tattoo. I smiled. I liked her already. Then she began to sing, and my heart seemed to follow the rhythm along with her.

Her voice was beautiful, with an edge to it that made me think she could easily slip between soft ballads and heavy metal. It suddenly occurred to me that she could be my target. But this woman’s appearance was very different from the photo I had in my truck. I caught Simon’s attention.

“Who’s that?” I nodded my head in the direction of the stage.

“Ah, that’s Jetta Mills.” He shook his head. “If you’re looking to take that one on, you’d better buy life insurance. She could eat you alive.”

I chuckled and tried to hide the adrenaline rush of knowing my target was within reach. “Sounds like my kind of woman.”

I took another drink of my beer.

“I can introduce you, if you’d like.” Simon glanced her way. “She’s a good friend. My only condition is that you don’t blame me for anything that happens after that introduction.”

“Sure, I can live with that.” I was overly eager to meet this unusual young woman.

I sat at the bar for the next couple of hours, listening to Jetta perform and getting to know Simon, in between his various duties at the tavern. He was a likable guy, and if the situation were different, I could see us being friends.

As Jetta thanked the audience and slipped the guitar over her head, Simon leaned across the bar. “She’ll come over for a few drinks before she heads back home. Her favorite drink is whiskey.”

I nodded. “Gotcha. What brand?”

Simon’s eyebrows rose in unison. “All of them.”

“Damn,” I whispered.

“Exactly.” He put a shot of whiskey before me. “Enjoy.”

Jetta made her way through the patrons seated in the bar, taking the time to say hello to each one, with the exception of one guy who appeared to have grabbed her inappropriately. I didn’t see the full exchange, but I did witness the right hook she rewarded him with. He went down like a sack of potatoes.

Simon came around the bar and walked to where the guy slumped on the floor. “Damn it, Jetta. It’s your first night. Did you have to punch a customer?”

She put her hands on her perfect little hips. “I sure as hell did. Next time he wants to get to second base, he should make sure he’s on the right field.”

She stomped toward the bar, and I turned my attention back to my drink. Taking her back to Atlanta would suck. Not because I didn’t like her, but because I did. I couldn’t say I’d met many women like her. Truth be told, I’m not sure I’d ever met any women like her.

She approached the bar, climbed up on a stool two seats from mine, then leaned over the bar and grabbed a glass. She picked up the bottle of whiskey Simon had just used to pour my drink, glanced at the glass in her hand, then promptly returned the glass to its previous spot. She put the bottle to her lips, and for a moment, some very erotic images came to mind.

I held up my shot toward her and said, “Cheers.”

She nodded and took another swig from the bottle.

“That guy step out of line?” I nodded my head in the direction of the unconscious man Simon was dragging to the door.

She glanced over, then rolled her eyes. Eyes that were every bit the soft blue of the photo Brandt had given me. “He’s used to it. He tries to feel up everyone when he’s drunk. I’m just one of the few who refuses to put up with it.”

I smiled. “Well done.”

She turned to face me. “Really? Most men are intimidated by a strong woman.”

“Nah, I like it. It’s rare.”

She looked me over, and then one side of her lips quirked upward. “Obviously.”

Simon took his usual place behind the bar and poured a soda. “I see you two have already met.”

I shook my head. “Not officially.”

“Jetta, meet Conrad. Conrad, Jetta. There, now it’s official.” Simon took a sip of his drink and watched Jetta closely.

She nodded an acknowledgment and held up her bottle. “To new friends.”

I held up my shot, which Simon had so thoughtfully refilled with a different bottle, since Jetta had commandeered the other one. “To new friends.”

Simon held up his own. “To you two getting the hell out of my bar soon so I can close down.”