CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mary didn’t want to sit at home by herself. She didn’t want to think about her father, the funeral, or the investigation. She didn’t want to think about Jason and how much she found herself missing him, even though he apparently shared her father’s favorite delusion. She didn’t want to think about that, either. Since she didn’t want to be by herself, she went to the bar. Everybody was surprised to see her, but they had the good sense to keep their questions to themselves and let her work without protest.
It didn’t help. It was good to keep her body moving, but it hardly kept her mind distracted. Especially since it was a slow night and she finished all of her side work very early.
“I can keep an eye on the place if you want to go home,” Donna offered. As the bar’s only full-time waitress, she practically ran the place herself.
“Why don’t you take the rest of the night off?” Mary suggested. “I don’t mind staying.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home?” Donna asked gently.
“I’m sure. I’ve got some bookwork I wanted to finish tonight.” That wasn’t exactly the truth. She doubted she had the concentration to do any bookkeeping. “Go on home and relax.”
Donna still seemed hesitant, but she clocked out and gathered up her purse and coat, urging Mary to give her a call if she needed anything at all.
Once she had the bar to herself, she grabbed a handful of quarters from the tip jar and pumped them into the jukebox. Without realizing it, she selected a dozen of her father’s favorite songs, understanding what she’d done only when the music started. She sighed, resting her head against the cool glass, fresh pain winding around her heart. She didn’t always see eye to eye with her father, but no little girl could have asked for a better dad.
“Excuse me.”
Mary jerked upright and spun to face the newcomer. A tall man with sharp good looks that almost seemed familiar to her, but she couldn’t put her finger on how or why.
“I hate to disturb you, but are you open?”
“Yes, yes,” Mary said, wiping the corner of her eyes. “Come on in. What can I get you?”
“A Tom Collins.”
“One Tom Collins coming up.”
The man perched on a stool at the bar, his sharp eyes following her as she began making his drink.
“You just passing through?” Mary asked to break the silence, uncomfortable at the way he stared at her, unblinking.
“Yes. I’ve been summoned to Albany for a chat with the police.”
“Oh, I hope it’s a friendly chat,” she said neutrally.
“It is friendly, if rather unfortunate. A dear friend of mine has reached a violent end.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, handing him the drink; her voice was still even, though her mind was racing with questions. Was he talking about her father? Did he have any knowledge? If so, did he know of the connection between her and Neil Simmons? “My condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you heading up there tonight?” she asked conversationally.
“Oh, no, I’ll be getting a room. My interview is scheduled at noon, but it’s such a long drive from the city. Do you have any dinner recommendations?”
Despite feeling uneasy about the man, she pulled a menu from behind the bar and handed it to him. She wanted to know who he was and what he was doing there—and what he knew about her father’s death. “Let me know if anything looks good.”
He skimmed the modest menu before requesting a double cheeseburger. “Make it bloody,” he added.
“Coming right up!” She released an uneasy breath as soon as she stepped into the small kitchen and began prepping his burgers, though the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her ears were trained on the room behind her. She couldn’t hear much past the music, though.
She apparently couldn’t hear enough. Soon after flipping the patties over, a hand came down on her shoulder, startling a small yelp from her.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man said, and up close, she caught a scent of something strange. Something raw, like ground beef that had been left in the fridge for a day too long and gone a little off. “I was just wondering, do you have fresh french fries?”
“No...uh...they’re frozen.”
“And the onion rings?”
“Those are frozen, too, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, how disappointing.”
“Look, we don’t allow customers back here. So, if you wouldn’t mind having a seat, I’ll bring this right out.”
“Of course.” But he made no move to step away, crowding her against the grill in the small kitchen. He reached for her before she could duck away, his fingers skimming through her hair. “You really are a lovely woman, Shayne.”
“Get away from me,” she said between gritted teeth. “Get the hell out of my bar.”
“Keep a civil tongue in your head,” he warned. “I want to be your friend, Shayne. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“My friend? I don’t even know who you are.”
“Oh, forgive me. I’m Vincent Ryder. I was a good friend of your dear, late father’s.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So, we finally meet, Mr. Ryder. You were no friend of his. You’re a goddamn leech.”
“A leech? Is that how your father described me?”
“No. For all of my father’s positive qualities, he was a fool. A blind fool.”
Vincent chuckled, a darkly amused sound that sent a chill down her spine. “I never cheated your father out of any money. He got exactly what he paid for.”
“He bought lies and fantasies! You sold him dreams until he had nothing left. Go away, Mr. Ryder, you are not welcome here.”
“It’s such a shame to hear that.” He did sound like he was genuinely disappointed. Mary didn’t have time to process that before he had her by the wrist, his other hand going to the back of her neck. She tried to yank away, but his grip was too strong, and he spun her around, yanking her wrist up between her shoulder blades. She immediately went lax, trying to ease the pressure on her shoulder.
“What...what are you doing?” she gasped out.
“I’m going to have to take you with me. I was supposed to leave you, but what’s the fun of that?”
She let him march her out of the kitchen, but as soon as she had room to maneuver, she tried to slip away again. She nearly had her wrist free when his arm locked around her throat and he began to squeeze. The pain ripping through her shoulder was the only thing that kept her focused.
“Don’t fight, sweetheart. You don’t want to die here.”
Mary didn’t want to die at all. She had no doubt that he meant it, but she didn’t think she’d have a better fate if she let him take her to a second location.
“Put your hands up!” Tandy’s deep voice boomed over the jukebox. “Put your hands up or I will shoot.”
The pressure eased on her throat and shoulder and she slumped to the ground as Vincent turned to face the homicide detective.
“This is a misunderstanding.”
“No, I assure you, I understand perfectly.” Tandy approached and quickly checked Vincent’s pockets for a weapon. “Get on the ground. Face down. Put your hands behind your back.”
Vincent silently complied, giving the full illusion of cooperating. Tandy secured his wrists before turning his attention to Mary.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, a little sore. How did you know he was here?”
“Follow me to the station, and I’ll explain everything.”
He yanked Vincent to his feet and marched him to the door in very much the same way Vincent had marched Mary. She paused to grab her purse and jacket, turn off the lights, and lock the door, but no more than thirty seconds passed before she followed Tandy out—and it only took thirty seconds for all hell to break lose.
Tandy was screaming and shooting at the sky, firing his weapon again and again. She almost didn’t hear the reports of the weapon under the swishing of a mighty wind. She looked up and saw the most impossible sight she’d ever seen.
A dragon wheeling higher and higher, blending into the night sky, nothing more than a silhouette against the stars.