Mask Of A Hunter. Sylvie Kurtz
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Название: Mask Of A Hunter
Автор: Sylvie Kurtz
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные детективы
isbn: 9781472033833
isbn:
How hard was it for someone who owned and operated a garage stocked with used parts to make a car disappear?
Chapter Four
Lunch had gone well, Rory thought as she slipped onto a stool at the bar of The Hangout. With Felicia missing, Rory hated leaving her niece to anyone’s care, but Hannah was comfortable with Penny, and Rory needed to see and be seen—as Ace put it—in places that were not baby-appropriate.
She was pretty sure Ace had agreed to meet her here tonight, but she didn’t see him anywhere. A quick glance at her watch told her she was on time. Of course, no self-respecting biker probably gave a hoot about getting anywhere on time—except maybe to a drug deal. Maybe not even then. Stop it! If she kept this up, she was going to drive herself crazy. Concentrate. She was here to gather information, not wallow in anxiety.
“Want anything, honey?” the bartender with the greasy gray crew cut asked.
“I’m waiting for someone.”
Sitting at a bar wouldn’t normally fall under her choice of entertainment, but she was trying to step into Felicia’s shoes and walk a mile in them. And that mile couldn’t last more than a couple of weeks—less two days already—if she wanted to hang on to her job. That meant bending a few of her iron-clad rules of survival.
She didn’t want to think about what would happen if she didn’t find Felicia in the time she had left.
A clue, Felicia. Just give me a clue and I’ll find you.
Absently, Rory cracked a peanut she’d taken from the bowl on the bar and swiveled to look around the back end of the room for Ace.
The low lighting of the place imbued everyone inside with a soft edge—even the bikers swilling beer. Muted conversations buzzed around her. The barn-plank walls sported black-framed photos of women in various stages of undress, bikers and their motorcycles. Pool balls clinked on a table at the back end of the room. The two men playing there were too scrawny to be Ace. Along the wall, booths with high wooden backs gave a certain privacy to patrons. She didn’t spot Ace there either—with or without a bimbo wrapped around him.
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