said. “Besides, they ain’t looking at us.”
“Sure they are,” she said as she took a pair of tortoiseshell glasses out of her pocket and slipped them on her face. “They just look away whenever one of you turns around.”
“You know, dude, there’s nothing wrong with bagging a couple of cougars,” the other guy said with a speculative note in his voice.
“But we can’t abandon this little gal,” the one on the right insisted.
“Sure you can,” Sierra said. “I’m about to leave, anyway.”
He grinned and cracked his knuckles. “That case, I call dibs on the brunette.”
Both men wobbled their way toward their new targets. Heaving a sigh of relief, Sierra once again focused on the mirror’s reflection. The lighting in that booth sucked. Details were hard to see.
She turned casually on her stool, glanced at the two women, who had apparently invited the drunks to sit down with them, and looked at the blonde’s table as she activated the camera hidden in the nose bridge of the frames of her glasses. She counted out a dozen shots, then got to her feet, put a twenty on the bar and made her way to the restroom, which meant she walked right past the booth. To her relief, the candlelight on their table was adequate at close range, and she took several pictures while passing, mostly of the woman, though the point was to get them both in the frame.
After washing her hands, Sierra retraced her steps, this time angling for a better shot of her two subjects. As she snapped a photo, the man called the bartender over. She darted him a startled glance. He looked right through her and she continued walking. She’d been so sure! But that accent...
Spiro Papadakis had been in the States for over a decade, but according to his wife, his Greek accent was still pronounced. This man sounded like the Jersey shore. He looked up at her as she passed and their eyes met. He blinked and looked away. She’d seen several photographs of her target and there was something familiar about this guy despite the voice.
Well, she’d download and study the pictures later. For now, her job here was done and she walked outside. Freezing rain pelted her face as she made her way to her car. Her phone chirped but she didn’t recognize the caller ID and answered cautiously. “Yes?”
“Is this Sierra Hyde?”
“Yes,” Sierra said as a sound from behind caused her to glance over her shoulder. She’d been a PI for almost five years now and liked to think her instincts picked up anything unusual in her environment. For a heartbeat she studied the facade. The lake behind the tavern was huge and black, and sent a layer of mist swirling around the painted wooden fish over the door. There didn’t appear to be anyone else around.
She turned her attention back to her caller. “Who is this?” she asked as she traversed the crowded lot to the very back corner, where she’d parked.
“My name is Pike Hastings,” a male voice said. “I’m sort of related to your sister, Tess.”
“I know who you are,” she said as she spotted the bright red bumper sticker promoting her choice of candidate for the upcoming mayoral election. She beeped the car open and settled behind the wheel. “You’re Mona’s son.”
“That’s right. I know we’ve never met—”
“Oh, my gosh, are you calling about Tess?” Sierra interrupted as she closed the car door behind her. “Has my little sister shown up? Does her dad know? Is she okay?”
“Yes, no, hard to say. Yes, she showed up, but here at my place. One minute she says call her dad, the next she refuses to let me do it. I’m not sure how she is except for a head cold and what looks to me like a major case of the jitters.”
“You’re in Montana, right?”
“No, the family ranch is in Idaho. About Tess, like I said, something has her spooked but she insists on talking to you and me together. Can you come right away?”
“Of course,” Sierra said.
“That’s great,” he said, and there was no missing the relief in his voice. “I took the liberty of buying you a plane ticket. I’ll email it to you. The only flight I could get you on leaves at five tomorrow morning from New York, I hope that’s okay.”
Sierra suppressed a groan. There went the night’s sleep she’d been hoping for. On the other hand, Tess had been mostly out of touch since a couple of weeks before Halloween. Sierra was so relieved to hear she was alive and breathing—even if it was in Idaho—that she would have walked there if she’d had to.
“I’ll pick you up at the airport,” he added.
“That isn’t necessary,” she assured him. “I’ll rent a car.”
“I insist,” he said. “The ranch can be hard to find and the roads are kind of tricky this time of year and your phone might not work,” he told her. “We don’t exactly have the same cell coverage you’re used to. Trust me on this.”
“Okay,” she said, and added her thanks before clicking off. Almost immediately, a sound outside the window made her look up and she gasped. It took her a second to make out the squished-up features of one of the drunks from the bar.
“Hey, baby, you’re voting for the wrong guy,” he said with a wide sweep of his arm toward the back of her car. “Jakes is a loser. Vote Yardley!”
She smiled and nodded and hit the door lock. No way was she rolling down the window. She started the car and hoped she didn’t back over one of his feet.
“Hey, come on back inside!” he squawked and reeled away. Did that comment about the mayoral candidates for New York City mean he had to drive all the way back to the city tonight? She sincerely hoped the bartender confiscated his keys and called him a cab.
Jumpy now, her mind racing with everything she had to do in the next seven hours, she drove out of the parking lot and headed home. A glance in the rearview mirror reassured her no one followed.
It crossed her mind that she didn’t know why it had even occurred to her to check.
* * *
PIKE HASTINGS WAS glad the predicted winter storm hadn’t materialized...yet. He arrived at the airport in Boise a half hour before Sierra’s flight was due to land and made the loop, keeping an eye out for a woman who fit her description. He’d never met her, had never even seen a picture of her. She shared only a mother with Tess, and Tess had warned him that while she had inherited her mother’s genes, Sierra had not. She’d told him only to look for a tall woman with red hair and an attitude.
As descriptions went, it wasn’t a lot to go on, but he figured they’d find each other without too much trouble. He eventually parked in the loading zone in front of the airline on which he’d booked her flight and got out of the SUV. Within minutes, a woman headed out of the building pulling a carry-on, impatience written all over her face.
But what a face. One in a million women could claim skin like hers: creamy, glowing, perfect. Large green eyes the color of spring ivy might look frustrated right now, but there was nothing wrong with their shape, just as her lips formed a lovely curve and her auburn hair fell in a glistening sheet to frame her jaw. She wore a black suede jacket and matching
