“I’m fine. Really.”
“Okay.” He nods at my empty glass. “Need a refill?”
“Please.” I hadn’t even realized I’d finished it. “Gin and tonic.”
By the time I finish the second drink, the traffic in the bar has dwindled to almost nothing.
Zak comes down and leans on the counter nearby. “Am I gonna have to cut you off?”
In spite of his teasing tone, I respond. “No. I’m done.”
“In the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you have one drink, much less two. What’s changed?”
“The day I’ve had? I probably should’ve had something stronger, don’t you think?”
“I think alcohol doesn’t help anything.” He sighs so deeply that he seems to deflate. “For what it’s worth, today hasn’t been great for me either. I went to see my sister this morning. No change.”
“You didn’t have them remove her from life support, did you?”
“I can’t. As long as there’s some chance, I can’t do it.”
Good. I don’t know why, but I’m glad he’s not giving up.
“So for what it’s worth, I think my bad day trumps yours.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” I glance away, as though somehow he’d be able to read the truth in my eyes.
“Oh yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.”
The challenge in his words begs me to tell all. What could it hurt?
He might think I’m a lunatic. Especially after what happened this morning. At the moment, though, I’m not sure I care.
I don’t want to keep it inside any more.
It’d be nice to have someone I can really talk to without having to filter every single word.
More than that, I want someone to know.
Something about Zak makes him incredibly trustworthy. And he told me about his sister, so this would make us even.
Although, technically, I guess I don’t know for certain that what he told me is true. He could be a pathological liar.
I doubt it. That kind of raw pain is hard to fake.
“You want to know something new? I don’t know who I am.”
He stares at me as though waiting for the punchline.
But there is no punchline.
I return the look evenly.
After several long seconds, he blinks. “What do you mean you don’t know who you are?”
“Just what I said. My memories go back a few days and that’s it.”
“What, like amnesia?”
“Exactly. I think it’s some kind of trauma induced amnesia.” Thank goodness I did some reading up on it at the hotel earlier. I pull back the hair at my left temple so he can see the cut. “Whatever caused this may have something to do with it.”
“That looks pretty deep. What happened?”
“Someone tried to kill me.”
“Why?” His gaze absorbs my face, probably searching for any indication that I’m lying.
“I don’t remember.” If only I did. Then maybe this whole thing would be over and I could return to my life. Whatever that was.
Zak exhales a long breath. “Whoa. I had no idea. Stormy… is that even your name?”
I shrug. “It’s what it says on my driver’s license.”
No point in mentioning that I have three other licenses with different names. I may have decided to let him in on the secret, but I haven’t bought into full disclosure just yet.
“Why tell me?”
“I needed someone to know.” My voice sounds scratchy, even to my own ears. Pressure builds behind my eyes and the room in front of me warps. “Otherwise no one would even know if something happened to me.”
He rests his elbows on the counter and leans close. “Hey, nothing’s going to happen.”
“You don’t know that.” The pressure in my throat intensifies.
Great.
I’m going to end up bawling like a baby. As if today wasn’t embarrassing enough. But I can’t seem to stop the words flowing from my mouth. “I barely got away the last time. There are people trying to kill me and I have all these dreams. Crazy dreams.”
I swipe at the tears that have escaped down my cheeks.
He gently bumps my arm with his own. “We’ll figure it out.”
We.
It’s nice to have someone in my corner. Assuming he really means it.
I look up. Sympathy radiates off him, from his eyes, his stance, his small smile. “You believe me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
I can think of about a million reasons, but I go with the most obvious. “It’s kind of a crazy sounding story.”
“Why would you lie about something like that?”
He’s right. It would’ve been a good card to play to avoid getting fired, but Zak has no authority over my employment.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond before continuing, “Aside from that, I’m a pretty good judge of people and I think you’re telling the truth.”
I can’t stop the tears that are flowing freely now. “Thank you.”
“Any time.” Pulling a few napkins from beneath the counter, he slides them to me. He watches me dab my eyes and cheeks. “Did you tell Charlie?”
Oh no.
I think I may have made a huge mistake saying all this out loud.
The news about me flattening Drew spread faster than fire. How long until everyone here knows about this, too?
Breath lodges in my chest. I can’t let that happen! Surely Zak won’t tell, right?
“No.” I meet his gaze, trying to calm my violently beating heart. “Please don’t tell anyone. I can’t… I don’t want anyone else to know. Please. No one.” It’s like shaking a can of soda and opening it. The words spew out.
“Hey, hey. Calm down.” His tone is soothing, like he might use with a scared child. “I won’t tell anyone you don’t want to know. But I do think you should consider telling Charlie. And Drew. You can trust them. And having a few extra people watching out for you isn’t a bad thing.”
“I know. I just don’t… not now, okay?” This was a mistake. I never should’ve told him. What was I thinking?
“Stormy. It’s okay. It’s your story to tell, not mine. I won’t say anything. Our little secret.”
Does he mean it? I sure hope so. At this point, I have little choice but to take him at face value. “Thanks.”
I should go. I’ve overstayed my welcome – and said way too much – for one night.
“I’m headed home.” Reaching into my wallet, I pull out a twenty.
Zak takes the bill, but doesn’t move. “You sure walking is a good idea? I’d feel a lot better if you called a cab or waited for me. Especially since there are people looking for you.”
“They’re in Charleston, not here.”
“Still. Can I at least call you a cab?”
“I’ll be fine.” I force a smile and glance down the bar where Drew is waiting on customers. “I can handle myself, remember?”
Even though he still looks troubled, he nods. “Well, I’d like to hear more about what happened sometime.”
I nod. It’d be good to run through things with someone.
Maybe he’ll have some insight that eluded me.
The cold hits me like a wave as I step through the doors, but my mind races with everything that happened today. First Drew, then the memory, then Zak.
The memory floats back through my mind. The club, Mason, dancing, and the spiked drink.
Did that really happen?
It sure felt real. Did I confront Mason or the bartender about what I saw? Am I hiding from Mason? He wasn’t one of the two men who tried to kill me, but if he owns a club, maybe he has people to do his dirty work for him.
I reach the sidewalk, burying my hands in the pockets of my jacket.
Cold burrows through the fabric, pricking my skin. Obviously I should have gotten a heavier jacket than this one.
But I didn’t really want to spend the money. Espe
cially since I don’t know how long I’ll even need a coat. If my memories return soon, I’ll likely be leaving. Maybe going home, wherever that is.
Maybe not.
It all depends upon what my memories reveal.
I reach a corner and glance up the street before hurrying across. Man, this side road is dark. Or maybe it only seems especially dark because of the glow emanating from the strip a block away.
Either way, I can’t get there fast enough.
A low rumble approaches behind me. A car of some sort, but since I know all of about a half dozen people here, most of whom are still working, I don’t bother looking.
It slows.
It sounds like it’s keeping pace.
Why, I don’t know, but I don’t like it.
Look? Or keep moving?
Part of me wants to ignore whoever it is and hope they’ll go away.
But if there’s an active threat, I’d rather see it coming. Ignoring it won’t change the fact that it’s there.
I glance over.
A silver SUV glides beside the curb. The passenger window is down and a guy with a goatee and a backwards hat leans slightly out the window. He gives me one of those little chin nod things guys do when they think they’re all that and more.
“ ‘Sup.”
I don’t break stride as I turn my attention back to the sidewalk in front of me. This joker isn’t a threat.
How I know that is beyond me. For all I know the whole back end of his vehicle is loaded with explosives, but my gut tells me he’s harmless.
I’ll go with that. Especially since I’ve got nothing else.
“Aw, don’t be like that, yo. You look like a chick who knows how ta par-tay.”
Please.
I glance over. “Not interested.”
“Ya sure? It’ll be a rockin’ party.”
Oh, I’m sure all right. “Then you better not waste your time here.”
The SUV continues pacing me.
Is this going to turn ugly?
I don’t even have a cell phone to call for help.
Although, really, who would I call? Not the police, that’s for certain. I’ve already hit their radar once with that drunk from the bar. I’m not about to do it again if I can help it.
At least I can channel my inner ninja if I need to. It’s a small consolation with everything else that’s going on.
Please. Just keep driving.
I refuse to give those guys the satisfaction of looking, even though I’m dying to know what they’re up to.
The engine revs and the tires squeal as the vehicle surges forward.
They barely slow at the stop sign, making the sharp right a little too fast and skidding through the turn. After a second of fishtailing, the vehicle straightens out and zooms down the street.
And to think, I could’ve been inside.
I reach the strip a moment later and approach the well-lit entrance to the casino.
The warmth embraces me as I step inside.
Safe at last.
The thought is chased away by reality. I’m not safe. Not here. Maybe not anywhere.
Eight
“Maria! Grab a rag. Spill at table five.”
“On it.” I barely glance at my boss, who looks more like a cornstalk than a man. A poof of blond hair sprouts from the top of his head and he owns more green clothing than anyone I’ve ever seen before.
“What was that?” His footsteps shuffle closer.
“Sir.”
It kills me to have to speak to him with such respect. Especially in light of how he treats me and the other women who work for his not-so-classy dive.
But he made it clear from the minute he hired me that everyone was to refer to him as Sir at all times, no exceptions.
So as much as I’d love to tell him where to go, I comply.
For now, anyway.
I grab a bin for the dishes and a few damp rags and cross the semi-crowded bar.
At least there aren’t any customers sitting here this time. Last time, he made me clean up a spill at an occupied table and I know that the guys sitting there got a full view down my shirt.
Knowing Gene, he probably offered me up for some kind of monetary gain.
I toss half a dozen glasses and a few plates into the bin I brought with me, then mop up the spilled beer.
Shuffling behind me alerts me to Gene’s presence seconds before I smell the stench of his cheap cologne. His hand lands on my hip.
As expected.
“Missed a spot, sugar.”
I clench my jaw to keep from saying something I’ll later regret.
I need this job. I can’t afford to lose it.
The hand slithers lower and lingers. Under the pretense of wiping the furthest corners of the table, I slide away.
A chuckle barely loud enough to hear drifts across the space between us before he moves toward the bar. Probably to go fondle the bartender next.
Pig.
It’s bad enough that he makes us all wear skin tight black mini-skirts, equally tight low-cut red tops, and stilettos, but he also takes every chance he can get to feel us up, too.
The women here are all too desperate and afraid to report him.
He’s a predator who preys on the weak. And he’ll get what’s coming to him. Soon. Very, very soon.
I drop the dishes and rags off in the kitchen, then pick up the order for table seven.
Behind me, a crash. From the direction of the kitchen.
Several women scream. Something shatters.
What? Is this going down now?
After what happened earlier, it’s not a moment too soon. I just wish I’d had a little notice.
Gene bursts through the kitchen doors and into the dining area, his face the color of the revealing top that’s part of my “uniform.” He weaves through the tables, his dirty little gaze locked on the “Employees Only” door at the opposite side of the room.
He’s probably planning to grab the cash stashed in his office before making a hasty escape.
Only he’s not getting away.
I scurry toward the potted plant outside his office, digging into the soil until my fingers find plastic. I rip open the two bags surrounding my Ruger LCP .380 and withdraw the weapon.
Stepping between him and his office, I raise the small pistol and point it at his head. “That’s far enough.”
His gaze zeroes in on the weapon in my hands.
A second passes before his jaw sags and his eyes flick from the gun to my face and back again. “You?”
Oh, yeah. It’s me.
A smile overtakes me. I do nothing to stop it.
“You little slut! After all I did for you!”
All he did for me? Like groping me and the other girls should earn him my loyalty? “Shut up. Before I put a bullet through that thick skull.”
“And in other news, the police are still looking for a man who held up a convenience store at knifepoint just after two this morning.”
What?
My eyelids flip open. Light filters around the window’s heavy shades and the comforter covering me is like a little slice of heaven. The voice I’m hearing is coming from the radio beside my head.
I’m not in a greasy bar. I’m in a hotel. In Reno.
That’s right. I set the alarm before going to sleep. Just in case.
Another dream. Another memory?
It feels real. But in it I was going by Maria. Not Stormy. Or Emily.
How am I ever going to figure out who I am when my dreams point me to all the identities in my wallet?
Could my mind be jumbling those up? Maybe I never really went by any of those names. Maybe my mind is filling in the blanks.
But it feels right.
I can’t explain it, but I think I am all those women. Maria. Stormy. Emily. And who knows who else.
Which brings me back to the question of why.
Why do I have all those IDs? What kind of person would need multiple IDs?
/>
An actress? But you don’t need actual IDs to play a character on stage.
A criminal? Possible. Even though the idea of breaking the law makes me feel sick.
A cop? Also, possible. But if that were the case, why would my dad be upset about my profession? And wouldn’t going to the police for help be my first option? Instead, going to the police feels like signing my own death certificate.
A spy?
Okay, now my imagination is really getting away from me.
I swing my legs from under the covers. I’m not going to figure out the answers by staying in bed. No matter how cozy it is.
My stomach grumbles, but it’ll have to wait. First order of business is a shower, then breakfast. Then maybe I’ll visit the business center on the hotel’s main floor. I can use a computer and google the names, see if anything comes up that will help me remember. I don’t have high hopes for it, but it’s worth a shot.
And then… I don’t know what. I’ll figure it out as I go.
It’s all I can do.
ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ
I grab a glass of strawberry lemonade and settle on the stool at the end of the bar. Funny how I’ve come to think of this spot as my own.
The gin and tonic was calling my name, but I doubt I would’ve told Zak everything I did last night if I hadn’t been drinking. While I don’t regret telling Zak, I can’t take the chance that the alcohol will loosen my tongue enough for me to tell someone else.
Frankly, it’s better to not take the risk. If I do decide to tell someone else – and that’s a pretty big if – I want to make sure my head is completely clear for that decision.
Man, what a day.
It was busy from the minute I walked through the door and didn’t slow down until it was almost time for me to clock out at eleven. Since it’s only an hour until we close, waiting for Zak seems like a good plan.
The crowd has thinned out, leaving about half a dozen people left in the bar.
I’ve only had a few sips when a man catches my attention.
Not sure why. He’s too far away for me to recognize him, assuming I even would.
Maybe it’s the puffy coat. Maybe it’s the knit cap pulled low over his head. Maybe it’s the way he seems to be scanning the bar and restaurant, as though looking for something or someone.
Shadow of the Storm Page 9
