As if on cue, a middle-aged black man with a generous belly and wiry gray hair sidled through a door at the end of the bar. He wore a red and yellow vest and black tuxedo pants, and his patent leather shoes shone in the haze of the bar lights.
“Evening, folks,” he drawled as he poured himself a drink. He settled himself onto the ornate piano bench, lifted the lid, and cracked each knuckle twice. Long fingers moved on the ivories, slow at first, then finding a rhythm and swelling into something Dakota had never heard before. Something guttural and passionate filled the air, something with a tribal beat that changed to jazz and back to a waltz before Dakota realized what was happening. High notes faded into middle octaves that ebbed and flowed while the bass kept steady time below.
Dakota could barely tear her gaze away. The sound, the rhythm, filled her belly. Thoughts of Sean vanished. “Wow.” Maybe there was something to this city’s blues reputation after all.
“Told you he was good.”
The bartender made his way over to their table and plunked down a couple of paper menus. “Y’all want something to drink?”
“Frozen margarita for me,” Sarah said. “You, D?”
“Same, thanks.”
Gunnar looked up. “Seltzer with lemon. No ice.”
Dakota cocked her head. “Not a drinker?”
“In another life.”
She looked at the scar winding its way along his jaw and decided not to ask.
“You were right,” she said to Sarah. “About the music, I mean.”
“I know. He’s amazing, right?” Sarah jumped up. “Come on. Let’s dance.” Hips wiggling, curls bouncing, she made her way to the ten square feet of hardwood beside the piano.
Gunnar smiled. “Hope you’re up for a long night. She’s a tough one to keep up with.”
“Are you kidding? She and I were born in the same hospital one day apart. We grew up two houses away from each other. Went to the same preschool, same play group, same everything. School together, summer camp together...we snuck out and smoked our first cigarette together.” Dakota laughed. “We’ve been keeping up with each other for twenty-six years.”
“I would have liked to see you two as teenagers.”
“Little Lakeside isn’t exactly the most liberal town in the North. We raised some eyebrows.” Dakota eased her way through the growing crowd and joined Sarah on the dance floor. With the swing of her hips, she found the beat and let it hold her, let it carry her away from the mess inside her mind. Over her shoulder, she caught admiring looks from a couple of guys pressed up against the bar.
“Told you this place would fill up,” Sarah said close to Dakota’s ear. They danced to another couple songs, until the hair on the back of Dakota’s neck grew damp. The crowd grew. The lights dimmed. “Let’s go outside,” Sarah said at the next break. “More room. Fresh air.”
“Outside?” Dakota peered at open doorway near the back of the club. “Okay.” Already the barstools were nearly full. A blonde female bartender in a tube-top had joined the college guy, and now both slung mugs across the bar in an easy rhythm. Dakota glanced at Gunnar, whose long legs stretched beneath the table as he tapped his fingers and watched her and Sarah. Only two or three of the tables around him remained empty. I’m glad he’s here, she thought abruptly. The dark shadows of Sean and the man from the video filled her mind. A chill crept to the back of her neck and hung there.
“Stop thinking about him,” Sarah said as they walked toward the doorway. “You told the police and hid the flash drive in Gunnar’s safe. Sean’s probably gone by now, anyway. Probably on a plane back to New Hampshire. He wouldn’t stick around, would he? He’s not that dumb.”
Dakota nodded without answering. She hoped Sarah was right. She had no desire to face Sean down, even with all of Memphis’s finest at her back.
ETHAN STOOD IN THE parking lot and squinted in the streetlights.
“Hey! E!” They emerged from the park across the street, Howie waving an arm and Paul with his hands stuffed into low-slung khaki shorts.
Ethan crossed to meet them. Just an hour, he promised himself. Then I’ll head home and hit the sheets. Alone.
“So which place you wanna hit first?” Howie studied the neon signs up and down the block. “I’m starved.” Slightly bow legged, he tripped his way over the curb and turned a corner. Paul followed. Ethan jogged to keep up as they made their way onto Beale Street.
He’d already grabbed a burger on the way home from Mike’s, so he didn’t really care where they ended up. Lights glowed against the early evening sky and blinded him for a minute. Two curvaceous brunettes emerged from a cab in front of them. Howie whistled. The woman giggled and glanced sideways. Ethan smoothed his button-down navy shirt and hoped the wrinkles in his jeans didn’t show too much. Back home, he hadn’t really cared what came out of the closet, but suddenly, his clothing choice seemed wrong.
As the women rounded the corner, something in the way the shorter one moved, the way her long dark hair swung against her back, hit Ethan in the gut. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t felt desire of any kind in over a year and wasn’t sure if the swelling sensation in his stomach was longing or indigestion. He opted to believe the latter.
“Shit. Look at that line.” Howie slowed as they approached B.B. King‘s, one of the most popular clubs on the block.
“Forget it,” said Paul. “We’ll be waitin’ two hours for a table.”
Howie looked up the street. “Every place is gonna be packed.”
Ethan glanced behind him to a door in the building they‘d just passed. Large windows revealed a mellow-looking club, with a piano player doing justice to the blues and a crowd that hadn’t yet filled the place to overflowing. He could just make out the pianist, a heavy-set black man of fifty or so. Sweat gleamed on his brow, and every few minutes he’d take a swig from the glass beside him. But his fingers set the keyboard on fire, and Ethan couldn’t help his toes from finding the beat inside his tennis shoes.
How long had it been since he’d spent a night on Beale Street? He’d lived in a few other places around the country, but none could rival downtown Memphis for music and food. He’d once spent every weekend checking out the clubs and restaurants, collecting takeout menus and following bands when they came to town. He’d always loved the easy vibe of Beale Street, the mix of people, the way everyone got along. When did I forget what it was like? But he knew the answer already.
“How about this place?” It seemed decent enough, with dark corners so that he could lose himself if he needed to. Later—much later—Ethan wondered what might have happened to the night if he hadn’t taken that look over his shoulder. If he hadn’t slowed down. He couldn’t imagine. One glance, he thought, and everything changed.
Howie shrugged. “Sure, whatever. Like I said, I’m starving. Give me a place with a keg and some fries and I’m good to go.”
They headed inside and found three stools at the end of the bar. Perfect, Howie mouthed above the music and the conversation, and for once, Ethan agreed. He studied the draft choices. After last night, he didn’t feel much like drinking. Settling on a pint of the lightest beer they served, he leaned back and surveyed the crowd. The old guy on the piano switched songs and crooned into his mike.
Howie elbowed Paul as three college-aged girls giggled their way inside. Identically dressed in bright-colored tops and mini skirts, they linked arms and tossed their hair over their shoulders in unison. Male heads turned up and down the bar. Ethan took a long drink and switched his attention to the ball game on TV.
“Check out the blonde by the piano,” he heard Paul say.
Howie swiveled on his stool. “Oh, yeah. Just the way I like ‘em: barely legal.” He guffawed and nearly choked on his drink.
Ethan made a deal with himself. Watch the first three innings and then take off. Stop by Mike’s and see how he’s making out. He finished his beer but shook his head when the bartender pointed, mouthing, Another? He wrapped his hands ar
ound a glass of water instead and watched the Braves’ third batter strike out. He could stand this for a little while. He wouldn’t be taking Mike’s advice about snagging a telephone number, but just being out of the house lifted his mood.
“Hey!” Howie said, loud enough for the entire bar to hear. “Are they twins?” He sprung to a stand as two tall, lithe figures emerged from the bar’s outside patio. In the shadows, Ethan could barely make out either woman’s features, but Howie had set his sights and moved through the crowd like a shark on the trail of fresh blood.
“That guy never quits, does he?”
Paul shook his head. “Makes for good entertainment, though.”
Ethan turned back to study the room. He saw a few people in their early twenties, but more seemed closer to thirty and above. Women clustered in packs of three or four, while businessmen stood with pints of beer in their fists, ties loosened. The music dwindled and he finished his water. He glanced at his watch and yawned, drained by the afternoon’s game. Paul had struck up a conversation with the other bartender, a cute blonde with hoops up and down each ear and a rose tattoo on her shoulder. Howie wandered back to the bar, sans twins.
“No luck?”
“Nah. Not that good-looking up close.”
“You aren’t or they weren’t?”
“At least I’m casting my line out there. You’re still thinking about what you’re gonna use for bait.” Howie tossed some bills on the bar. “Ready for another?”
Ethan shook his head. “I’m headin’ out.”
“Already? You’re outta your mind. This place is crawling with women.”
“So?”
“Jesus, man. You haven’t been out of your house except to go to work or play ball in what? Six months? Eight?”
Ethan ignored him and stood. He didn’t care how damn long it had been. This was stupid, a pick-up joint, a singles’ club, no place for him. He searched for a break in the crowd to escape, but to his surprise, the place had filled up. A enormous crowd lined up outside the door. The bouncer held them back with two arms raised in the air and shouted something as the pianist started up again. Ethan took a few steps toward the exit and stopped.
He looked at Howie, the game on the TV, the women swaying together on the dance floor, the bartender cozying up to Paul. Something pulsed in the air. He put his hand on the back of the barstool. Looked again at the bouncer, the crowd, the lights shining through the club’s plate glass windows. Felt the blood in his temples and a strange sense of anticipation at the back of his neck. And for some strange reason, one later he could never understand or explain, Ethan listened to Howie for the first time in his life, and he stayed.
9:00 p.m.
Sean glanced inside the first restaurant he came to. Smoky. Dark. No music. He kept on walking. Neon signs surrounded him, advertising music, shows and girls in every direction. One fist tightened inside his pocket. Twenty clubs and bars in the next couple of blocks, and crowds inside and outside every one of them. How the hell was he supposed to find Dakota? Cursing under his breath, he nearly ran into a brunette who had stopped to adjust her high heel.
“Sorry.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “No problem.”
Sean reached over to help her catch her balance. Never knew when a good-looking woman might help you past security at the door.
“I’m—Sam.” He dropped a wink and waited for her to blush.
She did. “Amber.”
“You by yourself tonight, Amber?”
Her blush deepened. “I’m meeting some friends.”
“Tell me something,” Sean said, leaning in. “I’m just in town for a few days. Any place you’d recommend to a stranger?”
“Well, B.B. King’s and Pat O’Brien’s are the most popular,” she said. Her brow creased as she thought for a moment. “But there’s a couple of smaller places that have good music too.”
Sean smiled. “You mind showing me?”
THIS IS NOTHING LIKE The Candlelight, Dakota thought as she looked around Piano Alley’s back patio. And that was definitely a good thing. Back home, right about now, she’d be setting out silverware for the dinner crowd. She’d be forcing a smile for the regulars and pretending to flirt with the occasional truck driver who stopped by on his way to Portland. She’d be listening to Sinatra on the jukebox and copying the dinner specials onto the dry erase board by the entrance. And she’d be waiting to see if Sean would walk in the door, dressed head to toe in uniform blue that matched his eyes...
“Dakota, watch out!”
She looked up at Sarah’s warning, but not in time to avoid colliding with an enormous woman dressed in hot pink spandex. “Ow!” The woman’s elbow caught her in the ribs and Dakota spilled half her drink down her front.
“Oh, darlin. You all right?” The woman offered her a stack of cocktail napkins. “You gotta watch where you’re going.”
“Sorry.” Wet spots all over her shirt. Terrific. Dakota blotted as best she could and checked her mini skirt. “God, I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re not,” Sarah said. “Your mind’s just somewhere else.” She put one hand on her hip. “I thought we had a deal. No sadness tonight. No dwelling on idiotic married man.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “You’re sure you’re okay? You don’t want to check with the cops again? Maybe call and see if they found him?”
Dakota shook her head. She just wanted to forget everything. “I’m fine. And I’m sorry.” She was, too. Really, really sorry that she hadn’t listened to the little voice inside her head that had reared up fourteen months ago—and then again three months ago, if she was completely honest with herself—and told her to stay away from Sean.
That little voice was there, too. Always had been. It made an appearance the first night when he hemmed and hawed around about his wife. Soon-to-be-ex-wife, he’d called Mollie. Yeah, right. The picture of them on vacation, still sitting in his apartment, should have given it away. And the phone calls that came at seven o’clock in the morning. And the nights he had to slip out of Dakota’s bed and hurry home in case Mollie called.
Five, ten, fifteen warning signs, lightning bolts all of them, and Dakota had looked the other way. Well, no more. From now on, she’d pay attention to all the signs and to that little voice of reason even if it killed her. Which it might, considering the fact that he thought nothing of bullying his way into her life, even across ten states.
Dakota pushed the thoughts away. She didn’t want to give Sean any more time or energy; she’d wasted too much of it on him already. Here on the patio of Piano Alley, just a few feet from the club, brick walls and flowering trees muted Ronnie’s music and the buzz of the crowd inside. She rolled her neck and took a few deep breaths. Wrought iron tables and chairs were tucked into the corners, and a fountain bubbled up from inlaid brick. A small bar blended into the subtle, dim décor. Perched on a stool behind it, a guy with a ponytail chewed on a toothpick while he washed glasses and waited for customers.
Dakota sank onto a chair and forced her fingers out of the fists they‘d tightened themselves into. “It’s nice out here.” If it was up to her, she’d stay on the patio all night. Forget about fighting the crowd inside. A group of women sat near the fountain, and a couple in their mid-thirties held hands over a table in the corner. Otherwise, the space echoed with stillness.
“This’ll fill up too, in a while,” Sarah said. She licked the salt on the rim of her margarita glass. “But yeah, it’s still nice.”
“It’s amazing.” For the first time since boarding the plane that morning, Dakota’s sadness vanished. The muscles in her neck unclenched. Her heartache almost seemed bearable. This is why I came south. To get away. To forget it all. Even if only for a few hours.
ETHAN LEANED AGAINST the bar as an enormous woman in a bright pink jumpsuit approached him.
“Well, hello, sugar,” she drawled. An ample breast flopped against his elbow. “By yourself tonight?”
“Um...I’m here with
some friends.”
She licked her crimson lips and ordered a martini. “Any of those friends happen to be female? Or do I got a chance with you?”
Paul elbowed him. Ethan swallowed and tried to think of an excuse. Leave it to me to attract the hugest, horniest woman in the place. He ran through his options. He could claim he had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Or a rare medical condition that was terribly contagious. The woman waited. Ethan began to sweat. “Uh, actually, the thing is...”
From nowhere, Howie sprang through the crowd and grabbed Ethan by the shirtsleeve. “Lola’s here,” he said loudly. “ She was running late, that’s all, had a photo shoot and just got into town.” He looked at the woman in pink. “Lola’s the Sports Illustrated cover model next month, and my boy here’s a sports writer, so, ya know...”
Ethan cut a glance at Paul, who was biting his cheeks to keep in the laughter.
“Cover model, huh?” The woman sighed and slurped at her drink. “Just my luck.” Turning, she knocked over two containers of peanuts and sideswiped the purse off the shoulder of a girl behind her. “Well, let me know if things don’t work out,” she said and edged her way toward another unsuspecting guy at the far end of the bar.
Ethan followed Howie around a group of guys in dreadlocks smelling of patchouli. “’Lola’?”
“Hey, I saved you, didn’t I?”
“For now. What happens when she finds out I’m flying solo tonight?”
Howie gave him a pointed gaze. “If you work it right, you won’t be for very long.” He waved one hand in the air. “Come on. You can’t tell me there isn’t one girl in this place you’d want to go home with.”
Ethan looked around for a long minute. Really looked. The problem is, there isn’t. Most of the women were pretty and well dressed; they carried tiny purses and blushed up at the guys who bought them drinks in that sweet Southern way that used to flip his stomach inside out. Once, a long time ago, he’d itched to spend a night in a place like this. Watching women, smelling them, studying the way they moved and pretended not to see you, fascinated him. It used to be fun, back in college, to hit the bars and clubs a couple of times a week.
Countdown: Ethan Page 8
