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Twenty-Seven

Spencer’s Sport Bar lived up to its name. LED signs advertised beers and spirits, and pennants were tagged up everywhere. The bar was positioned in the middle of the room with televisions mounted to shelving that housed bottles of alcohol and glasses.

Kelly hung back a bit, letting Jack lead the way. She was feeling more than a little angry with him. It seemed like every time she opened her mouth, he was ready to criticize. But from her experience, part of what solved cases was tossing out hypotheticals and seeing what stuck. It would seem that wasn’t welcome on Jack’s team—at least not by her.

The bar was bustling for being close to one o’clock Saturday morning, though Kelly remembered in her twenties she and her friends never left home for the clubs until midnight. Not that Kelly was a major fan of clubbing.

Jack squeezed between a few guys at the bar and flagged down the server behind the counter. Kelly was behind Jack, but she could discern that he was holding up his badge. If nothing else, aggravation on the bartender’s face gave that away.

The server waved for Jack to follow him, and Kelly stuck close on his heels. They were taken into the kitchen before the server turned around, crossed his arms.

“What can I do for you, Officer?” The twentysomething guy leveled the question as a challenge on Jack, but briefly slid his gaze to Kelly.

“FBI,” Jack corrected. “Agents Harper and Marsh. We need to speak to the bartender who was working last night at eleven.”

“You’re looking at him.” He clasped his hands in front of himself and shifted his weight to his heels, like he was posing for a gangster portrait.

“And your name?” Jack prompted.

“Cody Banks.”

“Well, Cody, did you see this man in here last night?” Jack pulled out his phone and brought up an image of Darrell Reid, held his screen for the server to see.

“I know him, if that’s what you’re asking. Name’s Darrell Reid, some fancy prosecutor, from what I understand. What about him?”

“You know him, okay, but what I had asked was whether you saw him last night. Did you?”

“I might have.”

“A yes or no answer will suffice.”

“Yes.” The word came out resembling a hiss.

“Was he here by himself?” Kelly cut herself into the conversation. Cody looked at her.

“He was with a woman. Good-looking thing, too.” Cody’s predatory gaze took in her entire body, and she felt the need for a shower.

Kelly swallowed her instant dislike for this guy. Thing was never a way to describe a woman. “Do you know her name?”

“Never got it. Nope.” Cody peered into Kelly’s eyes, licked his lips.

Unbelievable! Kelly squared her shoulders, peacocked her stance. “What did she look like?”

“Brown hair, long, past her shoulders, and she had almond-shaped eyes, rosebud lips.”

Rosebud lips? “Okay, body shape,” Kelly said. “Tall? Short?”

“Trim and fine.” Cody smiled and flashed a bit of his teeth with the expression. He looked like a carnivore about to snack on his prey. Kelly detested that she was being eyed as the quarry.

“Did she come in with Mr. Reid?” Jack asked.

“No. She met him here, and I think they left together. Now, whether they went somewhere after that, I don’t know.”

If this woman was also their sniper, Kelly almost respected that she could be so deceitful and put herself so close to her target. “Has she been in here before?”

“She has, and it’s always with Mr. Reid. The guy’s—what?—in his fifties, and she’s maybe thirtysomething. He either knows what he’s doing, or he pays for her time.”

“She strike you as a hooker?” Jack inquired.

“Nah, not really. Maybe a high-end escort, but definitely not a street hooker. She dressed too nice.”

Kelly nodded, only half interested. Cody had said, “It’s always with Mr. Reid.” She asked, “How long have the two of them been coming here together?”

“Say about six months, maybe more.”

Six months ago, their sniper had been in New Mexico, so if anything, Cody had just described Reid’s mistress—not his would-be killer—but they still needed to speak with her. “She didn’t by chance pay her own tab? Maybe by credit card?”

“Nah, that lawyer picked up the check. Don’t blame him. Women as fine as that don’t have to pay for anything.”

Kelly clenched her hands, her fingernails digging into her palms.

“You said they left together,” Jack said. “What time was that?”

“Say around eleven.”

Jack produced a card from his pocket and handed it to Cody. “You suddenly remember her name, call me. Got it?”

Cody tucked the card into a back pocket. “Sure.”

Jack was the first to turn his back on this doofus, but Kelly happily followed his lead.

Outside, she inhaled the fresh night—early morning—air. Who cared that it was riddled with car exhaust and other pollutants? It still worked to clear her mind of Cody and his objectification of women. It was sad to think men like that were still around in the twenty-first century, though she’d dated one a year ago. He was Mr. Charmer until his veneer wore off, which didn’t take too long. He was probably why she had a sensitivity to sleazeballs.

Jack stepped up next to her and nudged his head toward the bar. “It was a long shot coming here.”

Is he trying to make me feel better or worse?

“Sometimes long shots pay off.” The words spilled from her lips, and she pinched her eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, nothing to be sorry for.” He started toward the SUV, and she followed. “It only made sense for us to come here.”

His comment rendered her silent for a few seconds. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.” Of course, the minute she said the words, she regretted them. Why did she continue to apologize? If anything, he owed her an apology. He’d been disrespectful to her from the start of this case. She felt her temper ripple through her, and she tried to tamp it down with logic. Jack was the boss and, as such, could treat her however he was inclined. He was still a grand improvement over her sergeant in the Miami PD. If she didn’t get her emotions under control and watch her mouth, she’d be sent packing and back to him, tail between her legs, and that’s the last thing she wanted.

Once in the SUV, she did up her seat belt. “We really do need to find Reid’s mistress,” she said, keeping all emotion out of her statement. “She’s not our sniper, given what Cody said about them coming here for six months together, but the mistress might have seen someone who stood out to her.”

“Don’t disagree, and we’ll find her, but it’s likely not to be tonight.”

She glanced at the clock on the vehicle’s dash. 1:40 AM. “That’s a good bet.”

“Pretty much. Let’s catch some sleep, reconvene at the station about eight.”

“Sounds good,” she said—and it did—but she wasn’t sure the Sandman would visit her. She’d left everything behind for this job, and she was sure as hell going to make it work. If only the investigation would cooperate with her efforts.