The Business Of Strangers

“Shakers is about ten minutes from here, and they do a decent fillet. Things can get pretty rowdy there on the weekends, though.”

Ria recalled the name. She’d sent a couple deputies on a call there last weekend. “What about outside the county?”

Marlyss reached forward and opened a side drawer on her desk. “If you want to drive on over to Phenix City or even Columbus, Georgia, I’ve got a few menus from places we’ve enjoyed. You’re welcome to take them with you and decide. Bring them back when you’re done though, won’t you?”

Recognizing the gesture for what it was, Ria took the menus. She wasn’t about to turn aside one of the few offers of genuine friendliness she’d encountered since coming here. “I’ll do that, Marlyss. Thanks.”

Once she’d showered, changed and got in her car, Ria was in the mood to drive. Glancing through the menus the dispatcher had given her, she decided to bypass Phenix City and cross the Chattahoochee River to Columbus. After six weeks on the job, she knew few people in Fenton County and the vicinity, but many would recognize her, thanks to the local news stories announcing her appointment. Columbus represented relative anonymity, and tonight that was what she craved.

She slowed at the first address Marlyss had suggested, but the place looked too crowded and pretentious for her taste. The second, with the dubious name Hoochees, was more her style, and located on what had to be prime riverfront property. Once inside, she congratulated herself on her selection. The noise level was muted, the tables were set far enough away from each other to give a semblance of privacy, and the bar looked well stocked.

The service was quick and discreet. Within just a few minutes she’d been seated near a large bank of windows overlooking the river, and had placed her order. Nursing her first Scotch, she let her gaze drift across the room, taking unconscious mental note of its occupants, before she found her attention snared by a man behind the bar speaking to the bartender.

A jolt of pure sexual lust sizzled through her. Surprised, she assessed him more carefully. It had been a long time, perhaps too long, since she’d responded to a man on any level. This one was dressed in black trousers and shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show powerful forearms. He was just a couple of inches taller than her own height of five-nine, with longish, well-cut black hair swept back from a face that was all chiseled hollows and carved angles. It was an interesting face, rather than a handsome one, made more so by the old scar that ran from the corner of one eye halfway across his cheek.

Although it was his bone structure that drew attention, it was his eyes that kept it. A pale ice blue, the look in them was as formidable as his expression.

Some would find it difficult to meet that demanding stare. It turned on her now, just for a moment, and she recognized the male speculation there.

Deliberately, she returned her gaze to her drink. She didn’t do long-term relationships, not ever. And when sexual energy demanded that she hook up with a man for a brief explosive sexual encounter, she chose men who were safe and shallow. This one didn’t appear to meet either criterion.

Picking up her glass, she swirled the amber liquid pensively. Today could be considered her birthday, in a way. It had been six years since she’d washed up on the shores of Santa Cristo. Six years since her appearance there had signed another woman’s death warrant.

Ria drank, the Scotch scorching a path down her throat. If she hadn’t already been determined to discover her identity, Luz’s death would have convinced her to do so. She may have deserved her fate. It was a hard possibility to contemplate, if a realistic one. But Luz had died because she’d gone out of her way to help a stranger, and the act had robbed her child of a mother, Luz’s parents of their child.

And someone was going to pay for that.

After making sure Maria was safe at her grandparents still-empty house, Ria had taken up residence at one of the hotels nearby, casing its clients until she found one who resembled her enough for her to steal the woman’s ID and return ticket, and pass them off as her own. The plane had taken her to San Diego, but innate caution had had her purchasing a bus ticket to L.A. There had been every reason to fear she would be followed. She’d made sure the trail wouldn’t be an easy one. Once in L.A. she’d found a modest room in a questionable neighborhood and spent her days haunting the computer labs on the UCLA campus.

The waitress delivered some steaming plates of food to the next table, and Ria’s stomach responded with a growl of interest. She caught the woman’s eye on her way by and raised her empty glass slightly. Smiling, the waitress nodded and continued back to the bar.

The Internet was a well of information for people who knew what they were looking for. Ria never had been able to recall any personal information about herself, but she’d known there were sites on the Net where people could obtain realistic looking documents for making false pieces of identification, and books that detailed how to create a past for herself. She’d had both delivered to a mail drop site she’d opened, and then started the real search.

For who had wanted her dead, and why.

Her nape prickled now and she turned to see the man she’d noticed behind the bar approaching her with a bottle of Chivas Regal. Silently, she watched as he stopped at her table and tipped the bottle to her glass, filling it, his gaze never leaving her.

That skitter was back, an electric current that shimmied down her spine and up again. The man’s magnetism was even more apparent up close, those ice-blue eyes even more compelling.

“Was the waitress busy?” she asked blandly, after he’d finished pouring.

His well-formed brows lifted. “No, she would have brought you a refill. I decided to bring you a drink and an invitation to share dinner.”

His voice was low, smoky, but she discerned a layer of steel beneath the surface charm. She reached out and raised the glass to her lips, still watching him. When she set it back on the table, she inquired, “And if I just want the drink?”

“Then I’d accept your offer to join you for a Scotch and be grateful for that.” Smoothly, he reached over and drew out the chair facing hers, sitting down as he motioned to the waitress to bring another glass.

Ria’s lips quirked at the obvious manipulation, but she let it pass. There were worse ways to spend a few minutes than conversing with a fascinating man. And perhaps, upon proximity, she’d discovered he wasn’t nearly as intriguing as he appeared.

Even as her mind jeered at the idea, she asked, “Are you the manager here, or something?”

“The owner. Are you a tourist?”

“No, I moved nearby recently.” She kept her answer purposefully vague, as much from habit as innate caution. She’d spent the last six years living below the radar. Her current identity had been carefully chosen. It would, and had, withstood law enforcement scrutiny and background checks. But no adopted identity was flawless. She had become adept at giving away as little personal information as possible.

Those pale blue eyes surveyed her as the waitress delivered a glass and poured a serving from the bottle. Their color was made even more startling by the dark lashes surrounding them. His was a rugged face, lined from at least thirty-five years, all of them hard. Most people would believe the scar responsible for the air of danger he carried, but Ria knew better. The danger went deeper. This was a man who had handled trouble and delivered more than his share of it.

“You’re not from around here.” He swirled the liquor in his glass and aimed a smile at her. His mouth was his best feature, its full, sensuous bottom lip providing an intriguing contrast to the chiseled lines of his face.

Her pulse stuttered, shocking her. It had been a long time since she’d responded to a man this strongly. It had been since…well, never. At least not that she could remember.

“You’ve got no accent, even though folks ’round here like to claim that it’s everyone else who talks differently.”

Dodging the question couched in his statement, she brought her glass up, sipped. “You don’t have an accent.”

One side of that well-formed mouth kicked up. “That’s because I’m from New York originally. But I’ve been in Georgia for about eleven years. Another fifty and they might consider me a native Southerner.”

Ria smiled. She’d already encountered that distant civility that clearly stated she was considered an outsider, and probably always would be. That was fine with her. She didn’t intend to stay in Alabama forever. Just long enough to finish the quest that had driven her for six long years. “You don’t look like a restaurateur.”

“No?” He leaned back in his chair, took a drink, pausing as if to enjoy the flavor of the aged Scotch. “Well, maybe that’s because I have multiple holdings. This place is just one of my businesses. And as of about ten minutes ago, it’s my favorite.”

The words might have sounded flirtatious coming from another man. But there was nothing lighthearted about him, or about the heat in his eyes. He was taking no pains to hide the fact that his interest in her was immediate, and frankly sexual. More heady than the Scotch, recognition of that fact fired her blood. One of the things she’d come to know about herself was that she wasn’t a woman who appreciated games.

She toyed with the idea of taking him up on the carnal invitation in his gaze. Sexual confidence shimmered off him like heat waves from a scorching tarmac. A quick bout of mind-shattering sex would be far more effective than Scotch and a steak to relieve a little of the stress from the last few days.

But in the next moment she rejected the thought, with no little regret. Although he didn’t look like the type to be averse to a no-strings, one-night stand, something about him kept her wary. The man had complication written all over him. And her life was already fraught with far too many complications.

There was a slight sound, and he withdrew a small beeper from his trouser pocket, looked at it and frowned. Glancing at her as he slipped it away again, he said, “I have business to attend to. Are you planning on staying long?”

She was already shaking her head. “Just long enough to devour that steak I ordered.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind.” He made no attempt to disguise the dual meaning in his words. This wouldn’t be a man used to having women turn away from his interest in them. But neither would he be one to brood overmuch when one did. He wouldn’t lack female companionship—either from those women too dim to be cautious about the slight menace he emanated, or those, like her, who were attracted despite it.

“I don’t think so.”

He rose. “Your meal will be on the house tonight.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“No. But maybe it will convince you to come back sometime, give us another try.”

“Maybe.” The word slipped out before she could prevent it, and a look of satisfaction flickered across his face.

He nodded once more. “Until then.”

She didn’t turn to watch him leave, although a part of her wanted to. Though she doubted their paths would cross again, fantasizing about a possible next time was harmless enough. There was very little room in her life for foolish wistfulness.

Most of her fantasies involved deadly daydreams of revenge.