Beneath the Surface

“Very good, blondie. And to make an example for other people that are being blackmailed.” Drago smiled. “But there’s one other reason.”

Like a good captive audience, Shannon waited. Maybe you can ooh and aah and gush over how smart he is and he’ll let you go. She was prepared to do that if she had to. As to the other reason, she’d already thought of that, too.

“A blackmailer would burn a victim if it somehow netted him more,” Drago said. “Did you ever think about looking into what these people had in common?”

Shannon had. She’d looked. There were so many and they were so disparate that she hadn’t been able to get a handle on a theory.

“I thought you could just find whoever was giving me the information,” she said. “That seemed to be the easiest way.” That way had also seemed the most dangerous. That was why she’d exhausted every avenue open to her before she’d gone to a major creep like Drago.

“If the Feds hadn’t wanted in on the play, it probably would have been,” Drago agreed. “Whoever you’re after is good at computers, but I’m better. I would have beaten that firewall.”

“I can pay you more,” Shannon offered. Greed was always good leverage.

Drago shook his head. “Sorry, blondie. But this looks like the end of a beautiful relationship.” His eyes dropped to her cleavage. “Having you around to tie me to this thing isn’t my idea of fun.”

Shannon’s fear crystallized inside her in that moment.

“I’ve got to tell you,” Drago said, “I think it’s a damn waste.”

A million questions popped into Shannon’s head. She’d always experienced that when new situations and people had come her way. That tendency was one of the qualities that had propelled her television career. She wasn’t one of those reporters that simply regurgitated scripted questions and punch lines.

How can you just kill me? What makes you think you’re going to get away with it? Is it that easy for you to kill someone? How many people have you killed? How did you kill them? Why hasn’t someone caught you? How are you planning on killing me? What are you going to do with my body?

When she got to the last two questions, Shannon knew she was thinking way too much. She needed to be moving.

“Bye-bye, blondie.” Drago smiled and his finger tightened on the trigger.

When Rafe entered the bar, he got the immediate sense that he’d invaded a private party. Every eye in the place turned toward him.

The bartender stood behind the scarred bar on the other side of the room. He had one bar towel slung over a shoulder and used another to dry beer mugs. He was a big, wide guy, an athlete that had gone to seed. The football pictures above the liquor bottles on the wall behind him offered a clue as to which sport he’d played.

“We’re closed, mac,” the bartender said.

Rafe looked at the other occupants of the room. There were three of them. They were all in their late twenties and early thirties. Their attire wasn’t far removed from his. One of them wore a Hispanic kerchief wrapped around his head.

All of them gazed at him with predatory interest.

Shannon Connor was nowhere in sight.

“Door’s open,” Rafe responded. He pointed to the window. “Sign’s still on.” He spread his hands. “Look I only want a beer. I just climbed out of one of the warehouses down on the river. My boss nominated me to repack a few shipments going out in the morning. I’m hot. I’m tired. And I’m dry.”

“Sorry, mac,” the bartender said. “Like I told you, we’re—”

“Hey, Tommy,” the oldest of the men sitting at the small tables called out. “Man just wants a beer. Ain’t nothing. Don’t be a chump.”

Grudgingly the bartender looked at Rafe. “What kinda beer do you want?”

“Bottle. Domestic. As long as it’s cold, I don’t care.”

The bartender reached below the bar and brought up a longneck. He placed it on the bar without a word.

Rafe looked at the man at the table. “Can I get you something?”

“Thanks. I’m good.”

Rafe dug in his pocket and brought out a thin roll of cash. “How much?”

“Four bucks.”

“Pretty steep for a working-class neighborhood, ain’t it?” Rafe peeled off a five and dropped it on the bar. “Keep the change.”

The bartender made the five disappear without a smile. Evidently he wasn’t big on repeat business.

“So,” the guy at the table said, “you working down at the docks?”

“Yeah.” Rafe twisted the top off the bottle and tossed it into a plastic bowl on the bar. He turned his back to the bartender because he could track the man in the reflection of neon-washed glass overlooking the street.

“That’s hard work,” the man said.

Rafe shrugged and took a long pull on his beer. “I’ve had worse. Had better pay, too.” He grinned.

The man grinned back at him. One of the other guys laughed.

“You from the neighborhood?”

Rafe shook his head. He tried to figure where Shannon Connor was and whether she was in any kind of trouble.

“Hanging with a friend for a couple months. Just till I get some cash up. The last girlfriend I had cleaned me out. Packed up my stuff, emptied the bank accounts and took off with my best friend.”

“Ouch, dude,” one of the other guys said. “Not exactly a happy camper.”

“I’ve had better days,” Rafe said. The story was actually true, but it had happened three years ago. He’d learned his lesson. Women and a job that meant long out-of-the-country trips really didn’t work out.

He hadn’t tried for anything steady since, but he hadn’t been completely put off toward women. It wasn’t their fault. The job was hard, and he wasn’t extremely skilled at relationships.

In the window reflection, the bartender glanced at the clock over the bar. “Maybe you could take that beer for a walk.”

Rafe grinned and shook his head at the guy at the table. “Man, I don’t understand why Tommy here doesn’t play to a full house every night.”

The guy at the table laughed. “You’re right. But so is he. It’d be better if you finish up that beer.”

“Hospitality’s about to run dry, I guess.” Rafe wondered what was going on.

“Okay,” Allison said in his ear, “now I’m definitely getting antsy.”

Rafe was, too.

“Don’t mean to push you out the door,” the man at the table said. “You come around here another night, I’ll buy you a beer myself.”