In Her Sights (39 page)

She hurried, grabbed a couple boxes and started on the mess
just in case anyone tried driving through the back. Last thing she needed was a
suit against her brother’s bar for four ruined tires after they drove over
broken glass. Her brother loved her, but not that much. Especially since she’d
already drained his savings on the new branch.

She tossed two bottles in the box and an engine rumbled
loud, revved and calmed. She squinted across the dim light and noticed
movement. Light from the small bulb on the back of the bar caught against a
truck moving in the darkness, but that was it. No headlights. Not even yellow parking
lights or fog lights. Just the glint of movement caught in a windshield. She
dropped the box and waved her arms as the truck headed for her.

They were going to have to wait for her to pick this mess up
or circle out the other side. If not, they were going to drive right over glass
bottles. She waved her arms harder, jumped and yelled in the most uncoordinated
way imaginable. By all accounts, they should have crashed their truck into the
building while rubbing-necking what she was trying to do. Dancer she was not.

But they weren’t slowing down. She backed a step, then
another.

The truck kept coming.

The motor surged. It was that moment of no…they wouldn’t.
And yet, she kept standing there like they planned to stop. ESP was not for the
win and she stood there as it neared closer. Stuck to her spot, really.

Vibrations rumbled through her shoes and shook her bones.
The noise echoed between the brick buildings surrounding the bar. Tires
squealed. Her heart skipped a beat. Or maybe it was more like a charge to jump
start it in a way that felt as though her heart beat the ever living snot out
of her chest to the point her limbs tingled and mind dizzied.

Either way, she shifted her butt in gear and somehow managed
to run.

Bottles and glass knocked against her toes, got under her
feet. With a stunning lack of effort, she performed what she suspected was a
fine impression of that cartoon cat skating on a wine bottle, arms flaying like
thin air was actually going to do something to save her. She’d never been good
on roller skates and this was far worse as the bottle won, shooting out from
under her foot.

Hard, hot pavement shattered the breath out of her as she
flopped like a fish tossed on the bank, then rolled to her back, then side,
where she came to a stop as a large tire, running bar and second large tire
moved past her face. Wind, exhaust, and dust rolled over. Bottles popped and
shattered across the ground as the truck drove on. She curled up and put her
hands on her head. A bottle skidded across the ground, slamming into her leg. Her
lungs choked tight in her chest.

Just as fast as the truck came, it was gone.

Its booming, vibrating motor drifted into silence. There was
only her and the parked cars. The side wall of the tattoo parlor next door to
the bar seemed darker. The tobacco place on the other side more so.

She pushed up on her hands, wincing as burning sliced
through her palms, shoulder, and thigh. Dim light from the bulb by the backdoor
lit the ground, caught and reflected off shards of glass. Steam like rising
heat flamed from her thigh and she pushed to standing, making it as far as her
knees before the ground swayed and moved like the ocean.

She shook her head and blinked, trying to find some focus on
this tiny pebble right before her eyes, but failing. Crusty bits were on her
lips and she raked off what she hoped was dirt and nothing more.

She hobbled to the back door. Aches filled her back and
legs. Each step was stiff and prickled with pain. She just had to get inside.
Inside where it was not out here. In the empty darkness. She gripped the knob,
bracing then giving it a good jerk and stepped in. The air conditioner washed
over and she sagged against the wall.

The door closed, popping hard and sealing her in. It was the
first time in her life she’d welcomed the loud noise.

Her palms shook as she turned them up. Blood seeped through
scratched skin, lightly puddled around bits of asphalt and dirt and god only
knew. She would not think about what some of the customers did back there after
leaving the bar…she would not…she was totally thinking about it and pushed her
hands down against her sides. She needed to bathe in bleach now.

She turned her knees over, finding the same scratched fate
for her thigh and by the intense heat filling her shoulder, the same would be
there, too.

God, they’d just nearly run her over. She tipped her head
back against the wall. No headlights on, but it wasn’t that dark. There was the
light from the backdoor. They should have seen her. She glanced down. Dark
purple shirt, denim shorts and a black half apron. She winced. But it wasn’t
that dark back there. Was it? They’d nearly run her over. What if she’d been a
customer who’d been drinking?

What if she hadn’t got out of the way?

She turned and the pull of skin stopped that attempted. She
sucked in a deep breath, pushed off with her elbows and managed to her feet.
Heat filled her raw skin anew. Blood pricked to the surface of her thigh and
dripped. She limped down the hall, favoring her bad leg and trying not to smear
blood down the walls and turn her brother’s bar into a B-rated horror flick.
That would just top her night off perfectly because as soon as that happened,
the health department would stroll in.

She needed something. Something besides a pool of bleach to
dive in.

Like a shot of lidocaine for her shoulder and leg.

Her older brother, that’s who she needed first. Brad, who
was a private investigator and could track down this asshole in the parking
lot. He would also hold the driver down in a dark corner so she could take her
revenge. Or more likely, just find the prick and do all the dirty work himself
and then not tell her about it. That sounded more like her oldest brother.

She made it to the doorway leading behind the bar and
stopped there to lean against the wall for a moment. “Anne.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your break?” Anne, one of the
waitresses, was using a shaker as she turned. Ice pinged and clinked as she
faced her and the metal pieces slipped from her fingers, bounced on the counter
and split open. The fiery scent of vodka filled the air as a clear liquid
puddle formed across the counter and overflowed, dripping over the edge.

Anne’s eyes fell down Sara’s front. “What happened?”

Just guessing here, but apparently she looked as bad as she
felt. On a scale of one to ten, that put her around a .092 at best. “In the parking
lot.”

Sara started to lean out, but with the long bar and the
customers filling the length, she stopped. Last thing she wanted was for
customers to quit drinking and having a good time and worry about her. She didn’t
want the attention either. Or a bunch of strangers invading her personal space.
Though if there was a doctor in the house, she’d be all over that. “Is my
brother here?”

“I don’t expect Jeffery back for at least twenty minutes. Go
sit down.” Anne walked toward her with a rag. “I’ll get you something to clean
up with.”

Sara touched her head and tried thinking through the
pounding. “What about Brad? Did he stop in?”

Anne glanced through the crowd and shook her head. “I don’t
see him.”

Sara rubbed her head. Of course not. He left two days ago on
vacation. Vision spiraled through her head. Awesome. Not only did she look like
the devil spit on her, but she had memory loss too.

Anne squinted as she searched the crowd. “That Clark
Russells he always sits with is here.”

Sara rested her head against the wall. Clark Russells. She
didn’t know much about him. He worked in private investigation with her brother
and the two were good friends. She didn’t know who was in that truck, but she
wanted to find out. What little she knew of investigating included it was
better to get information as fast as possible. Brad wasn’t due back for a
couple more weeks. She nodded. “See if he’ll come here. I…I think I need his
help.”

Anne nodded and headed that way.

“I’ll be in my office.”

Sara turned back down the length of the hall and entered her
small office. It was the same space as always. A room big enough for a desk. A
place for a potted plant in the corner for the day she’d remember to buy one
and a couple chairs in front of the desk. Today it was lacking. It needed a bed
to crash on and a blanket to wrap in.

She started to hug herself, but the pull in her shoulders
stopped her.

“Sara, are you okay?”

She turned at the male voice behind her. Her knees weakened
with relief and she leaned back and rested against her desk, facing Clark
Russells. She tipped her head back to face him and then it was all over with.
Her head swam in a way that it couldn’t recover from the blackness.

Just before the last of the spots took over, there was a
simple line of clarity: Don’t ever look up again. Which sucked because she wasn’t
tall enough to go around looking straight ahead all the time.