Dead Aim. Anne Woodard
minutes later, her chest was hurting from the effort to breathe. She made sure he knew how to get to the bar, but didn’t wait for him even to unlock his door before her foot mashed down on the gas pedal.
Her tires squealed on the pavement as she roared away.
It was only the middle of the week, yet the parking lot at the Good Times bar was almost full when Rick arrived.
Maggie, shoulders hunched against the cold, was pacing in front of the door. He had the feeling she was regretting her offer to help, but before he could say a word, she yanked the door open and stepped inside. Frowning, Rick followed her.
Even in his college years, he hadn’t been much for bars and partying. His friends ribbed him about his unsociable ways, but these days he generally stuck to the unfashionable places where he could get a beer and maybe engage in a little conversation about whatever game was showing on TV.
Walking into Good Times was like walking into a wall of heat and humanity. The bar was everything he hated—loud, crowded and trendy. A sign outside had advertised a live band for the weekend, but right now a popular country and western pop hit was blaring from hidden speakers that almost, but not quite, managed to cover the deafening roar of conversation and laughter.
The crowd was mostly college kids and young professionals, with an occasional aging, desperate male here and there trying to pretend that the years weren’t catching up with him. Dress was everything from slick business suits to short tops, low jeans and navel rings. Judging from the expressions on their faces, all of these customers had one thing in common—a grim determination to have fun, no matter how much it hurt.
Rick tried to imagine Tina in a place like this and failed. Tina lived in the reverent quiet of libraries and museums, not this kind of insanity.
A tug on his sleeve drew his attention back to Maggie. He had to bend down to hear what she was shouting. She leaned closer, her breast touching his sleeve.
“I’m going to hit a friend at the bar, ask him about Tina, who all the regular patrons are, see if we can find someone who saw her. Order me a diet soda, will you?”
Her breath was warm on his ear. All he would have to do to kiss her was turn his head….
Before he could say a word, she’d handed him her jacket and slipped into the crowd, seemingly as comfortable in this madhouse as she was at the Cuppa Joe’s. Just walking into the place had brought the sparkle back to her eyes.
Before Rick could follow her, a harried-looking waitress dodged in front of him with an overloaded tray of drinks. He edged around her and ran into three giggling females who eyed him with a speculative interest that drove him in the opposite direction. By the time he’d worked his way through the outer fringes of the crowd, he’d shucked his own jacket and lost Maggie completely.
Rick stared about him, baffled. He hadn’t worked out any real plan, just figured he would talk to the bartenders and waitresses until he found someone who remembered Tina and the guy she’d been with. He hadn’t counted on having to deal with a crowd like this or noise levels that made it impossible to talk below a shout.
He wished Maggie were beside him. She seemed to be at home in a place like this.
He would swear he could still catch her lingering scent on his jacket sleeve where she’d inadvertently pressed against him.
Too much time in the wilderness, Dornier, he chided himself, ruthlessly squelching the thought.
Because Maggie was already talking to the people tending bar, and because Rick couldn’t think of anything else to do, he stopped the next waitress and asked if she knew a Tina Dornier. She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“It’s all I can do to remember the drink orders.” She glanced at his empty hands. “You want one?”
He didn’t. It was only after she was gone that he remembered he was supposed to order Maggie a diet soda.
He scanned the crowd, struggling against dismay. What in hell had he been thinking? He dealt with grizzlies, not humans engaged in modern courtship rituals. Maggie had been right—there were a lot of good-looking guys here, any number of whom could have given Tom Cruise a run for his money. The last thing people at a place like this would pay attention to was a quiet woman talking to a man nobody knew.
Was there something else he could do to find out the name of that stranger Tina had been talking to the last time anyone had seen her?
Or, at least, admitted to having seen her.
That thought made him flinch.
As it turned out, the people came to him. The women, anyway, many of them younger than Tina. Several offered to buy him a drink. Not one remembered his sister, let alone the stranger.
Desperate, he grabbed a small table that was just opening up. He draped Maggie’s jacket over the back of the second chair, then stopped another passing waitress and ordered a beer and diet soda.
She was back sooner than he’d expected.
“Tina?” she said in answer to his query. She set the soda on the table. “Sure, I know her.”
She handed Rick the beer, deftly pocketed the twenty he handed her, then brightened when he refused any change. Thus encouraged, she set down her tray and slid into the empty seat across from him.
“Tina’s two years ahead of me, but she helps me and a couple of friends with art history papers sometimes. Real nice. And she’s your sister?” She eyed him assessingly.
Rick found himself blushing. “She was in here a couple weeks ago. Talking to some stranger, according to her roommate.”
The girl frowned. “I remember Tina being here. Good Times isn’t, like, exactly the sort of place she hung out. Know what I mean? But a guy…?”
She scanned the crowd as if hoping for inspiration. “I sorta remember seeing her with someone, because Tina wasn’t really interested in guys. You know? I remember he was good-looking, but there’s, like, lots of good-looking guys here.”
“Her roommate said he looked like Tom Cruise,” Rick offered helpfully.
“Tom Cruise?” She frowned, considering, then shrugged. “I don’t know. We don’t get many guys that old in here, you know?”
Rick managed not to laugh.
Karin stood. “I’d better get going or my boss’ll dock my pay or something. You got a number I can call if I think of anything?”
“Not yet. I haven’t had time to get a hotel room. But here’s my business card.”
“What about your cell phone?”
“I don’t have a cell phone.”
She stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown two heads.
It was a look Rick had seen before. His friends thought he was a Neanderthal, but he’d never understood the modern passion for instant communication. Besides, cell phones weren’t all that useful in Montana’s backcountry—too many places where you couldn’t get a signal. “Can I leave a message for you here?” was all he said. “To let you know where you can reach me if you remember anything?”
“Sure. There’s always someone here who can take a message if I’m not working. My name’s Karin. With an ‘i.’”
“Thanks, Karin.” He smiled. “I’ll remember the ‘i.’”
A couple of minutes later, Maggie slid into the chair Karin had vacated. She snatched up the soda and took a couple big gulps.
“Thanks! Trying to carry on a conversation in this place is hard work.”
Like Karin, she had to lean halfway across the table and shout to make herself heard over the noise. You could plot a bank robbery here and the folks at the next table wouldn’t hear a word you’d said.
“Find