Page 25 of The Perfect Accomplice

“We sure do,” Beth said, clearly proud of her work.

Jessie hung up and turned to Ryan.

My love,” she said.

Yeah?” he replied, his eyes fixed on the road.

“I know this guy just moved to the top of the suspect list, but I’m worried we might not get to interview him.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because at the speed you’re going, we’re going to fly off the road, fall down the cliff into the canyon, and die in massive fireball. So can you please slow down!”

“Sorry,” Ryan said, slowing down, but only slightly.

Jessie closed her eyes. She’d seen all manner of horrors in her thirty-one years, but for some reason, she couldn’t handle this.

“From now on,” she said, “I’m driving.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jessie's stomach began to churn as she watched the sun start to disappear over the horizon, blanketing the city in growing darkness.

Their murderer had killed two women yesterday. What were the chances that they would go another full day without trying again? She hoped that the man they were going to see now would end up being their killer and they could put an end to the hunt. But even if he was, proving it would be another challenge.

It was still only 4:30, but with the approach of early evening came the crowds at The Shot, which was apparently busy at all hours of the day. According to a text sent by Jamil, it had recently been voted by one local style magazine as the third hottest bar in L.A. this year, whatever that meant.

Parking was hard to come by, but Ryan found a spot in the loading zone next to the bar and displayed his police placard so he wouldn't get ticketed. They got out, and Jessie held out her palm expectantly. Looking like a naughty schoolboy, Ryan handed over the keys.

They walked to the entrance of the bar, which had only tiny, red, graffiti-style lettering on the wall near the entrance to indicate the name of the establishment. The place was not unlike many other cooler-than-you bars in the area in that there was almost no way to know it was a bar at all.

The Shot was located at one end of strip mall that also housed a laundromat, a doughnut shop and a payday loan office. If not for the line of people stretching from the door to the adjacent alleyway and the bouncer deciding whether they got in, it would be easy to mistake the place for an abandoned storefront.

They passed the crowd of people waiting and approached the doorman, a burly dude in all black with a shaved head and a beard that reached his sternum. The guy spread his legs a little wider as they walked up, anticipating trouble. But when Ryan flashed his badge, he nodded and stepped aside without a word. Apparently, he was used to visits from law enforcement.

Once they moved inside, the dusk of the outdoors was replaced by the even dimmer lighting inside. It took several moments to adjust. Once she did, Jessie saw that the entire place was defined by alternating red and black. Not just the walls, but the banquettes and tablecloths too. Even the servers wore black with narrow red belts. Jessie noted that they appeared to be leather.

They approached the bar, where she saw their guy using two metal shakers to prepare something for a woman who was staring at him googly-eyed. Jessie understood why. Beth had been right. Brian Barber was a beautiful man.

Easily six foot three and muscular in more of a lanky surfer than a bodybuilder way, he had blond hair with bangs that fell just slightly into his brown eyes. Even in the dark of the bar, his tan skin glowed, and when he flashed a cocky smile at the woman ogling him, his teeth were near-blinding in their white brilliance. She pretended not to notice for Ryan’s benefit, but her husband seemed oblivious to the man’s physical charms as he slid past several patrons to get closer.

"Brian Barber?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Barber gave him half a glance before returning his attention to the drink. “I can give you an autograph later, man,” he said dismissively. “Right now I’m helping the lady.”

“Once you finish with that drink, we need to talk,” Ryan told him.

Barber eyed him more closely now. After a second of irritation, he offered that grin again.

“No one would dispute that you’re a good-looking hunk of beef,” he told Ryan, “and I’m happy to make you a drink. But you should know up front that I don’t swing that way. Sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m flattered by the whole ‘hunk of beef’ thing,” Ryan replied, clearly ambivalent to the compliment, “but it’s not that kind of talk.”

“What then?”

“It’s the sort of thing you’re going to want to go on break for,” Ryan told him as diplomatically as he could.

Barber poured the beverage concoction into a tall, frosted glass, added a cherry and a tiny umbrella, and slid it over to the woman, who looked annoyed at having to share his attention.

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