Page 40 of Vow of Vengeance
"We'll come back when they're gone. Early morning or something."
"No." She shakes her head curtly. "What if she is in there and they move her? What if we leave and they torch the place? We can't take the chance of losing her, Declan."
Her wide eyes are so innocent, so full of hope.
"Should we call the police?"
It's not that I expect them to be more competent than we could be, but there's a possibility that Soren is right about her suspicion, that her best friend could be inside her own bar. I don't want her to be the one to find her best friend's dead body... or worse.
"No." She shakes her head. "It's my name on the bar, right? I own it."
Convenient.
I wondered why Soren Palmer, who barely drinks, would own a bar. It seemed like such a random business from the woman who's obsessed with coffee and reading and the color blue. Now the realization hits that it was probably never hers in any sense of the word... not her idea, not her business to run, not her building to maintain. But on paper, of course, she owns it.
"Well, we can't stay in this spot all night. They'll know something's up."
"They may already. Tony was cagey about me being there.” She shakes her head. “It’s like…”
When she doesn’t continue, I prompt her to go on. “Like what?”
“It’s like he was annoyed to see me. Like he thought I was gone and then…”
And then he realized she wasn’t. He realized that I wasn’t going to kill her… that I wasn’t going to take care of his problems for him.
I stare at the bar where I know Tony is inside, wondering if he’d really have it in him to kill his own nephew.
Something tells me I already know the answer.
twenty
Soren
We'reparkedonestreetover, watching through binoculars as the bar comes alive. The parking lot fills slowly, and I watch patrons come and go-- some I recognize and some I don't. I watch girls stumble in together, clearly having begun their celebration elsewhere, and then practically drag themselves to the waiting cars. I'm idly grateful that they at least don't attempt to drive themselves, but when one of them stumbles out into the night and vomits all over her own feet, irritation flares inside me. Nika would be making sure that no one is getting overserved. In her absence, it seems that no one is doing anything other than serving drinks.
Through the binoculars, I watch as a man comes out to pull the girl off the ground, throwing her over his shoulder, and I suck in a breath, anxiety unfurling in my stomach.
"Declan..." I warn, knowing we have to do something.
"Pretty sure that's his wife." Declan assures me. "They walked in together."
As he carries her limp body toward the car, my restlessness intensifies.
We've been watching the bar for hours. Khan is stationed a few buildings down, his eyes on the back entrance. I call him every thirty minutes to be sure he hasn't fallen asleep, and more than once, his voice is thick with exhaustion. But if Marissa is inside the bar for some reason, they'll try to move her.
After my visit earlier today, whatever horrible shit Tony and my husband were into, is at risk of being revealed. Even if he didn't see me walk out of the secret room, he suspects I saw something. Our interaction was too stilted for everything to be normal, and despite my attempts to make it seem like Declan was just my boss, it was pretty clear when Declan punched him that it was deeper than that.
"I don't care if it's his wife." I snap, watching as he opens the passenger side door of a truck and hefts her inside. I know that marriage doesn't excuse people from doing wicked things. It didn't stop Vin from...
I feel nauseous, but as the man buckles the woman into his car, my anxiety settles. He did the motion with a practiced sort of care, like this isn't unfortunately the first time he's had to do this. When he presses a kiss to her forehead, I let the binoculars drop, pressing my fingertips to my eyes so I can try and ease the exhaustion creeping in.
Nothing makes me as tired, it turns out, as doing nothing.
"I could make a few calls, and we could have that place emptied in thirty minutes or less," Declan says, drawing my attention to him. "And then we'd know whether she's even in there."
"And we'd show our hand if she's not." I shake my head. "They'd know that we suspect something, and the little bit of leverage we have would be gone. We have to wait until they're gone."
Declan doesn't argue, settling against the driver's seat and bracing his hands on the wheel, stretching. He doesn't complain,doesn't argue, just returns his attention to watching out the windshield for anything suspicious.
