The Shore by Robert Dunbar Read Free Book Online Page B

and her frustration and humiliation demanded an outlet. First big case to hit this town ever, and what am I doing? Zip.
    Faint blue moonlight flooded the empty lot. This is my town, damn it! She had to stop thinking about it, had to concentrate on the run. Crossing the lot almost soundlessly, she turned the first corner to escape the wind, then cut over to an alternate route along a smaller street. My time stinks tonight. Maybe I can make it up on the home stretch. Her heart pounded. I’m still jumpy as hell. Maybe I’ll cheat and take the shortcut out past the amusement park. As she wove in and out of divots of light beneath random street lamps, every noise, every gusting motion made her gasp. Got to get my nerves under control.
    Empty crates, bundled newspapers and other flotsam of the streets lay scattered around a yawning trash can. Dense shadows loomed. As she dodged past, her foot slipped on a patch of garbage and she felt a pulling burn in her leg. Shit! She limped on. Probably not so bad.
    The pain balled hotly in her calf. Just hurts like a…
    With a mewling choke, she whirled, both hands raised to protect her face. Something squirmed, and a small gray form blurred away from her on the ground. Wind spun an unearthly whine into the night.
    What…? Shivering with more than the cold, she hobbled closer.

V
    As a frigid wave of air swept in, the barmaid looked up with a reflexive smile. Yes, she thought, checking out the newcomer, that was the same pinched, bitter look she’d seen on the face of each patron to stumble in tonight. But this one had something else to offer.
    Maybe everything else.
    Tall. Good shoulders under the leather jacket. Thick hair. Blond? She couldn’t tell in this light, but it hung wild in his face, and she liked that too. The door swung shut behind him as he stalked through a winking band of light. Even watery from the cold, those sharp blue eyes cut at her from across the room. She watched him saunter up to the bar and try to look nonchalant with everybody staring at him. He moved smoothly for such a big guy, and she caught herself actually licking her lips.
    With an elaborately casual glance around, he planted himself on a bar stool and pulled off his gloves to blow on his hands.
    He looked mean, she decided, or maybe not “mean” exactly, maybe just a little dangerous. Definitely her type. “What’ll it be, hon?”
    He looked up. The barmaid wasn’t as pretty as she’d seemed from the doorway. The straw-colored hairdo had been sprayed to brittle stiffness, and the makeup had been applied too heavily. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came.
    “You really look frostbitten.” She gave a throaty giggle. “Can I do something to warm you up?”
    A sting of burned tobacco tinctured the air, making his eyes water until the room seemed to melt, and the heavy scent of food made him reel. The woman leaned on the bar and smiled full in his face while she talked, her gaze overbright. Even in this dimness, he could see the tight lines that crosshatched her lips. He had difficulty concentrating on her words, but he said something back to her—he wasn’t sure what—and as he peered around the room, a couple at the nearest table looked away. The man’s collar had twisted, and his companion, an elderly woman with hair the color of iodine, reached to adjust it. Their table wobbled when she moved.
    One long multicolored fingernail tapped commandingly against the bar’s surface. “Something to eat? Before I turn this off?” Indicating a Crock-Pot with a wave of her hand, the barmaid blew smoke to the side, dropping the unfiltered cigarette into a clamshell. “You all right?” She waved politely at the cloud, then used her nails to daintily peel a fleck of tobacco off the tip of her tongue. “I roll my own.”
    “Sorry.” He nodded. “Give me a minute to catch my breath.” But when he asked for a draft beer, she just looked annoyed.
    “Bottles only. One brand. Did you say you