Unearthed by Robert J. Crane Read Free Book Online Page B

bad idea. Not only because the bartender had a sort of wary look in his eye that probably wouldn’t translate well in his interactions with strangers, but because she had no desire to swill whatever amber pisswater was sold in this establishment. Instead she ignored the barman and sauntered over to the table where her target sat, giggling, with a couple other fellows for company. “Can we talk?” she asked as she moseyed up, drawing looks from her target’s companions. Big guys. Warehouse workers. They had the shoulders for it, and the beer guts to match.
    “I don’t really have anything to say.” Erin Harris gave her an irritated, half-lidded stare that made Lauren think of a petulant child. Sullen would be another way to put it.
    “Well, I’ve got a few things to ask,” Lauren said, pulling a wooden chair out from the next table and scraping it across the old wooden floor to put it next to Erin.
    “Hey, lady,” one of the warehouse workers, who had plenty of sullen of his own, “she said she didn’t want to talk.” He was slurring. “Why can’t you just leave us in peace to have our fun?”
    Lauren thought about a few different answers to that. Fun is in the eye of the beholder—and behold! You’re a fucking moron. No one could possibly be having fun with you. You’re drunk so go home , and finally the blindingly obvious Why don’t you go take your tiny dick back to the woods and fuck a squirrel? She settled on ignoring him instead and turned back to Erin as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “I need to ask you something.”
    “Just leave me alone already,” Erin said, melting into her chair like she’d lost all muscle control. There was an empty glass in front of her and a nearly empty glass as its companion. The girl didn’t weigh much, and she was wearing jeans and a blouse instead of her deputy outfit, but she was bleeding that spoiled-rotten brat routine all over.
    “Could you just give us five minutes, guys?” Lauren asked, but she put her commanding voice on it, the kind she used to snap interns into compliance within five minutes of their first shift at the ER. “Then she’s all yours for whatever good times you can dream up.”
    They looked like they wanted to fight it. She could see the argument pass over the face of the one who’d already spoken. But fortunately, after a couple seconds, it did pass, and he scooted back from the table first. “You want another round?” he asked Erin as he stood. His buddy followed his lead.
    “Yeah,” Erin said, nodding vigorously—and drunkenly. “And a shot? We should do shots.” Her eyes were already glazed.
    “You should not do shots,” Lauren said.
    “What the fuck are you, her mom?” Argumentative guy asked.
    “Her doctor,” Lauren said, giving the guy the look. She pointed at the stitched name on her coat. “See? This woman is recovering from a rollover car accident and time she spent in a coma just six weeks ago, okay? She shouldn’t be drinking at all.”
    The guy looked chastised, ready to give up the argument. It didn’t always happen that way, but apparently he wasn’t entirely without sense.
    “I want shots,” Erin said to him.
    “Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking,” he said, suddenly uncertain.
    Erin went from drunken happy to burning resentment in two seconds. “Oh, fuck you,” she said, and her two drinking buddies sauntered off. Lauren got the feeling they wouldn’t be back until she was gone. Buzzkill. Erin slumped against the table, crossing her arms and putting her head on her forearms. “What the hell do you want from me? Other than to piss all over my evening off?”
    “It’s the middle of the afternoon,” Lauren said, drawing Erin’s eyes out from behind a forearm covered in light-blond hair. “On a weekday.”
    “What do you want?” Erin asked again, still peering up at her.
    Lauren leaned in, checking to make sure the guys were out of earshot. They were at the bar, talking to the surly bartender.