full height, a petite five feet, three inches.
“Then I suggest you tell me where she is. My little sister is only nineteen years old.”
She tried to make her voice sound calm and steady, but inside she was quaking with tension. The bartender suddenly looked more serious.
“Your little sister, you say?”
Rhee nodded. “That’s what I said, sir. She was dating a guy who rode with a motorcycle club that used to stop in here. She’s missing. At least just let me put up this flyer?”
The bartender nodded to someone behind Rhee’s head and then looked back at her.
“Well, missy. You have a lot of nerve coming in here and making demands. But…it turns out that I have a little sister myself. Hand over one of them flyers you got there. You can put one up in the ladies’ room too, if you want,” he held out his beefy hand.
Ten minutes later, Rhee’s breath rushed out in a great whoosh as she pushed her way back out onto the street. In her haste to get back to her old Toyota she nearly ran headlong into a tall, blond man who had just parked his impressive-looking bike by the curb.
“Steady there, little girl,” a husky voice rasped with an undertone of mirth.
Little girl?! Rhee glared up angrily and felt her breath catch in her throat as a pair of twinkling blue eyes met her own fiery green ones. Damn, he’s tall! Irritated that she had to crane her neck to see his face, she straightened her spine, flushing under the stranger’s perusal.
He wore a black leather vest over a tight, black tee, and loose jeans that might even conceal a holstered weapon. Definitely one of those biker gang guys , Rhiannon thought to herself. It must have been only a few seconds that she stood there, transfixed by the blond hulk’s gaze, but it seemed like an eternity. Rhiannon mumbled an apology and tried to walk slowly back to her vehicle, aware of the man’s eyes on her back. Running would show fear, she reminded herself as she forced herself to take slow, measured steps, willing her hands not to shake as she placed her key in the door.
That was the first place she hit. That week, Rhiannon visited four more biker hangouts, hot on the trail of her little sister, Michaela, or Mickey their father had christened her. Mickey often disappeared for weeks at a time; the girl had been a free spirit since the day she was born. Rhiannon smiled, remembering how her baby sister had scared everyone one cold winter’s morning by crawling behind the Christmas tree and falling asleep, while the family tore the neighborhood apart trying to locate her.
Yep, that was Mickey all right. She had horrified their mother by getting a butterfly tattoo on her sixteenth birthday, and she had rejected traditional college applications in favor of pursing her photography hobby. Mickey marched to her own beat and never stayed in the same place for very long. Her little walkabouts had never worried Rhiannon…until now. This recent disappearance had been preceded by a frantic phone call in the middle of the night. Rhiannon remembered every word out of Mickey’s mouth, even though she had been half asleep.
“Rhee, it’s me! Wait-don’t say anything! I’m in trouble, Rhee. Big trouble. I need you to come and get me…tonight! I’ll be at the corner of West and-oh! Oh, shit…”
The call had been disconnected. Rhiannon had flown from the house in her sweats and raced across town to West Avenue. She drove up and down the street in vain, all night long. Finally, exhausted, she had gone to the police and they had been no help. They all remembered Mickey. Their parents had logged numerous missing persons reports when Mickey was in high school. She always turned up, with a new tattoo or a story about a festival in the desert. It seemed her reputation had followed her to California. Darling was a small town, and the local deputies didn’t bat an eye when Rhiannon begged frantically that this time, a search party really was warranted.
It had been days since
“Then I suggest you tell me where she is. My little sister is only nineteen years old.”
She tried to make her voice sound calm and steady, but inside she was quaking with tension. The bartender suddenly looked more serious.
“Your little sister, you say?”
Rhee nodded. “That’s what I said, sir. She was dating a guy who rode with a motorcycle club that used to stop in here. She’s missing. At least just let me put up this flyer?”
The bartender nodded to someone behind Rhee’s head and then looked back at her.
“Well, missy. You have a lot of nerve coming in here and making demands. But…it turns out that I have a little sister myself. Hand over one of them flyers you got there. You can put one up in the ladies’ room too, if you want,” he held out his beefy hand.
Ten minutes later, Rhee’s breath rushed out in a great whoosh as she pushed her way back out onto the street. In her haste to get back to her old Toyota she nearly ran headlong into a tall, blond man who had just parked his impressive-looking bike by the curb.
“Steady there, little girl,” a husky voice rasped with an undertone of mirth.
Little girl?! Rhee glared up angrily and felt her breath catch in her throat as a pair of twinkling blue eyes met her own fiery green ones. Damn, he’s tall! Irritated that she had to crane her neck to see his face, she straightened her spine, flushing under the stranger’s perusal.
He wore a black leather vest over a tight, black tee, and loose jeans that might even conceal a holstered weapon. Definitely one of those biker gang guys , Rhiannon thought to herself. It must have been only a few seconds that she stood there, transfixed by the blond hulk’s gaze, but it seemed like an eternity. Rhiannon mumbled an apology and tried to walk slowly back to her vehicle, aware of the man’s eyes on her back. Running would show fear, she reminded herself as she forced herself to take slow, measured steps, willing her hands not to shake as she placed her key in the door.
That was the first place she hit. That week, Rhiannon visited four more biker hangouts, hot on the trail of her little sister, Michaela, or Mickey their father had christened her. Mickey often disappeared for weeks at a time; the girl had been a free spirit since the day she was born. Rhiannon smiled, remembering how her baby sister had scared everyone one cold winter’s morning by crawling behind the Christmas tree and falling asleep, while the family tore the neighborhood apart trying to locate her.
Yep, that was Mickey all right. She had horrified their mother by getting a butterfly tattoo on her sixteenth birthday, and she had rejected traditional college applications in favor of pursing her photography hobby. Mickey marched to her own beat and never stayed in the same place for very long. Her little walkabouts had never worried Rhiannon…until now. This recent disappearance had been preceded by a frantic phone call in the middle of the night. Rhiannon remembered every word out of Mickey’s mouth, even though she had been half asleep.
“Rhee, it’s me! Wait-don’t say anything! I’m in trouble, Rhee. Big trouble. I need you to come and get me…tonight! I’ll be at the corner of West and-oh! Oh, shit…”
The call had been disconnected. Rhiannon had flown from the house in her sweats and raced across town to West Avenue. She drove up and down the street in vain, all night long. Finally, exhausted, she had gone to the police and they had been no help. They all remembered Mickey. Their parents had logged numerous missing persons reports when Mickey was in high school. She always turned up, with a new tattoo or a story about a festival in the desert. It seemed her reputation had followed her to California. Darling was a small town, and the local deputies didn’t bat an eye when Rhiannon begged frantically that this time, a search party really was warranted.
It had been days since
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