The Judas Relic: An Evangeline Heart Holiday Adventure by A.K. Alexander, Jen Greyson

unfair.
    I turned and every single piece of furniture screamed at me. Not even John Denver couldn’t pull me out of this funk. I needed people and tequila.
    I slipped on shoes and my sidearm and headed down the back stairs to the subway. I wasn’t sure where I was headed, but getting lost amongst the tourists in Times Square seemed like the ultimate alternative to my suffocatingly silent apartment.
    Friday night on the subway is always an adventure and tonight did not disappoint. By the time I got off, I’d been serenaded, hit on, and heard a new twist on the apocalypse. I love The Big Apple.
    The smells and heat of the subway on a hot summer night hurried me above ground and I stood for a moment on the top step, soaking in the life and chaos. Grease and pork wafted my way as I walked past a hot dog vendor. A dude with some serious dreds had set up shop on one of the corners and was peddling the famous NYC T-shirts and fare that tourists simply couldn’t resist.
    Off one of the side streets, I inhaled and walked half a block. A sign out front of a crumbling brick building read BAR. I peered in the large bay window and was sufficiently satisfied that it was a dive, and therefore, the tourists would be kept at bay.
    Dark, eclectic art with cryptic religious themes framed the walls. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was looking at some voodoo crap, but it came close. I could see an American Horror Story scene being filmed in the place. The smell of beer, dank, and perfume filtered through the air. The crowd was just as eclectic—a smattering of business people that may have come over from the financial district just because they enjoyed the dive thing, hipster twentysomethings starting their evening shenanigans, and old dodgers who appeared to be regulars sipping on gin and juice.
    Yep. This would work. Griffin would’ve enjoyed it, too. Although, he wasn’t quite as—how can I say this?—earthy as myself. I can get dirty with the best of them, and it doesn’t bother me a bit.
    I pulled up a stool and surveyed the top-shelf options.  
    “Ev’nin.’” An old Irishman barely taller than the bar handed me a bar napkin and wiped the space between us with his wet towel. “What can I getcha?”
    “I’d love a shot of Patron.”
    “Comin’ right up.” He disappeared, which wasn’t tough for a guy his size and I watched the other people through the mirror over the bar. New York certainly was interesting.
    My bartender came back and set my glass on the bar. “Name’s Pete, let me know if ya’ need anythin’ else.” He winked at me.
    I cracked a smile for the first time in days. This had been a good idea. I held the glass for a heartbeat and toasted Griffin, then slammed it, desperate to take the edge off.
    “Can I buy you another?” I twisted slightly on my seat and tried not to be shocked at a striking gentleman who’d taken the spot next to me. My assessment training kicked in instinctually. His dark blond hair was neatly trimmed over the ears and combed precisely to the side, crisp part, jaw freshly shaved. Aftershave applied recently—spicy, citrus. The mint-green dress shirt was open at the collar, revealing the right amount of skin without being skeevy. The cut of the shirt was expensive, but not blatantly rich. Nails neatly trimmed. Breitling watch and Lucchese shoes revealed that the guy worked for his money and had done well. He’d either just come from impressing a big client or was trying to impress the women here. Small pickings.  
    Either way, I was going to let him distract me from my day.
    I returned his smile and gentled my attitude. “Thanks, I’ll have another tequila, but the Casa Dragones. I’m Lina.”
    “Beautiful name. Blue agave? Nice choice. Good taste.” He motioned Pete over. His was a whisky, neat and I added that to my assessment. Not that I was going to do anything with the information. I just didn’t know how to stop. Years of training were habit and even if we sat