Sylvie Kurtz - Mask Of A Hunter

“Bye, Hannah-banana,” Ace said.

Like every other female in the place, Hannah turned her sweet face up at him and glowed with pleasure. The man could turn heads, but that didn’t mean he knew everything. She would find Felicia and that would put him in his place.

HEIDI AND MEG proved harder to corner than rats in a sewer. Rory had gotten nowhere with Meg, who’d told her to back off and threatened bodily harm when Rory insisted on having a couple of questions answered.

When Rory finally caught up with Heidi outside the café, Heidi promptly pushed herself off the budding oak tree, crushed her cigarette beneath her sneaker and started for the kitchen.

“Wait!” Rory shoved herself, along with Hannah in her stroller, between the waitress and the door. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“I don’t know anything, okay?” Heidi fisted her hands and leaned forward as if she would charge to get through Rory.

Rory tried to make eye contact with Heidi with no luck. “You know she’s gone.”

Heidi dropped her head to her chest, sighed, but made no attempt to acknowledge or deny anything.

“Do you know where she is?” Rory pressed.

“No.”

“Take a guess.”

Heidi twirled her disposable lighter in one hand and twisted the end of her blond ponytail with the index finger of her other. “I don’t know.”

“Try. Please. This is important.” Hannah dropped her purple bear and screamed for it. Rory bent down to pick it up and lost her strategic position.

Heidi scooted by her and grabbed the doorknob. “Look, I really don’t know anything.”

Rory handed the bear to Hannah. “Then why are you so nervous?”

Heidi’s gaze dropped to Hannah. “All I know is that she loves that baby. She would never leave her for this long.”

“You think something happened to her.” Rory swallowed hard, hoping to calm the gallop of her pulse.

Heidi shook her head and shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not. I just don’t know, okay? I’ve got to go back inside.”

“You were close—”

“Not really.”

Desperately, she reached for Heidi’s arm. “You worked together.”

Heidi yanked her arm free. “That doesn’t mean we were close.”

“You belonged to the same gang.”

“Club. It’s a motorcycle club.” Heidi’s eyes widened like that of a puppy who knew it was in trouble. “I’ll lose my job if I don’t go back in.”

“Who are you afraid of?”

Heidi’s face drooped as she jerked on the handle and the door squeaked open. “Nobody.”

But Heidi said it so softly there was no mistaking the fear warbling beneath her assertion.

And as the door slapped shut, Rory was beginning to think that Ace was right. Finding someone who wasn’t afraid to talk without having to ask Mike for permission might prove tougher than she thought. If the gang was a closed unit, then she had to find a way in.

The roar of a motorcycle caught Rory’s attention. A blur of black-and-chrome sped by. Mike. Rory pushed the stroller toward the sidewalk and reached it in time to see the motorcycle turn onto the road where Mike’s garage was located. Ace worked there.

“I think we’ll take a drive to the grocery store, Hannah.” Rory headed to the lot behind Felicia’s apartment building where she’d parked her rental. “Your mother provided for you, but the fridge is bare. I have a feeling Ace wouldn’t go for junior meat sticks.”

The sinking anchor of defeat weighed her shoulders as she strapped Hannah in the car seat of the rental car. Then Hannah babbled a stream of nonsense at her, and in her niece’s open face, Rory recognized Felicia’s free spirit.

These were singular circumstances. There wasn’t time to braid the usual strands of trust. Finding Felicia had to come before pride.

Turkey, she decided as she started the car, a thick turkey sandwich. By the time Ace finished lunch he’d be sleepy with turkey-induced tryptophan and possibly a tad more malleable.

HERE COMES TROUBLE, Ace thought as he watched Rory approach the shop, pushing Hannah in her stroller. With her dark-red jacket and no-nonsense stride, she reminded him again of a stick of dynamite. Even with her hair tied back into a severe bun, the escaping frizz gave enough hint of the potential energy stored in the compact package to cause a mess he didn’t need.

Operation Hog offered a potentially large return for a small investment of his time. But not if his loyalties ended up split.

She stuck her head through the door, looked around and wrinkled her nose at the smell of gasoline, oil and stale coffee that permeated the area despite the open doors. He tried to see the place through her eyes. The shop was small—about the size of a three-car garage. The walls hadn’t seen white in at least a decade. Classic rock blared from a boom box duct-taped to the wall. Three chassis were up on hydraulic lifts. Tools were spread out over every available surface. Everything appeared messy, and he was sure she was used to neat and organized. She fitted into this arena about as well as a racehorse at a demolition derby.

What ever happened to her I’ll-pretend-you-don’t-exist promise?

Ace wiped his oily hands on a clean rag, then threw it in the open rolling toolbox at this side. She’d probably managed to tick someone off already and needed bailing out. Might as well get this over with.

“Hi, there, Hannah-banana.” Hannah cooed and gurgled a reply. Nine months was a nice age—post complete helplessness, pre talkback. Everything about the world was still enchanting. Ace took hold of the stroller handles and redirected Rory outside. This business was legitimate. Mike didn’t hire gang members to work for him. But that didn’t mean the walls didn’t have ears.

“What’s up?” He fed quarters into the vending machine by the front door outside the office. A bottle of water tumbled out. Then he led her to a picnic table that butted against the brick wall at the back of the ice-cream parlor.

“I, uh, brought you lunch.” She dug into the tapestry tote bag hanging from her shoulder and brought out a thick sandwich wrapped in waxed paper. Who used waxed paper anymore?

“Thanks.” He peeked inside and saw the whole-wheat roll, the half-pound of turkey, lettuce and tomatoes. When was the last time he’d had anything homemade? She wanted something. He wasn’t sure what—only that he wouldn’t like it. “To what do I owe this peace offering?”

“No reason.” She shrugged, and he chuckled at the guilty blush flaming her cheeks. “I thought you might be hungry, that’s all.”

“Have I told you you’re transparent?”

She tucked a stray strand of frizz behind her ear. Not that it did any good. The curl sprang back free, framing her face with copper question marks. “I do believe you’ve mentioned it.”

“So?” He hiked a foot to the picnic table’s bench, then peeled back the wax paper and bit into the sandwich.

Bent over the stroller, she fiddled with Hannah’s purple fleece jacket. “You may be right.”

He cupped a hand to his ear. “I don’t think I heard you. What did you say?”

She righted her spine until it was broom-handle stiff. Her face was set with the cool disapproving lines he imagined she used on too-loud patrons at the library. “I said I think you may be right.”

“No luck, huh?”

Lips compressed into a thin line, she swiveled her head toward the center of town, barely visible between the ice-cream parlor and antique store. “Everyone I’ve talked to is playing mute. The one thing they’re willing to say is that Felicia loves Hannah and that it’s odd she would leave her behind.”

“Unless it was to protect her.”

“Maybe.” She peered at him, and the sad look in her eyes tugged a string he thought he’d cut long ago. He attacked the sandwich with gusto, waiting for her to get to the point.