She swung the door of the bar open, squinting into the dimly lit interior, dismissing her maudlin mood due to her argument with Derrick.
Morris Polanski lifted his hand to wave to her, deep in discussion with who she’d heard was a bear shifter by the name of Jagger Durov.
She peered behind the bar to find one of Derrick’s employees tending it. Odd. He never left the bar before six and it was only four.
“Look who decided to come visit. You up for a game of pool, pretty kitty?” Morris teased. She’d played a game of pool with him earlier in the week, and ever since she’d whipped his butt, he’d been looking for a rematch.
Martine grinned, giving him a playful poke in the arm. “Are you looking for another beating, Morris? It was a pretty grim game. I kinda smoked you.”
He puffed his chest out in mock indignation and cackled. “I was just letting you win because you’re so dang pretty. But I won’t be blinded by all that green-eyed beauty this time. Now the gloves are off, missy.”
She grinned at him again. “Oh, you sweet-talker, Morris. Now I see why your wife is head over heels for you, but I don’t have time today, Prince Charming. However, later next week, you’ll have to tear the pool cue from my hands.”
“Chicken,” he razzed, poking her back.
She gave him a coy, flirty smile. “Bawk-bawk. Now, have you seen Derrick around?”
“Heard him say something about going to the city tonight.”
Panic made her knees weak. “The city?”
Morris nodded his gray head, rolling a shelled peanut between his fingers. “Yep. You know, bright lights, Broadway?”
Her hands began to tremble. Had he found her mother that quickly? Not that it was much of a challenge. He’d just have to search the history on his computer to see she’d looked at her mother’s Facebook page.
Shit. “Are you sure, Morris?” The quiver in her voice was unmistakable.
Morris’s brow wrinkled, his eyes going concerned. “Sure as I’m sittin’ here, young lady. You okay? You’re pale as a ghost. Trust me, I know. I’ve seen one or two.”
“Does he go to the city often?”
Morris made a face. “Hah! Boy hates the city. Only goes if he absolutely has to.”
She gripped the back of one of the bar chairs, her knuckles white. There was no other reason for him to choose now to take a trip into New York other than her mother. Panic raced along her spine.
Morris nudged her. “Hey, you okay, good-lookin’?”
“I’m fine.” But her mind flew. Surely he wouldn’t go see her mother alone. Oh, God.
“Martine, is it?” Jagger asked, rising from his seat to peer down at her, his enormous shoulders blocking her view of Morris. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m happy to help. Jagger, by the way. Jagger Durov. We haven’t been introduced yet.”
“No!” She lowered her voice and forced herself to stay calm. “No. I’m fine, thank you. Just surprised is all. And nice meeting you. Sorry I can’t stay to chat, but I have to run.” As big and brawny as Jagger was, as useful as he might be because of his enormous muscle, she didn’t want anyone else involved in this.
She waved to Morris and zipped out of the bar, heading back in the direction of Derrick’s house, her heart pounding. How the hell was she going to get to the city to stop him from confronting her mother without her present?
She had no phone. Despite Derrick’s offer to buy her one, she, like the independent idiot she was, had turned him down. She had no car either. If she asked someone to drive her to Queens, she’d involve yet another person in this mess she was in the middle of. There was no train out of this godforsaken town. She didn’t possess super speed like Derrick, so she couldn’t shift and run to her mother’s all the way in Queens.
She’d be lucky if she got there before next week.
So now what?
Shit.
Head down, she ran the rest of the way along the snow-covered dirt road toward Derrick’s, ignoring the fat snowflakes that began to fall—and rammed right into someone’s chest.
“Martine?”
Jerry. Inhaling a breath, she gazed up at him with a distracted smile, the snow swirling around his head. “Hey, Jerry. Can’t talk now, have some stuff to do.”
“Are you okay?”
Hopping from foot-to-foot, she nodded. Time was of the essence. “Great, but I really have to run.”
He gripped her arm and thwarted her efforts to flee. “Something’s wrong. Tell me.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She completely avoided his eyes by shielding hers from the snow with her hand.
But Jerry wasn’t letting it go, his expression hard—something that struck her as odd. His grip on her arm was even harder. “I can smell something’s wrong, Martine. Tell me what it is.”