Livia Lone (Livia Lone #1)(2)

“No more for me,” the Asian chick said.

Ray nodded. “Last call in fifteen. Just so you know.”

Billy watched Ray stroll away, then raised his glass to the Asian chick and said, “Here’s to life’s little pleasures.” He tossed the whole thing back, tilting his chin up to ease the whiskey’s passage. He set the glass back on the bar and closed his eyes, just savoring the moment. Damn, he loved good bourbon. One of the things he’d missed in the joint. One of many.

When he opened his eyes, the Asian chick stretched her arms back, and oh, man, that little rack wasn’t so little after all, was it? “Well,” she said, reaching down to the foot of the barstool and retrieving her backpack, “I should get going—that interview in the morning.”

Billy looked her up and down, not caring what she made of it. Damn, she really was a hot little slut. It wasn’t just the bourbon. He’d wanted her the moment he’d caught her eye as she walked in. And she was drunk now, and they were going to walk out together, and if she was carrying a backpack, especially a big one like that, it probably meant she’d arrived on foot—otherwise, she would have left her gear in the car. It was all working out so perfectly, it was almost too good to be true.

“Yeah, getting late for me, too.” He stood and dropped a couple of twenties on the bar, then slipped her sweatshirt off the back of her barstool. “Here, let me get that for you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No problem,” he said with a smile. “No problem at all.”

Billy led the way, holding the door for her, letting his gaze slide down past the backpack she had slung over a shoulder, admiring her ass as she squeezed by. He waved a goodnight to Ray, who nodded in return, his face impassive, probably knowing what Billy was up to, but also knowing it was none of his business.

A moment later, they were out on the sidewalk, the door swinging shut behind them with a slowly dying squeak, the music from the jukebox suddenly muted. The warmth of the spring evening had died away, and the late-night air was cool and slightly moist. A half moon hung low in the sky, its edges softened by mist. On one side of the bar was a pawnshop, its interior dark behind barred windows. Opposite, what was once a parking lot, now fenced off and colonized by weeds. Other than the sound of distant eighteen-wheelers on the interstate and a few crickets, the area was silent. Billy nodded, liking the whole lonely vibe, just the two of them at last.

“Where are you parked?” he asked.

The Asian chick glanced at her sweatshirt, as though she wanted it back but was afraid to ask. Billy liked that.

“I’m not. I walked from my workout.”

Just like he’d thought. Perfect.

“You’re walking home, then?”

“That’s the plan, but—”

“I’ll walk you. Neighborhood’s not safe this time of night.”

“Look, you really don’t have to—”

“Hey, I insist,” he said, some edge in his tone, letting her know he’d be insulted if she refused his offer. “You just point the way.”

The Asian chick hesitated for a moment, clearly unsure of how to handle this. “It’s just a dump on the other side of the park. I’ve barely moved in, the place is a mess . . .”

“Well, hell,” Billy said with a good-natured laugh he knew would put her at ease. “I wasn’t expecting you to invite me in. I’ll just see you to the door and say goodnight.”

Nothing to argue with in any of that, was there? And sure enough, after a moment, the Asian chick nodded and said, “All right, then. Thank you. The park is going to be kind of dark at this hour.”

Yes, it is, pretty little thing. Yes, it is.

They headed down the sidewalk, passing not a soul, just closed storefronts and empty lots. The Asian chick was asking him questions, making small talk out of skittishness. Billy responded, but automatically, barely even hearing his own words, the bourbon buzzing in his brain. All he could think about was how dark the park would be. How deserted.

And then there it was, just ahead, so still, so perfect. There was a sudden hush as they crossed inside; even the crunch of their footfalls on pavement vanished, replaced by the soft, stealthy squish of grass. There were no lights anywhere, just weak moonlight and shadows under the trees. The Asian chick wasn’t talking anymore. Billy watched her out of the corner of his eye. A warm hit of adrenaline snaked out through his torso at the realization of where they were, how helpless she was now, how he could do anything he wanted.

“It’s getting chilly,” the Asian chick said, maybe just to hear the sound of her own voice.

They were almost halfway across. Dead center. Even the interstate trucks were barely audible now. There was a small copse of trees ahead. That would be the place. Billy could feel himself stiffening at the thought.

“Oh, I don’t know. Feels all right to me.”

“I guess you’re warmer-blooded than I am. Could I have my sweatshirt now?”

“Sure you can. No problem.” But he kept walking. The trees were just thirty feet away now.

“My sweatshirt,” the Asian chick said. “I’m cold.”

Billy didn’t answer. Twenty feet to the trees now. Ten.

“Hey,” the Asian chick said. “Did you hear me?”