Wickedly Dangerous (Baba Yaga, #1)(18)
They picked up their full beers and made their way through to the back room, where the repetitive clicking of hard-plastic balls could be heard over the blessedly muted noise from the front of the bar.
Liam grabbed a pool cue off the wall and racked the balls while Baba chose her stick. He pondered the many questions he’d like answers to, trying to figure out which one to start with—and whether there was any point in asking any of them, since his companion seemed as disinclined to give him straight answers as the wind was to blow on command.
He jiggled the rack a little until the balls were all sitting the way he liked them, then removed the white triangle and hung it back in its place on the wall. Across the table from him, Baba looked as cool and implacable as always.
“So,” Liam said, his tone studiously casual as he chalked the end of his cue. “How about some stakes to make things interesting?”
One dark eyebrow rose. “Gambling, Sheriff? I’m surprised at you.” She applied the blue cube of chalk to her cue, blowing the excess off with a gentle puff of breath that did risky things to the neckline of her top. “I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of carrying much cash.”
He shrugged. “I was thinking of something less tangible, actually, but more valuable to me. How about for every ball I sink, you give me an honest answer to whatever question I ask?”
The second brow rose to join the first. A slight rounding of her cheeks hinted at unexpressed mirth. “How very traditional of you. Questions. I truly dislike answering questions. Couldn’t we just play strip pool instead?” She eyed him pensively. “No? Too bad.”
The base of her stick tapped the floor as she thought briefly. “Very well. For every ball you sink, I will give you an honest answer. But in return, for every game I win, you will grant me one day of grace out at the meadow; no harassment, no poking around. Peace and quiet to do my work.”
He pondered that for a moment. It seemed like a pretty good bargain; he only had to sink individual balls to get his reward, she had to win entire games to reap hers. “Done,” he said, and gestured toward the table. “Ladies first?”
Baba shrugged. “All right,” she said. “Although I’m no lady.” She assumed the classic stance, with her left hand forming a bridge to support the cue while her right supplied power to the stick. Liam was mesmerized by the sight of her bottom swaying as she bent over the table, but the resounding crash of balls colliding and ricocheting around the felt tabletop focused his attention back where it belonged. The innocent-looking cue ball spun slowly to a stop as three colored rounds plopped into the nets, one after another.
“That’s solids,” Baba said brightly, and proceeded to run the table, sinking all of her balls with effortless ease, one after another. The steady thunk of her stick against the cue ball sounded like a clock tolling midnight. Liam just stood there, mouth open, as he lost the game without ever getting the chance to make a move.
“I think I’ve been hustled,” he finally said, as the eight ball slid neatly into the corner pocket.
The dark-haired woman shrugged again, eyes twinkling. “Hey, the stakes were your idea, not mine, Sheriff.” She took a long swallow of beer, then started racking the balls again. “But I expect you to hold up your end of the deal and give me the day I won.”
“Fair’s fair,” Liam said. “As long as you don’t do anything illegal.”
“Who me?” Baba gave him her best attempt at an innocent look. A man two tables over tripped on his own cue and fell into the guy next to him, almost starting a fistfight. Liam snorted, not impressed.
“My break,” he said. He’d been playing pool in this bar since he was in high school, sneaking down the big elm tree outside his bedroom window to come hang out with his friends. If he couldn’t manage to sink a ball when it was his turn, he’d turn in his badge and take up spot welding.
He blocked out the chatter from the neighboring tables and the music from the front room. The elusive ribbon of scent that teased him from Baba’s direction was harder to ignore, but he bent over the smooth green felt and inhaled the odor of chalk dust and spilled beer instead. The cue ball shot off the tip of his stick with a solid, meaty thud and turned the geometric precision of the amassed balls into spiraling chaos. The number three ball raced away from its fellows and slid into the corner pocket with a satisfying whoosh, like a rabbit diving into shelter with a coyote hot on its heels.
Liam felt a slightly predatory rush himself as he straightened up, cocking his head at his opponent. “Stripes,” he said. “And my first question is this: who did you think was responsible for causing all those people to get so out of control at the meeting, and why?”
He bent down to take his next shot, gesturing with the stick toward the side pocket. “Five ball,” he said. “Well?”
Baba shrugged. “A waste of a perfectly good question, Sheriff, since I was going to tell you that anyway. But I should make it clear from the start that I don’t have any evidence; just a very strong suspicion.”
“Considering I’ve got nothing,” Liam admitted with chagrin, “that still puts you at an advantage over me.”
Baba muttered something that sounded distinctly like, “You have no idea,” then added more to the point, “I think it was the woman who works for Peter Callahan. Belinda said her name is Maya something and that she got here right before children started disappearing.”