“I’m busy.”
“No, man. You wanna take this call. It’s from one of Gabe and Quinn’s guys.”
Still typing with one hand, he grabbed the phone. He’d served on the teams with Gabe Bristow and Travis Quinn, and the pair had built up a solid private hostage rescue team over the last year. If one of their men was calling, it had to be important. “Yeah?”
“Hey, Vaughn. Marcus Deangelo.”
There was a lot of background noise, and he could barely hear the former FBI negotiator. “Marcus. What’s up?”
“That woman you and your brothers have been looking for? I think I found her.”
Vaughn froze. For a second, his brain didn’t comprehend the words. “Are you fucking with me?”
“Why would I?”
Holy. Shit. “You’re sure it’s her?”
“Dude, I have the picture you sent Gabe here on my phone, and I swear, I’m looking at that woman right now. She’s blonde and her hair’s shorter but…I have an eye for faces. Yeah, it’s her.”
Vaughn’s heart thumped painfully hard, and he shoved away from his desk. “Where are you?”
“New Orleans. She’s working at a bar on Bourbon called Elixir and going by the name of Sage.”
Sage. It fit her pattern.
“Do not let her out of your sight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Uh,” Marcus said. “You do realize it’s Mardi Gras, right? Few more hours, this place is going to be packed to the rafters. How am I supposed to—”
“Do. Not. Lose. Her.”
…
At the end of Sage’s shift, Marcus and his Cajun friend still hadn’t moved from their booth. It put her on edge, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe because they seemed like the kind of guys who enjoyed more than one drink during a night out, but they had nursed the hurricanes and hadn’t ordered a drop more of alcohol. For nearly six hours.
Or more likely, it was because she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching her.
Dammit. At the first niggle of paranoia, she should have known better than to stick around. Marcus must know her family, and if he had contacted them, she was so fucked that she might as well start digging her own grave now.
She’d grab her things and sneak out the back door, into the alleyway. Even if they wanted to chase her, they wouldn’t be able to get into the back of the bar without the door code and she’d be long gone by the time they made their way through the crowd on Bourbon. She’d go home, grab her emergency bag, and—
At the door of the locker room, she bumped into another waitress just coming on shift for the night. “Oh. Hi, Marcie. Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention.”
“No worries,” Marcie said and held the door open for her, giving her an assessing once-over. “Honey, you look like hell. Rough day?”
Sage worked up a smile. “It’s Mardi Gras.”
Marcie rolled her eyes and pulled off her T-shirt as she crossed to her locker. “Right. Dumb question.” She stuffed her purse and shirt into the locker and pulled on the black crop top that could loosely be defined as a uniform. Like all the other girls who worked at Elixir, her breasts strained the fabric and threatened to spill over the top. She tucked her girls into the shirt and did a little bounce to make sure they stayed put, then winked over at Sage. “But hey, good tips, am I right?”
“Yeah.” She felt her smile slipping, so she hurried to her own locker, changed into the sweatshirt and leggings she’d been wearing before work, and grabbed her purse. But the mention of tips gave her an idea. She spun back. “Marcie, there are a couple of guys in the back booth of our section—one’s a blond with a Cajun accent and the other has dark, curly hair. Good tippers, but they’ve been eye-fucking me all night, and it’s getting uncomfortable. Think you could throw a little distraction their way so they don’t see me leave?”
“Sure thing, hon.” Marcie’s brow wrinkled. “Why don’t you call one of the bouncers to walk you out?”
“No. No, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. Just…you know how these drunks can get. I’d rather not give them the opportunity to follow me.”
“Got it.”
“But you make sure you have someone walk you out at the end of the night, okay?”
Marcie waved a hand. “No worries. Darren is picking me up after work tonight.”
Okay, that made her feel better about throwing Marcie at Marcus and his Cajun friend. If they were up to no good, they wouldn’t bother her once her boyfriend arrived. Darren was a bouncer at another club down the street, and he was the size of a Mack truck. Nobody, drunk or otherwise, messed with him.
Sage headed toward the door.
“See you tomorrow,” Marcie called after her.
She winced. Yeah. Tomorrow. How many times had friends said that to her over the years, only to never see her again? Too many to count, and now she’d have to add Marcie to that list.
Because for Sage Evans, there was no tomorrow.
Chapter Three