The television blared the sound from a movie as they dressed without speaking. Cara wriggled into her cropped top with a deep V, pleased when Mike stopped to watch, his eyes drawn to her cleavage before he shook his head and pulled his gaze away. At least she provided a distraction for him.
They headed for the lobby; Mike kept her hand tight inside his. Although most people around them were more dressed up for the evening, the women in high heels and sequined short dresses, once they arrived at Shots, a dive bar on a side street far off the main strip, Cara and Mike’s casual attire worked just fine.
Unlike the light, welcoming atmosphere at Joe’s, the mood at Shots was heavy and dark. What lighting existed was minimal, and the place catered to a skeevy clientele that made even Cara, a seasoned cop, uncomfortable. As if sensing her emotions, Mike reached back and grasped her hand, pulling her close beside him as they made their way through the crowd.
She didn’t know his plan for tonight, and she hadn’t wanted to ask. She’d take her cues from him.
Mike glanced around the dimly lit bar, wondering if he’d recognize his old man on sight. His mother hadn’t kept photographs around, and though Mike could have looked through old yearbooks at the high school or Googled, something always held him back. Maybe on some level, he’d always known this day of reckoning would come, that he’d have to face his father, and he’d wanted to do it on his terms.
He took in the smoky bar, the class of people here, and his stomach churned. He was about to push his way through the crush and buy a drink when a loud, masculine burst of laughter caught his attention and somehow he knew.
“What’s wrong?” Cara asked.
“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
“You’re squeezing my hand so tight I think you broke something.” She pulled her hand from his and shook it out.
He frowned. “Over there.” He tipped his head toward the back corner from where he’d heard the sound.
Cara sucked in a sharp breath. “He looks just like you,” she said in awe.
Mike nodded, sensing he’d been given a glimpse into what he might look like in twenty or so years, but from the other man’s obvious outgoing personality, that was where the similarities ended. Rex sat in the corner, holding court. There was no other word to describe how people around him gravitated to the booming laugh and deep voice. He was telling a story, and the people surrounding him seemed to hang on his every word. And by his side was a woman who couldn’t be more than twenty-two if she was that, wearing a tube top with no support for her ample breasts, makeup that had been caked on and bleached blond hair teased high, obviously trying to look older than her very young age.
Mike moved on autopilot. Retaking Cara’s hand because he wasn’t willing to leave her here to be picked up by some douchebag, he moved forward and pushed through the throng of people.
With each step, Rex Bransom’s voice grew louder. “And then I told her, sit back and watch a pro because Rex here’s gonna buy you anything your heart desires. Isn’t that right, baby girl?”
Nausea swept through Mike. “Is that before you knock her up and leave her high and dry for the next twenty-nine years?” He, who never spoke without deliberation, spewed his deepest thoughts.
Rex paused midgulp and choked on his beer. Dark eyes rose to meet Mike’s, then opened wide in recognition. “Everybody scram.” He waved his hand, and his crowd grumbled but dispersed. All except the woman wrapped around him like a snake.
“You too, baby girl.”
“But Rexie,” she complained, rubbing up against him in an attempt to get him to change his mind and let her stay.
Mike held the other man’s gaze, hoping the hatred he felt was evident because he sure as hell wasn’t holding back.
“Go.” Rex unhooked her arms from around his neck and stood.
With a whine, the woman headed for the bar. “I’ll be waiting right here,” she called back over her shoulder.
Rex didn’t tear his eyes from Mike’s. “Son.”
Mike glanced over his shoulder before looking back at Rex. “You can’t possibly mean me, because the only man with the right to call me that is Simon Marsden.”
Only the slight tic in one eye betrayed any feeling. “So that’s the way of things.”
“What other way would there be?”
Rex nodded and appeared to eye Mike with newfound respect. “Sit.” He pointed to the chair one of his minions had vacated.
Mike folded his arms across his chest and remained standing.
“Who’s the pretty lady?” Rex’s gaze landed on Cara and stayed too long for Mike’s liking.
“Cara Hartley,” she said, stepping forward.
“She’s not your concern,” Mike said, holding out his arm so she wouldn’t step forward for a handshake or any other contact.