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My shift starts with a bar fight breaking out as I clear off one of the booths near the pool table. I barely escape a fist to my jaw before Charlie, the bouncer, gets to the spot and tears the two guys off each other.

“You okay? They get you?” Henry, the owner of the dive aptly named the Dive Bar, looks me over when I get back to the bar with the empties.

“No. Not this time.” I toss the bottles into the recycling bin.

Last week, I didn’t even see the elbow flying in my direction before it hit me right in the side. Knocked the wind out of me for a few minutes, but otherwise I was fine.

Charlie took extra time with that asshole when he tossed him out of the bar.

“Maybe I need to bring in an extra bouncer. Charlie’s got his work cut out for him these days,” Henry says.

“It couldn’t hurt.” It might keep some of these guys from trying to get rid of their pent-up frustrations by beating each other’s faces in, but not all of them.

Dive Bar has a rough crowd. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and most of the guys who come in to drink are either trying to outrun someone, run into someone, or just need to drown out the noise of the daily grind. But the job pays cash under the table, and Henry’s never asked what my full name was—both of which check all my boxes.

The men around here aren’t the only ones trying to stay hidden.

“Nico, get me a beer. I’m gonna hit the head!” A deep voice penetrates through the noise of the bar, and my attention whips to the other end from where I’m standing.

Nico is an old man with graying hair and a face that’s seen too much sun. It’s not my Nico.

My Nico is dead.

“You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.” Sandra, the second waitress working with me tonight, steps up to the bar to get a round of shots.

I take a breath and lie. “Yeah. I’m good.”

As nice as everyone is to me, I don’t have any ties here. It’s better that way, because at any moment I could find myself having to get in my little Beetle Bug and get thehell out of here.

Snagging a basket of pretzels, I take it over to the table I just cleared off. A new crowd of people have taken the booth. As I’m taking their order—a round of tequila shots and four beers—the little hairs on the back of my neck tingle.

“Be right back with your drinks.”

I scan the crowd as I head back to the bar. Being Friday night, it’s crowded, and thanks to the fall festival there are a lot of new faces. I don’t see anyone overtly responsible for my nerves, though.

I put in the order and scan again, sure someone’s watching me.

Maybe I’ve been in town too long. I’m starting to get paranoid.

“Mira, here you go.” Henry slides my tray at me. “You sure they didn’t get you? You look shaken.”

“No.” I pick up the tray. “I’m good.”

I drop the drinks off at the booth, then check on my other tables, collecting empty bottles and taking new orders for second and third rounds. Someone’s got the juke box playing a country-rock song I’ve never heard before.

The bar is a breathing entity when it’s full like this. People dancing to the music while the pool balls smack around the table…the laughing and yelling of the customers. It all melts together.

As I drop off another round of shots for a table, the same sensation comes over me, and my smile turns wooden. I’m not imagining things. Eyes are on me.

But still, there’s nothing when I look around.

“I need a second,” I tell Henry. I leave my tray on the barand head to the back room. It’s just his office with a restroom for the staff.

Once alone and locked in the bathroom, I turn the faucet on. A splash of cold water usually helps when I get jumpy like this. Quick jolt to the nervous system to reset.

I do it twice, just to be sure, then lean against the sink and take several deep breaths.

No one knows where I am.