Page 93 of His Forgotten Colton Fiancee

Chapter 19

West had never felt this low before. He couldn’t remember being gut punched, as if someone kicked him and didn’t stop.

Even after his family died in the bomb blast, he’d been in shock. Too stricken and numb to feel.

Oh, he felt now. Felt every single bit of guilt, grief and longing since Quinn struck him out of her life.

Two days after she broke up with him, hesaw her on every street corner, heard her gurgling laughter each time he left his shoebox apartment. Remembered the soft feel of her warm body as he held her in bed, the eagerness with which she turned to him as they made love.

Rubbing his chest, he climbed out of his truck. Look at him, love struck and pining for a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.

So love struck he left Rex atthe tiny apartment he’d rented before meeting Quinn, and hauled his sorry ass to her father’s seedy bar.

Just to forge some kind of weak connection. West told himself it was to gather information from Rusty about Quinn’s enemies. But deep inside, he knew it was an excuse.

Yesterday he’d returned to Quinn’s apartment to look over every inch of security footage, not daring to turn the digitaltapes over to the chief or her brothers. Quinn had left for the day to deliver an order with Austin.

West had found nothing. How the hell Demi’s jacket had gotten into the cabin, he hadn’t a clue. Unless Quinn had turned it over to her sister, or brought it to Pine Paradise before her accident.

Though it was barely 1 p.m., five cars were parked before the building. Dark, dimly lit, hepaused for a moment at the entrance, struggling to adjust his eyesight. Old cigarette smoke and sour beer punched his senses. Not a bar he’d ordinarily frequent.

West enjoyed a beer or two, but seldom drank more. Not since that night he’d lost his entire family.

Felt weird being here in broad daylight. But he wanted answers and Rusty might provide them. The old man had been reticent whenWest questioned him in official police capacity.

Maybe he’d open up now to a customer.

West sat on a stool at the counter. It was clean, at least. At the pool table near the back, a customer aimed his cue at a fresh rack. The hard clack of pool balls breaking grated on his nerves. A few other customers sat at the bar, drinking beer.

Smoke wreathed the head of Pool Guy as he puffedaway on his cigarette. Terrific. West sighed. If he didn’t die in the line of duty, maybe he’d get lung cancer.

Rusty came out from the back and West immediately sensed the other man’s wariness. Rusty Colton might be drunk many times, but he had the sharp senses of the street.

West ordered a draft, watched Rusty pour. The bar owner slapped it on the counter.

“Run a tab?” Rusty sneeredat him.

“Maybe.” West sipped. “Depends on how drunk I want to get. How much I owe now?”

That stunned the old man.Good. Keep him off guard.

“Four bucks.”

For him. West knew the draft beers were $2.99 on special. A sign said so in crooked letters on the mirror emblazoned with a beer logo. He didn’t complain. Instead, he pulled out a wad of bills, peeled off a ten, laid it on thecounter.

“Keep the change,” he told Rusty.

Rusty snatched the bill, stashed it in the drawer. “Never seen you around here much.”

Alexander Hamilton worked his magic. Rusty wanted to talk, be friendly. Rusty came from behind the counter to sit next to him.

“Been busy working 24/7, trying to catch the bomber. West Brand,” he told Rusty.

“Rusty Colton.”

West shook the man’shand, marveling that this sleazy bar owner had managed to father Quinn, who seldom drank, stayed classy during hard times and had a laugh sweeter than chocolate.

“I’m trying to find out who planted the bomb that killed Tia Linwicki and hurt Quinn.”