Page 71 of Pieces of Her (Andrea Oliver 1)

He gave it a quick glance. “Vodka rocks, eh?”

Andy stared at him.

He mixed the drink in front of her, using a lot more ice than Andy would’ve liked.

She picked one of the twenties off the brick in her back pocket. She waited for him to leave, then tried not to set on the vodka like a wildebeest. “Personality shots,” her roommates used to call the first drinks of the night. Liquid courage. Whatever you called it, the point was to turn off the voice in your head that reminded you of everything wrong in your life.

Andy tossed back the drink. The fiery sensation of the alcohol sliding down her throat made the muscles of her shoulders relax for the first time in what felt like decades.

The bartender was back with her change. She left it on the bar, nodded toward the glass. He poured another, then leaned against the bar to watch TV. Some half-bald guy in a suit was talking about the possibility of a football coach getting fired.

“Bullshit,” the man at the end of the bar mumbled. He rubbed his jaw, which was rough with stubble. For some reason, Andy’s gaze found his hand. The fingers were long and lean, like the rest of him. “I can’t believe what that moron just said.”

The bartender asked, “Want me to turn it?”

“Well, hell yeah. Why would I want to keep listening to that crap?” The guy took off his burgundy-colored baseball cap and threw it onto the bar. He ran his fingers through his thick hair. He turned to Andy and her jaw dropped open in shock.

Alabama.

From the hospital.

She was certain of it.

“I know you.” His finger was pointing at her. “Right? Don’t I know you?”

Fear snapped her jaw shut.

What was he doing here? Had he followed her?

“You were at the—” He stood up. He was taller than she remembered, leaner. “Are you following me?” He swiped his hat off the bar as he walked down to her end of the bar.

She looked at the door. He was in her way. He was getting closer. He was standing right in front of her.

“You’re the same gal, right?” He waited for an answer that Andy could not give. “From the hospital?”

Andy’s back was to the wall. She had nowhere else to go.

His expression changed from annoyed to concerned. “You okay?”

Andy could not answer.

“Hey, buddy,” Alabama called to the bartender. “What’d you give her?”

The bartender looked insulted. “What the hell are you—”

“Sorry.” Alabama held up his hand, but his eyes stayed on Andy. “What are you doing here?”

She couldn’t swallow, let alone speak.

“Seriously, lady. Did you follow me?”

The bartender was listening now. “She’s from Canada,” he said, like that might help clear things up.

“Canada?” Alabama had his arms crossed. He looked uneasy. “This is some kind of weird freaking coincidence.” He told the bartender, “I saw this same gal yesterday down in Savannah. I told you my granny was poorly. Had to drive down to see her. And now here’s this lady right in front of me that I saw outside of the hospital the day I left. Weird, right?”

The bartender nodded. “Weird.”

Alabama asked Andy, “Are you going to talk to me or what?”