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Finally, Nico exited the cruiser and crossed the street, Seth right behind him.
Like everything else in the dilapidated corner of Mercy Cove, the apartment building was dank and drab. Outside, paint flecked off the once-white weatherboard in splintered chunks and windowsills hung broken and crooked. The inside wasn’t much better. Mold grew in the corners, dust and rubbish lined the floor, and, somewhere in the distance, the steady drip of a leak echoed up the halls.
“Guess the landlord is on vacation,” Seth commented dryly.
“Yeah, along with the cleaner, the manager, and the super,” Nico replied. The air was thick with damp. He shook his head. “What’s a rich guy like Garrett doing living in a dump like this?”
“Last I heard, his parents cut him off,” Seth said. “Guess they thought it might force him to grow up.”
“Clearly it’s not working.”
Climbing the stairs, Nico found the door with 2a nailed to the front of it and gave three loud, steady thumps.
They waited.
Nothing.
He pounded on the door again.
Still nothing.
Seth glanced around, as if making sure their quarry wasn’t hiding along the walls or ceiling. Either Garrett was ignoring them—in which case, smart man—or he wasn’t home. They retraced their steps back out to the car. Nico wasn’t all that surprised. Knowing the police would come looking for him eventually, Garrett had probably cleared out. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to set up surveillance out front, in case he returned. Nico was about to unlock the cruiser and inform Seth that he was on first watch when he spotted a bar half a block away. The Dirty Dog. He wandered closer to it. Fitting. The place was a dive, somewhere you’d likely contract hepatitis just from sitting on a stool, and exactly the kind of hangout a rat like Kyle might scuttle into for a drink.
“What’s up?” Seth asked from the sidewalk.
“You ever been in here?” Nico called back.
“Yeah, all the time. Ninety-nine cent margaritas on Tuesday nights.”
Nico twisted his lips at the sarcasm. “Come on. Let’s check it out.”
Inside, it took a few seconds for Nico’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, but once they did, he noted his initial assessment had been spot on. A long, wooden bar lined the entire right wall, liquor stains and carved graffiti marking every inch of it. Worn tables and chairs he had no intention of occupying took up most of the space. Dull bulbs hung from the ceiling, illuminating just enough to see where you were going while cleverly hiding every nasty thing a brighter light would have revealed. The floor was scattered with peanut shells, dropped change, and god-only-knew what else. And the smell, somewhere between BO and fish, was all the encouragement he needed to ensure this visit was as short as possible. A lone bartender lifted his chin, wary eyes giving Nico a once-over as he wiped a glass with a cloth. Nico returned the greeting, scanning the handful of sullen patrons. No one stood out.
About to turn on his heel and call it a day, he stopped short when his gaze landed on two men seated at the far wall. The one facing him looked to be about a hundred and fifty years old—white beard, tired eyes, arm shaking as he surveyed the hand of cards he held in front of him. After tossing another two chips into the pot, he sat back, the same unsteady hand raising a beer to his lips as he smirked at his playing partner—the one Nico was most interested in. He had cropped blond hair and based on what Nico could see of his profile, was decades younger than his companion. And a dead ringer for the fight-picking patron at Rusty’s the other night.
Was that him? Thinking back, Nico was sure Frank had said the man’s name was Kyle, but he never made the connection until now. Had he already met Lexie’s ex and not realized who he was? A glance at Seth—who nodded discreetly—confirmed it.
Nico walked right up to the table. “Kyle Garrett?”
The blond didn’t so much as look up from his poker game. “Who’s asking?”
“Nico Dominici. I’m here to talk to you about Lexie Bowen.”
Garrett blinked, every emotion advertising itself in his features. Confusion. Recognition. Panic. Hostility. Then a facade of casual indifference. “Ah, I remember you. You’re the asshole who thinks he can fuck my wife.”
In his peripheral, Nico noted the customers behind him making a hasty getaway. Clearly, they knew better than to stick around a place like this when trouble was brewing. Good. He could use the privacy.
“She’s not yours anymore, Kyle” He made each word clear and dogmatic. “And as of this moment, you’re going to stay away from her.”
“Oh, is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Garrett eyed him. Between the fidgeting and the dilated pupils, Nico knew it wasn’t just alcohol playing a part in the man’s erratic demeanor. His forehead reflected a light sheen of sweat under the dull bulb. His knees bounced uncontrollably under the table. Agitated energy rolled off him in waves, and Nico realized he’d have to watch him carefully. The guy was like a spring-loaded pin, ready to snap.
“She send you down here to threaten me? Flash your shiny badge and I run off like a mongrel dog?” Garrett sneered. “Does she really think that’s going to work?”
Nico paid no heed to the questions. “Stay away from Lexie. Stay away from her workplace. Her house. Her friends. I won’t warn you again.”
