Fallon Mates3_Roping Savannah by Jory Strong

Author:Jory Strong [Strong, Jory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Savannah left the bar and headed for Bert’s, a hole-in-the-wall bar and grill within walking distance of the glitz but a world away in ambiance. It was a cheap place favored by prostitutes and down-on-their-luck chronic gamblers.

If she was just looking for information, she would have hit it first, but she’d saved it for last on the off chance word would travel fast and The Ferret might show up or get a message to her. They’d met at Bert’s a couple of times, accidentally. Joked about it a few more times—how it was one of the things that told him she was okay for a cop, because she would detour to Bert’s just to buy the fried chicken there.

It was a good place and a good way to end the working day—not that she had a lot to show for it, but she figured she’d stirred up enough shit. Now she had to give it time to land and hope someone would step forward and come clean—metaphorically speaking.

It bothered her that she hadn’t found a trace of Holland, her sister Ivy, or the friend, Camryn. Then again, maybe they were on their way back to Vegas.

Savannah’s eyebrows drew together as she replayed the conversation with Kelleher to make sure she’d gotten it right. Yeah, he’d said the three girls had come up from Vegas about six months ago. She wondered why—not that Reno wasn’t full of action, but it wasn’t Vegas.

Damn, she should have asked Fowler if he would give her a contact name in the Vegas PD. He’d only been the golden boy of Vice in Reno for a little under a year. Before that he’d been in Vegas. She made a mental note to hunt him down if she didn’t get any leads on the girls soon.

Savannah walked into Bert’s and found the place empty except for a stubble-jawed man behind the counter. Bert himself.

“The usual?” Bert asked, straightening the grease-spattered white apron covering a T-shirt that wasn’t in much better shape.

“Better triple it.” Savannah’s stomach growled and her mouth watered. All of a sudden it seemed like way too much time had passed since she fixed breakfast for Kye.

Bert nodded and turned, poking and prodding, selecting pieces that were precooked and throwing them on the grill for some extra heat before dropping them into a large take-out container.

“You hear anything interesting lately?” Savannah asked.

Bert grunted. “Lot of people are suddenly looking for Ricky Nowak. Including you.”

“You got names, besides mine?”

“Some cop names, but you’d know about that.”

“Vice cops?”

“Maybe.”

“Creech and Mastrin?”

“I’m not naming names.”

“Anybody else?”

“Some other names, foreign, but I make a point of forgetting them as soon as I hear them.”

“Abrego?” Savannah asked, thinking about the men who served as lieutenants for Carlos Dominguez, the two brothers Vaccaro had dubbed Psycho I and Psycho II.

Bert shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t remember them. I don’t want to remember them. Remembering can be bad for your health and I got a business to run, a family to worry about.

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