Open Season by Open Season(v1.0)

Author:Open Season(v1.0)[htm] [Season, Open]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-01-21T19:14:59+00:00

Thirteen

Son of a bitch! When people started pouring out of the club like ants, Sykes would have pounded the steering wheel in frustration if it wouldn't have gained him attention he didn't want. What was it with these people? Couldn't they go to a goddamn dance without fighting?

He didn't like getting out of the car, but he did it anyway, searching in the turmoil for blond hair and a red dress. The scurrying crowd blocked his view of the section of the lot where she'd parked, so he worked his way in that direction, craning his head for a glimpse of her. In the dark, with people darting in every direction and headlights briefly slicing across the scene as cars left, the effect was almost like having a strobe light flashing.

Then he saw her, walking calmly across the gravel as if she'd just left a wedding instead of a brawl. He sidestepped as a car went by just inches from his toes, but never took his gaze off his

quarry. Then he halted, swearing to himself. She had gone inside alone, but she came out with company, in the form of a guy who looked like he ate rocks for breakfast. Sykes was close enough to hear him say, "I'll follow you home," and he immediately swerved away, lingering only long enough to note which car was hers, so he could match it to one of the tag numbers and makes of car he'd written down. Okay, so he couldn't follow her home tonight; three cars would make a damn parade. But he had her tag number now, so essentially he had her. Swiftly returning to his car, he glanced down the list and immediately saw the description he wanted: eight-year-old Ford sedan, beige—which was a pretty blah car for a woman with such sexy class—with a 39 prefix on the license plate, meaning the car was registered in Jackson County.

That made it easy. He'd give the number to Temple Nolan, who could have someone in his police department run it. He could have the woman's name and address within a matter of minutes from the time he talked to the mayor.

On the other hand, it was smarter to play it cool. If the mayor called his P.D. tonight, whoever he talked to would remember the license plate that was so important that the mayor had wanted it checked late on a Saturday night. It was always best not to call attention to yourself, even in the smallest detail. Monday morning would be plenty of time.

Everything was cool; nothing had to be done tonight. Waiting might even be better, give him time to make sure there were no mistakes. This really should be easy; the elements were already there. She did the bar scene, and he had a supply of GHB handy She'd be just another overdose, and since he had no intention of having sex with her, the cops would write her off as a user who tossed the dice one too many times.

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