As he watched her standing behind the walnut bar mixing a Manhattan, he could feel himself growing hard. He wrapped his hands around the cool glass of his beer bottle, imagining that it was her slim neck.

“Baby, what are you doing over there alone?” Sandra asked. She had shifted those blue eyes in his direction, and for just a split second, he imagined it was just the two of them in the world.

Sonny grinned, knowing ladies liked the look of him. A little bit of effort and he could have them eating out of his hand. “You look mighty pretty tonight, Sandra,” he said. “But then you always do.”

Her grin widened and a chuckle rumbled in her chest as she arched her back slightly. Her breasts pulsed out, drawing his attention away from her neck for only a moment.

“What are you doing after work?”

She shrugged. “What do you have in mind?”

“When do you get off?”

“Midnight.”

To have a date scheduled so soon after the last two was not really smart. Time and distance between his dates had always been a strategy that kept him off the law enforcement radar. But since Bonnie’s first text almost two weeks ago, his well-cultivated control had abandoned him. In its place was a bone-deep sense of loneliness that had made the four walls of his bedroom oppressive. “If I’m out back at, say, 1:00 a.m., you’ll be ready?”

“Sure will.”

He leaned forward, smoothing his fingers up and down the bottle’s neck. “Sandra, do you have a bathtub?”

She moistened her lips. “I do, doll. Why?”

He took a swig of beer. “Wait and see.”

Her eyes darkened with desire, and she would have lingered if not for another patron calling for another beer. She winked at him and slowly turned, sauntering toward the other side as if knowing he was watching her leave.

His phone rang, lighting up the number as Blocked. He let the call go to voicemail. A tickle of worry tightened his gut and reminded him loneliness was the least of his problems now. He finished his beer and, grabbing his phone, left the bar. In his car, he played back the voicemail.

The sound of Bonnie’s voice grated over his nerves, and as tempted as he was to hit delete, he listened.

“Baby, you know who this is. And you know where I am. You need to help me.”

He sat for several minutes before he played the next message. “This is Ralph Hogan. I’m a bondsman who has been contacted by Bonnie Guthrie. She’s asked me to contact this number. She says you will cosign for a bail bond.”

He could almost hear her smile as she gripped the phone and leaned toward it to whisper.

She was savvy enough to know the calls were recorded, so she hadn’t called him directly. But for her to give this man his number implied an unspoken threat. Help me, or I give you to the cops. When Bonnie was cornered, she always came out swinging.

His heart kicked into high gear, and he replayed the message. Drawing in a breath, he reminded himself that he had some time. She would not play her cards until she ran out of options. She was a survivor and knew the best long game was to stay under the radar. If she turned on him, she would likely get tagged as an accessory after the fact.

She did not want to tell the cops what she knew, but she would. She never made idle threats.

He shoved his phone in his pocket and glanced into the bar’s front window. Sandra was laughing and pouring beer from a tap. Already, she was smiling at another man.

Sonny had a couple of buddies that were bail bondsmen like Ralph Hogan. Working with bands and musicians for so many years meant he knew not only where to find the best drugs and food at 3:00 a.m. but also which bail bondsmen were quick and discreet. He did not know Ralph. But he had a friend who would.

Sonny checked his watch. As much as he wanted to go on a date with Sandra tonight, she would have to wait. He would deal with Bonnie first and then make time for his new girlfriend.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Wednesday, August 26, 6:00 p.m.

Melina sat in the prison interview room, reminding herself that Bonnie Guthrie was nothing more than another con and thief. Just because Bonnie had remarked that she had once known a Melina did not mean she was telling the truth or that they were connected. Time to shake off her own emotional baggage and get on with the job of being a cop.

The knob twisted and the door opened. Bonnie entered the room and stared at her through the glass partition. She looked comfortable. Her shoulders were squared, her chin angled up like she was queen of this realm.

Melina doubted the relaxed demeanor. Bonnie had been around the block enough times to know she was facing serious jail time. She had also learned that no one better ever see you sweat in prison.

Bonnie grinned at Melina. “You got my message?”

“I’m here,” Melina said.

“What took you so long? I called a few hours ago.”

“Things to do, people to see.”

She watched as Bonnie shuffled over to the chair and sat. Grinning up at the guard, she winked. “Thanks, doll. You can leave us now.”

Scowling, the guard closed the door behind him. She sat back.

Melina waited for Bonnie to speak.

“I don’t suppose you can arrange for me to get some smokes? I’ve been craving one since they picked me up.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do. I bet you’re a health nut.”

“What can you do for me, Bonnie?” Even to Melina’s own ears, her tone sounded terse.

Bonnie shook her head. “Exactly.”

“Are you going to tell me about the pickle jar?”

“I don’t know anything about that. It must have been shoved in the trunk long before I got ahold of the car.”

“Your prints were on the jar.”

“Were they? If they were, which I doubt, it’s because I was shuffling crap around in the trunk to make room for my own stuff.”

“Who owned the car?”

“Belonged to a woman I knew back in LA.”

“Does this woman have a name?”

“I have no idea. I gave her fifty bucks and she gave me the car. I know, bad deal on her part, but junkies do all kinds of dumb things when they need a fix.”

Melina was tempted to call bullshit on Bonnie’s story, but she decided to play along. “Okay, you don’t know anything about the jar. Why were you in that neighborhood? What was the rush?”

“I had to pee really bad.”

Melina shifted, tamping down a stab of frustration. “Tell me about Elena.”

Bonnie’s grin faltered a second. “What do you want to know?”

“She’s not your kid.” Melina looked Bonnie up and down. “No offense, but you’re a little old to have a six-year-old.”

Bonnie’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “None taken, doll.”

Melina did not smile but enjoyed some satisfaction knowing she, too, had found a soft spot. Bonnie was getting old and did not like it one bit. “Did Christina Sanchez own the car before you?”

Bonnie leaned forward, her gaze locking on Melina’s. “Who?”

“Elena’s mother. The junkie who overdosed.”

“I don’t want to talk about the kid or her junkie mother. I’d rather talk about you.”

“For now, we’ll stick with Elena. Where is Elena from? Where is her mother?” Melina would not allow Bonnie to redirect the conversation.

“Christina was a drug addict. When I got out of prison, I rented a room from her. That was a year ago, and she was barely making it then. I started taking Elena with me more and more while her mother turned a trick or slept it off.”

“And you took the child so she could help you steal.”

“We had outings. Little girls need sunshine, and we lived so close to the beach.”

“What beach?”

“Imperial Beach in Southern California.”

“Where is Christina Sanchez from?”

“I don’t think you’ll find any records of her. She came over the border about seven years ago. Had Elena in California, though.”

“Does Elena have a birth certificate?”

“I doubt it. Christina was as afraid of the doctors as she was the cops. She was sure if she asked for help, she would be back home across the border.”

“So how did you end up here in Nashville?” Melina asked.

“To find you, of course.”

Melina’s heartbeat jumped into high gear. Likely, Bonnie was lying to get under her skin, but it still took all her control to keep her tone steady. “Me?”

“There’s a few things I could tell you about yourself.”

“I doubt that.”

Bonnie ran long fingers through her hair. “Oh, come on. You don’t remember me? After all I did for you?”

“What you did for me? We’ve never met before.” Deep down, she sensed Bonnie was telling the truth, but she could not bring herself to admit it out loud.

“Don’t you remember anything before you were adopted?”

Melina rarely discussed her adoption, so there was no way Bonnie could have picked up that information in the jail or on the streets.

“It’s hard to ignore the past,” Bonnie continued. “God knows I’ve tried, but it has a way of rearing up and biting us on the ass.”