Free Wolf on a Leash by Virginia Nelson Page A

it altogether, which wasn’t hard since Los Lobos had no key access route from the main highway.
    Mike tipped his hat in a semblance of greeting and ignored the crowd’s glares as he moved toward the bar. It surprised him how easy the throng of men and women parted, allowing him an unimpeded path. When he reached the bar, he slid onto a stool and placed his forearms on the wood-grained countertop.
    Mirrors ran the length of the bar, giving him an unobstructed view of the patrons behind him and the exit on his right. He might have projected a carefree air, but the truth was his nerves were as strained as the wire of a hooked fishing line. Surely everyone in the bar perceived that as well.
    In front of him, a bulky Native American man stood opposite the polished counter with his arms crossed over his chest. Sizing up his opponent, Mike reasoned he could take the big bastard, but he sincerely doubted his capability to fight an entire bar full of people with much success. Yeah, just as well . He had no desire to leave battered and bruised. In fact, he’d rather get this shit over with so he could go home, period.
    “A cold beer would be great.”
    The bartender’s dark-brown gaze narrowed a fraction. After a minute-long staring match, he reached beneath the counter, raked through a chest of ice, and lifted out a bottle. Twisting off the cap, he plunked the drink in the center of the bar between them, all but daring Mike to grab it.
    However, he had no such compunction whatsoever. He hefted the bottle to his lips and downed half the contents then burped in appreciation. “Man, I’ve needed that all day.”
    For a second, he swore the bartender’s lips twitched, but his pinpointed stare never wavered.
    “I suppose this makes more sense.”
    He had to strain to hear the low rumble of the barkeep’s voice. “What does?”
    The large man lifted a shoulder. “Nothing.”
    As Mike drank his beer, he watched as the patrons slowly slipped into a normal rhythm, continuing a steady clamor of conversation and activity. While they might exude indifference, he wasn’t fooled. They were aware of his every move, just as he was theirs.
    “So….” He leaned against the counter. “If you haven’t guessed, this is a business call.”
    The bartender snorted. “Figured as much.”
    “I just have a few questions then I’ll be on my way.” He extended his hand for a shake. “I’m Mike Hadley, sheriff over in Collins.”
    The large man glanced down at the offering with an impassive expression. Just when he concluded the bartender wouldn’t accept, the Native American grasped his hand with a firm shake.
    “The name’s Gee.” He released Mike’s hand and leaned forward. “How about you just ask your questions then be on your way, all right?”
    Fair enough . “I’m looking for a few men from Collins who’ve gone missing in the area.”
    “Let me save you the breath.” Gee shook his head. “Not a soul has passed through here lately.”
    “Figured as much.” He fed the man his own words. “You sure about that?”
    “Positive.” A hard glint entered Gee’s gaze. “Our town’s tucked away from everything. We don’t get a lot of visitors through here, and if you haven’t guessed, we prefer it that way, Sheriff.”
    “Yeah, I sort of gathered that.” It was obvious this was going nowhere fast.
    Rather than push his luck, he slid off the barstool and downed the last swallow of his beer. He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and dug out a ten and one of his business cards, placing the items in the center of the bar between them.
    “If you have any information, give me a call, eh?”
    Gee made no move to pick up the card. Instead, he grabbed the ten then the empty bottle, tossing it in the trash feet away with a clatter. Slipping the cash in his pocket, he tipped his head and moved on to the next patron at the bar.
    Well, that could’ve gone worse . To hell with it, he would try again tomorrow. However, it would