Free Blood Trails by Sharon Sala Page B

one thing on her side. He had no idea who she was or that she was back in the city. It would give her the edge she needed. Before she went to the police, she was going to see him. Not to talk. Not so that he would know she was watching. But she wanted to see his face. All she had to do was be careful.
    She drove into the parking lot at a strip mall and pulled up the phone-book app on her cell phone, got the number of Riverfront Wholesale and punched it in before she could change her mind.
    The phone rang once, twice and then three times, while her nerves faltered and her good sense was telling her to hang the hell up and go straight to the police.
    “Riverfront Wholesale. This is Sonya.”
    And then it was too late.
    “Hi. I have a delivery that needs to be signed for by one of your employees. What time do you close?”
    “The drivers clock out once they’ve completed their routes, and the routes are all different. Who’s the delivery for?”
    Holly frowned. She hadn’t intended to mention the name, but now she was caught between a rock and a hard place.
    “Uh…Harold Mackey,” she muttered.
    “Okay, let me check the roster,” Sonya said. There was a pause before she answered. “He should be back in around 6:00 p.m., or you could drop it off here. I’ll sign and see that he gets it.”
    “Sorry, but it’s something he needs to sign for himself,” Holly said. “I’ll make other arrangements. Thank you for your help.” She hung up, aware that she’d already made her first mistake. She didn’t know what might happen if the woman mentioned the phone call to Harold, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.
    She glanced at her watch. It was nearly 3:00 p.m. Three more hours before Harold Mackey’s quitting time. Andrew Slade had raised his girls to face their fears and enemies head-on. Turning her back on this one could be fatal.
     
    Harold Mackey pulled up to the back door of the Green Lantern Café and killed the engine. This was his last stop of the day, and none too soon. Thirty-plus years of getting in and out of this damn delivery truck had been hard on his joints. His left hip was killing him.
    He grunted from the pain as his feet hit the ground, then paused a moment to give his body time to catch up with the job at hand. When he was sure he could walk without limping, he headed toward the back of the truck, lowered the lift, then hopped on and rode it back up.
    The order was the last invoice on the clipboard, and he been doing this job for so long that he filled it without thinking. His life was simple these days, which was exactly the way he liked it. His mind was already on his easy chair, some take-out food and a couple of cold beers.
    As soon as he had filled the cart with the restaurant’s order, he rolled it onto the lift and rode down with it. When he got to the back door, he rang the bell and waited for the back door to open.
    Harold eyed the thirtysomething redhead he knew as Lola. She was a first-degree bitch who got on his last nerve. She played on it just to piss him off. What she didn’t know was that when she messed with him, she was playing with fire.
    “Oh. It’s you,” she drawled, and ran her gaze up and down Harold Mackey’s body as if big heavyset men with long gray ponytails and bushy brows got her hot. Mackey was one of the few men she knew who had never made a pass at her. It ate at her ego just enough that she felt obligated to bug him whenever she could. She stepped aside just enough for him to get by, but stayed close enough to be able to blow in his ear as he passed.
    The hair crawled on the back of his neck as he moved into the kitchen. The urge to purge her from the face of the earth was so strong he could taste it, but he wasn’t playing her games. If the time came that he wanted in on the action she was offering, he would be the one calling the shots. He would wipe that smirk off her face so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her.
    “Where’s Danny?” Harold