Chase's Promise. Lois Faye Dyer

a handgun from the compartment and shifted back into the driver’s seat.

      Unnerved, Raine watched as he checked it efficiently, then tucked it into a shoulder holster beneath his denim Levi’s jacket.

      “Do you expect trouble?”

      He glanced at her and she felt that electric shiver of wary awareness once more. “I always expect trouble.” He got out.

      Raine unlatched her seat belt and followed him, determined not to be left behind.

      “Stay, Killer. Watch.” The murmured words reached Raine clearly before Chase stepped up on the curb. He waited for Raine to join him then led the way to the bar’s entryway, where he stopped her with a hand on her forearm.

      “You can go inside with me on two conditions.”

      “What are they?”

      “I do all the talking. You’re an observer, nothing more.”

      Her first response was to refuse. She wanted to ask questions—someone inside might have seen Trey. If they were going to find a clue that would lead them to him, this might be their best, maybe their only, chance. But Chase was the expert in this search and she didn’t want to hamper any progress he might make. She nodded reluctantly. “Agreed. What’s the second condition?”

      “You stick to me like glue. While we’re in there—” he pointed to the Bull ’n’ Bash “—you pretend you belong to me. I’ve been here before—this isn’t the local Saloon in Wolf Creek where everyone knows you and they’re all your friends.”

      “I’m not completely naive. I’ve been in a few rough bars before.”

      “Then you know what could happen if the men think you’re available. I don’t want to waste time cracking some cowboy’s skull because he takes a fancy to you and won’t let go.”

      Raine stepped over the threshold. She hadn’t lied to Chase. She’d been inside rough places with Trey when he’d considered expanding the family bar ownership to outlying towns. The Bull ’n’ Bash was seedier than others she’d seen, but the landscape was familiar.

      The jukebox on her left was playing Johnny Cash’s “Walk the Line” and the crack of cue sticks against pool balls in the back of the low ceilinged room was barely audible over the heavy bass in the music. Cheap hanging lanterns gave off low-wattage light, dimly illuminating the big room with its round tables and battered wooden chairs. Several booths lined one wall and a long bar boasted worn red vinyl stools, nearly all of them occupied by cowboys of various ages and sizes.

      “Let’s find a booth.” Chase slung his arm around her and they threaded their way around tables.

      She felt surrounded by him, his arm heavy across her shoulders, his hip and muscled thigh brushing against hers as they walked. Her body felt charged with awareness and she was relieved when they reached the booth so that she could slip out from under his arm and drop onto the bench. Instead of taking the bench opposite the scarred tabletop, Chase sat down beside her, his shoulder nudging hers. Quickly, she slid along the seat into the corner. He followed her.

      “What are you doing?” she hissed, taken aback at the press of his arm and the length of his thigh against hers.

      He bent his head, his lips brushing against her ear. “Marking you.”

      Incensed, Raine met his gaze. His blue eyes were impassive, watchful. Determined not to let him see he’d shaken her composure, she merely nodded. “Of course. I should have realized.”

      His mouth quirked and amusement lit his eyes for a brief moment. Then he looked away from her and lifted his hand to beckon the waitress.

      The strawberry blonde who answered his gesture carried an empty tray and wore skintight jeans, her curly mass of red-gold hair brushing the straps of her bright pink halter top.

      “Hi, honey, what can I get you?”

      “A couple of longnecks.” Chase’s voice was a lazy, sexy drawl.

      Raine realized with a start that he was smiling at the waitress. The smile changed his features from handsome to drop-dead sexy. The waitress clearly thought so, too. Her eyes lit and she bent forward slightly, allowing the neckline of her low-cut knit top to fall forward.

      “Is that all you need, honey?”

      Her suggestive question had Raine bristling. The surprising reaction was unexpected, unwelcome and annoying. Neither the waitress nor Chase appeared to remember she was present and the rudeness irked her.

      “For the moment.”

      The blonde gave him a knowing smile and sashayed her way back to the bar.

      “What was that all about?” Raine whispered.

      Chase turned his head to look at Raine. His expression held none of the seductive teasing he’d shown the waitress. “It’s about being nice to the employees. If Trey was in here on a Friday night, she wouldn’t have missed him.”

      “Assuming she was working that Friday.”

      Chase nodded. “A pretty safe assumption since Friday and Saturday nights are the busiest nights in a bar. There’s a good chance she worked the weekend shift, don’t you think?”

      “True.” Raine knew the Saloon’s employees worked at full staff on Friday and Saturday nights. “Good call,” she conceded reluctantly.

      The waitress came back with two frosty bottles of beer.

      “Here you go,” she said.

      Chase handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

      “Thanks.” She tucked the bill into the pocket of her skintight jeans.

      “There is something you might help with,” Chase said, returning her smile.

      “What’s that?” The pure speculation in her voice clearly said she was hoping for a more personal request.

      Chase reached into his inside jacket pocket and drew out the photo of Trey. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. He was in here on a Friday night a couple of weeks ago.”

      The blonde took the photo, studied it, then held it out to Chase. “No, haven’t seen him.”

      “Are you sure? Take another look.”

      She stared at the photo once again, a frown growing between her brows. Then she shook her head. “Sorry, mister. I told the cops the same thing when they asked about him a week or so ago. I’ve never seen this guy before.”

      “Were you working that night?” Chase took the photo from her outstretched hand, tucking it back inside his jacket pocket.

      “I work every Friday night, Saturday, too. Tips are better on the weekend.”

      “Who else works weekends? Any chance one of the other waitresses waited on him and you didn’t see him?”

      The blonde laughed, a throaty chortle. “Mister, there’s no chance I’d have missed him.” She gestured at Chase’s jacket, where the photo lay hidden. “Most of our customers are regulars. Your friend is fine-looking—I’d definitely remember him if he’d come in. He wasn’t here on a Friday night. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever been in here, at least not when I’ve been working and I work six shifts a week.”

      “Then I guess I must have misunderstood—maybe he told me he was at another bar in Billings. Are there two bars in town with the same name?”

      “No.” She shook her head. “There’s only one Bull ’n’ Bash and God knows, one’s enough.” The bartender roared her name and she glanced over her shoulder. “Gotta get back to work. Let me know if you have any more…questions.” She winked at Chase, ignored Raine and strutted away across the room.

      Chase lifted his bottle and drank, his gaze sweeping the room and its occupants. Beside him, Raine