Countdown - Iris Johansen [3]
The hell she was. She still had her street kid’s instincts and she trusted them. Someone had been following her.
Okay, it could be anyone. This neighborhood had bars on every block catering to college kids who streamed in from the surrounding campuses. Maybe someone had noticed that she was alone, zeroed in on her for a few minutes as a prospective lay, and then lost interest and ducked into a bar.
As she was going to do.
She glanced up at the neon light on the building ahead. The Red Rooster? Oh, for God’s sake, Mike. If he was going to get soused, he could have at least picked a bar whose owner had a little originality.
That was too much to expect. Even when Mike wasn’t in a panic, he was neither selective nor critical. Tonight he evidently wouldn’t care if the place was called Dew Drop Inn if they’d serve him enough beer. Ordinarily, she would have opted to let him make his own mistakes and learn from them, but she’d promised Sandra she’d help him settle in.
And the kid was only eighteen, dammit. So get him out, get him back to his dorm, and get him sober enough to talk sense into him.
She opened the door and was immediately assaulted by noise, the smell of beer, and a crush of people. Her gaze searched the room and she finally spotted Mike and his roommate, Paul Donnell, at a table across the bar. She moved quickly toward them. From this distance Paul seemed sober, but Mike was obviously royally smashed. He could hardly sit up in his chair.
“Jane.” Paul rose to his feet. “This is a surprise. I didn’t think you hit the bars.”
“I don’t.” And it wasn’t a surprise to Paul. He’d phoned her thirty minutes ago to tell her Mike was depressed and in the process of getting plastered. But if he wanted to protect his relationship with Mike by pretending he hadn’t let her know, that was okay with her. She’d never cared much for Paul. He was too slick, too cool for her taste, but he evidently was worried about Mike. “Except when Mike is making an idiot of himself. Come on, Mike, we’re getting out of here.”
Mike looked blearily up at her. “Can’t. I’m still sober enough to think.”
“Barely.” She glanced at Paul. “You pay the tab and I’ll meet you at the door.”
“Not going,” Mike said. “Happy here. If I get one more beer down, Paul promised to crow like a rooster. A red rooster . . .”
Paul raised his brows and shook his head at Jane. “Sorry to put you through this. Since we’ve only been rooming together for a few months, he wouldn’t listen to me. But he’s always talking about you; I didn’t think you’d mind if—”
“It’s okay. I’m used to it. We grew up together and I’ve been taking care of him since he was six years old.”
“You’re not related?”
She shook her head. “He was adopted by the mother of the woman who took me in and raised me. He’s a sweet kid when he’s not being so damn insecure, but there are times when I want to shake him.”
“Go easy on him. He’s got a major case of nerves.” He headed for the bar. “I’ll pay the tab.”
Go easy on him? If Ron and Sandra Fitzgerald hadn’t been so easy on Mike, he wouldn’t have forgotten what he’d learned on Luther Street and would be better able to cope in the real world, she thought in exasperation.
“Are you mad at me?” Mike asked morosely. “Don’t be mad at me, Jane.”
“Of course I’m mad at—” He was looking up at her like a kicked puppy and she couldn’t finish. “Mike, why are you doing this to yourself?”
“Mad at me. Disappointed.”
“Listen to me. I’m not disappointed. Because I know you’re going to do fine once you work your way through this. Come on, we’ll get out of here and go someplace where we can talk.”
“Talk here. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Mike. I don’t want—” It was no use. Persuasion was striking out. Just get him out of here any way she could. “On your feet.” Jane took a step closer to the table. “Now. Or I’ll carry you in a fireman’s lift and tote you out of here on my shoulder. You know I can do it, Mike.”
Mike gazed up at her in horror. “You wouldn’t do that. Everyone would laugh at me.”
“I