Found Money - James Grippando [51]
“A hooker? No. You want one? No problemo. What you like, I can get it.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” he said with mild embarrassment.
“Berry good-looging,” he said with a smirk.
Ryan checked his reflection in the big mirror behind the bar. No woman had ever bought him a drink before. Bars had never been his forte. He was too shy. He felt like the only man in America who had actually never gotten a woman’s phone number in a bar, not even in college. Maybe I should have been hitting the happy hours in Panama.
He looked her way to thank her, raising his glass. She smiled—not too much, barely perceptible. A subtle smile that invited him over.
His battered ego swelled. It had been a long time since a woman had looked at him that way. Liz hadn’t wanted him for months. Amy had sparked him for a few minutes at the Green Parrot, then backed off like a squirrel. Flirting, however, was the last thing he felt like tonight. Still, her interest was flattering. He at least had to be polite, thank her properly. He started across the room toward her table. The closer he got, the better she looked.
She was in her early thirties, he guessed. Her straight hair was shoulder-length, a rich black sheen beneath the dim bar lights. The eyes were equally dark, not cold but mysterious. She wore a tan fitted suit, probably French or Italian. Her jewelry was gold and sapphire, clearly expensive but still professional. A stunning international businesswoman. Ryan was amazed she was alone.
Don’t see many women like this in Piedmont Springs.
“Thank you for the drink,” he said.
“You’re quite welcome. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you looked like you could use it. That’s a very stressful look on such a handsome face.”
“Kind of a tough day.”
“Sorry.” She offered the empty chair. “Care to commiserate?”
He considered it, then thought better. Nothing good could come from confiding in some stranger, however beautiful. “I appreciate the invitation, but my wife has this thing about me meeting women in bars. Can you imagine that?”
She smiled thinly. “I understand. That’s very decent of you. Your wife’s a lucky woman.”
“Thanks.”
“Does she know how lucky she is?”
It was an oddly personal question, the kind that sounded rehearsed. Ryan guessed it was a tried-and-true modus operandi, the gorgeous woman in the bar who made married men feel the need to spend time with a woman who could appreciate them. “Thanks for the drink,” he said.
“Any time.”
He turned and headed back to his bar stool. The irony nearly choked him—using Liz as an excuse not to meet an attractive, interesting woman. Instinct, however, had him questioning everything and everybody. Especially with what he was carrying in his bag.
My bag!
He froze just a few steps from his bar stool. He didn’t see his leather bag. He’d forgotten it had even been there until now. The come-hither looks had made him forget all about it and leave it behind when he’d walked over to her table. He was sure he’d left it on the floor.
He checked the other bar stools and the floor all around. It was nowhere to be found. Panic gripped him. The bag contained everything. His passport. His plane tickets. Photocopies of everything from the two Panamanian banks.
“Bartender!” he said urgently. “Have you seen my bag? It was right beside the stool.”
“No. Sorry.”
“Did somebody pick it up, maybe by accident?”
“I don’t see nobody.”
He wheeled around for a look at the woman. Her table was empty. She was gone.
“Damn it!” He ran from the bar to the lobby, weaving through the crowd, skidding on the marble floors. He nearly knocked over a bellboy laden with baggage. “Have you seen a woman in a tan suit? Black hair?”
The man just shrugged. “Many peoples, señor.”
Ryan was about to try in Spanish, but his mind was racing too fast to translate. He sprinted across the lobby and pushed through the revolving doors at the main entrance. Outside it was dusk. City lights were flickering, a neon welcome for the night life. Cars and taxis clogged the