Nowhere to Run by Nancy Bush

followed him.”
    â€œHague says a lot of wacko stuff. None of it means a damn thing,” Albert growled.
    Liv didn’t want to go into the whole “zombie” thing. “Do you think this guy could be the ‘Mystery Man’?”
    Albert’s eyes slid toward the photo again. “I don’t know him.”
    â€œDid you put Hague into this state with these photos?” Lorinda asked Liv, throwing a thumb in Hague’s direction.
    â€œI wanted to talk to him about the contents of the package,” Liv said, defending herself.
    Lorinda lifted an “I told you so” eyebrow to Albert, who ignored her.
    â€œNone of you seem to care about Hague at all,” Della said angrily. “None of you! Maybe it’s time you all left. When Hague’s like this, it’s pointless to try and talk to him anyway.” She bustled them toward the door and Lorinda, Albert and Liv reluctantly moved into the hallway.
    â€œTell him I’ll come by again soon,” Liv said, just before Della slammed the door shut behind them. Not wanting to deal with Lorinda and Albert any longer than she had to, Liv headed quickly toward the lift. She wanted to get into it before her father and Lorinda could join her. She didn’t think she could stand being squeezed into that small space with both of them there as well.
    As Liv was lowering the elevator bar Albert and Lorinda moved slowly her way. If they wanted to climb in with her, they sure didn’t act like it, and they let her take the rattling cage down on her own, which was a relief. When Liv reached the street floor, a young mother with three children traded places with her, and by the time Liv got past them, out of the building and into the street, she gulped down fresh air as if she’d been strangling.
    She was nearly run over by a guy racing down the sidewalk in a rush. He jostled her and she grabbed the envelope closer to her chest as he put out his hands to steady her.
    â€œSorry. Are you all right?” The dark-haired stranger peered into Liv’s face. “You look familiar?”
    Liv pulled herself together and tried to sidle away.
    â€œCan I buy you a beer to make up for it? Please?” He inclined his head toward Rosa’s Cantina with its glowing green and yellow script. “I promise I’m not a homicidal maniac. I own the place and I’m late. Come on in.”
    â€œYou own the place?” Liv asked cautiously. She’d been planning how to blow him off, but maybe he wasn’t trying to hit on her.
    â€œWith my better half.” He moved toward the bar. “I am really, really late.”
    â€œDo you know my brother? Hague Dugan? I think he comes here . . . sometimes?”
    â€œHague . . . ah . . .” One hand on the door, he peered at her through the gathering gloom from drifting fog off the river.
    Liv could feel the censure, and she could well imagine why. “I’m not like him . . . much . . .”
    He smiled faintly and inclined his head as he opened the door and happy music and loud voices spilled from inside.
    Liv followed after him, but he strode quickly forward and was already pulling up a section of counter of the brightly tiled bar as she entered and looked around for a seat. He swooped up a woman whose dark hair was pulled back into a bun and gave her a big, sloppy kiss. She grinned, then snapped a towel at him and pretended to be angry.
    Liv took a seat at the bar. “La Cucaracha , ” or “The Cockroach,” was playing from speakers hidden by a raft of piñatas hung from the ceiling. Twice a year the cantina had an afternoon party for all the neighborhood kids who slammed away at the piñatas until all the candy spilled across the floor. The owners then replaced them for the next bout of pounding. Once a night, Rosa’s Cantina also played the Marty Robbins classic, “El Paso,” from which they’d taken the name for their bar. At