The Good Chase Read Online Free Page A

tent. The names Amber Lounge and Shea Montgomery had given him a good slap across the face.
    Shea. The gorgeous, intriguing whisky expert he’d met last summer. He recalled briefly trying to track her down after their chance encounter with the cow up in Gleann. But then life and work and general crap had gotten in the way, and she’d slipped from his mind for a whole year.
    How on earth could that have ever happened? After enthusiastically paying a hundred dollars and stepping into her tent, seeing her standing tall and confident and utterly beautiful in front of a line of sparkling brown bottles, he really didn’t know.
    Then she’d shot him down, bringing the total number of bullet holes she’d given him to two, because he seemed to remember standing in front of her firing squad up in Gleann last year.
    And yet . . . just now he’d caught her looking.
    Now Byrne swam against the crowd as he tried to make his way toward the parking lot that jutted up against the back of the whisky-tasting tent. A lot of people seemed to be making their way over to the big field where some seriously huge guys in plaid skirts were trying to swing some sort of ball on a short pole across the grass.
    â€œThere you are. Finally.” Erik was standing at the taillight of a sweet blue Tesla, tapping at his phone. “Was about to call. George is ready to leave without you.”
    â€œSorry.” Three lanes over, the van the team had rented sat idling with its side doors thrown open, George’s thick body stuffed behind the wheel, the rest of the team wedged in the back. “Wanted some whisky.”
    Still did.
    Erik peered over Byrne’s shoulder, and Byrne also turned, if only to see what his friend saw. Of course it was Shea, perfectly framed by the waving flaps of her tent, standing with her hands spread on top of her makeshift bar, laughing with the four people sporting new yellow on their wrists. Her long ponytail, nearly white in its paleness, swung down her back.
    â€œUh-huh.” Erik threw Byrne a side eye. “So what was with the wristbands?”
    Byrne shrugged. “It was a great setup and no one was inside. Was a shame to let all that good whisky go to waste.”
    He’d loved Shea’s enthusiasm, her clear knowledge, and her patience and love for talking to tasters. More people deserved to experience that. He remembered how packed her tent had been up in Gleann. He wanted that again for her.
    Erik slapped Byrne’s arm. “Hey, don’t suppose you’d want to stick around with me? Hire a car to take us back later?”
    Someone started up on the pipes again and Byrne shuddered. “No. Why would you want to stay?”
    â€œI don’t know. I kind of love this. Feels a little like home.”
    â€œBut you’re German.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter. I’m liking it here. I could have a couple of beers, you could try to romance the whisky chick again. Looks like some sort of band is starting up soon?”
    Byrne squinted at the stage on the other side of the athletic field. More bagpipes. No fucking way.
    â€œThis really isn’t my thing, man. Sorry.” Normally Byrne was game for anything Erik wanted to do, but this? Besides, Byrne was champing at the bit to get back into the city.
    Erik spouted something in German—he tended to do that when he got too excited or upset or frustrated—made a dismissive gesture to Byrne, and then stomped off toward the van. Byrne wove through the cars after him.
    After he packed himself into the van, Erik cried out, “This thing was great! Fantastic idea, George.”
    â€œWe got our asses kicked.” Dan, at shotgun, sneered into the windshield. He took a sip from a flask and stashed it back into his bag. Byrne cringed.
    Erik ignored Dan, as usual. “Why aren’t we staying and drinking every keg they have?”
    Being the last one into the van, Byrne got squeezed into the