“How long has it been?” She stomped her feet to get the blood flowing.
“You never did have the patience for surveillance,” Quinn said. “And it’s only midnight.”
“Because it’s dull,” she shot back. “I’m more of an action, avoiding-detection kind of woman.”
Across the street, Bruce stacked chairs on tables. Were the card players ever leaving? What if they stayed after the pub closed?
“No argument here,” he said, staring down at her. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered, tracing the curve.
Once again, the heat rose to her cheeks, warming her despite the chill air. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
Like he didn’t know. She should ignore him, but there was something about Quinn that made her verbal filter disengage. It was a curse. “You know what. Now stop it.”
His hand fell away. “Of course.”
She knew it was the right call, but much like earlier in the bar, it didn’t make denying him any easier.
She reminded herself that they weren’t that couple anymore. They weren’t a couple. Period. And he was presumptuous as hell to act like they were when no one they needed to fool was watching them.
She kicked herself for starting this new trend of teasing.
He leaned against the building, arms crossed. “You sure you want to do this? We can always drag a player into a dark alley and beat the answers we need out of him.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “All it takes is one bystander calling the police and we’ll be on the run again. And people on the run don’t get entrance to illicit poker games.”
“Just offering. I know that seducing strangers isn’t as much fun as people think.”
“Jealous?”
“Not even a little.”
She couldn’t tell if he was lying or teasing. But she suspected it was a bit of both. And she hated that she cared what he thought or wanted. That he mattered to her. Even now.
Across the bar, a group of men filed out. She didn’t recognize any of them after three hours of sitting in the not-so-secret part of the Marble Room, so it stood to reason they were from the back room. “I thought they’d never leave,” she said. Seconds later, the lights dimmed, and Bruce followed the men outside, locking the door behind him.
One by one, they left. “Dammit,” Quinn said.
Three men waited on the curb as cabs approached.
“Go. Go. Go.”
She ran across the street, heels clicking on the pavement. A taxi pulled away.
Two men remained.
One older. Gray hair. Neat button-down shirt. She smiled at him, looking for an opening, but he gave her a nod and got in a cab. Dammit.
One left. He’d have to do. Early twenties, he wore his blond hair spiked into a faux-hawk, jeans, and a black leather jacket. “Hey,” Eva said, flashing her best smile. “I thought you might like to party.”
“No, thanks,” he said and headed down the block.
No, thanks? Had she lost her mojo?
Quinn strode across the street. “No luck?”
She shook her head.
Not that it mattered; it was game time. Her hand in his, they held back as they followed the blond.
The farther they went, the more people appeared on the sidewalk, and she realized they were entering the club district, where the dancing lasted until three or four in the morning.
She almost groaned at the idea of staying up until sunrise.
One of the many sacrifices she made for the mission, she reminded herself. Two blocks. Then three. The crowds continued to grow. At the fourth, clubs lined the entire block. Tropic Thunder. Limelight. The Saint.
Without missing a step, the blonde opened a door of The Saint. The thumping of disco flooded the street. Eva cringed at the seventies tunes that spilled out. That wasn’t music. That was noise. “Ready to dance?”
Quinn grimaced and opened the door for her. “The things I do for the job.”
“You could wait out here if you want,” she said. Quinn had helped train her in the art of seduction, and the thought of him watching her use it made her skin crawl.
“Not happening. I have your back. Even if it means I have to deal with crappy music.”
He had her back. The disclosure made her shiver more than the way he’d kissed her neck in the pub. She gave him a wry smile. “It a club. Nothing will go wrong.”
He answered her with a stare, and she sighed but scooted past him.
Inside, the heavy bass shook her all the way to her bones. From what she could see, the dance floor was down a level. The main room held the bar and couches for those who wanted to try to talk.
As if it was possible in the din.
Their mark was out of sight, but there were men. Lots of men.
Nothing but men, she realized. “Oh.”
Smiling so hard she was convinced she strained a muscle in her face, she stood on her toes so her mouth was closer to his ear. This was going to be entertaining. “Still want to wear my dress?”
He blinked at her. Once. Twice. Then his eyes widened.
She hated to admit it, but she was enjoying his moment of rare vulnerability. He was skilled in the art of seducing a mark, but that was on women only.
Quickly, he escorted her to a couch in the corner and fell into the leather cushions, taking her with him.
“Ready to do some dirty dancing?” she asked. His clammy skin told her he wasn’t on the edge of his comfort zone but miles away. Not that she blamed him.
“I have no idea how to do this,” he said.
“Seduction is seduction. I think you have the skills.” She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them.
He let her embarrassment hang in the air for a beat. “Thanks.”
She was glad the dim lighting hid the blush that saturated her face. Being so transparent was unacceptable.
He leaned back into the cushions, staring at the ceiling. She joined him. Whoever had designed the room had added twinkle lights. She realized they were laid out in the constellations. The cushions shook. Was he laughing?
She sat up. He was. “Okay” —she drew the word out— “What’s so funny?”
“Just that the best plan I can come up with is W.W.R.D.”
“Excuse me?”
“W.W.R.D. What Would Richard Do?”
Who was Richard? Her expression must have betrayed her confusion, because his grin transformed to something resembling a smirk. She crossed her arms and regretted the defensive move as soon as she made it. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”
“You act like I take a particular delight in annoying you.”
“You don’t?”
“Of course not.”
What a liar. But she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of saying it out loud. “Who’s Richard?”
“My brother. This is more his scene. The dancing. The dudes. The music.”
That was new. Among all the things he never talked about, his family was at the top of the list. At one point, she’d wondered if he was an orphan, like herself. “You didn’t tell me you have a brother.”
“There are a lot of things we didn’t tell each other.”
“Correction. There are a lot of things you didn’t tell me. I told you everything.” Once again, she wondered how she had not noticed his lack of intimacy. Would it have mattered? It was him. It was her. Together, they were an uncommunicative mess.
“I was the teacher.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It was my job to listen. Being lovers didn’t change that.”
She wondered what else she didn’t know. What details of his life she would never know. Did it matter?
Her earlier words floated back: Stick to the mission. The mission is to find Felix before he creates a bio weapon. So suck it up, and do your job.
Focus.
“So, what would Richard do?” she asked.
He gave her a defeated look. “He’d dance.�
� Rising, he offered Eva his hand. “I’ll get Blondie to take his jacket off. You steal the key to the game, whatever it is. The last thing we need is him pinning the theft on us.”
She nodded. If they were pegged as thieves, they might be shut out, and there would go their last small chance at information.
A new song came on, the bass heavy. Again. Cheers from the crowd echoed up the stairs.
She rose on tiptoe. Her lips caressed the curve of Quinn’s ear. He shuddered at her touch. “You’re up,” she said and marched him toward the stairs.
…
Would that song never die? Quinn winced as a techno beat echoed through the building. Again, the crowd cheered, clapping their hands in time to the music.
He wished Richard were here. His brother was a much better dancer. Quinn was uncomfortable no matter who he was dancing with—gay, straight, or anything in between. The floor was crowded. He knew that no one cared who he was or what he did, but he squirmed inside, as if all eyes were on him. Judging.
He’d take a gunfight over dancing any day of the week.
This is an important op. Eva was worried more about Felix. But he was worried about what the man might create. And that meant doing what had to be done. Even dancing.
He worked his way through the crowd, trusting Eva to keep an eye on the situation. He glanced at her. She stood at the bar, sipping something with orange juice
A mimosa, he realized. Her favorite drink, and one of the reasons she loved brunch.
Would he never forget the little things?
She met his gaze and raised the flute in a small, almost imperceptible toast. The man next to her said something in her ear, and she laughed, tossing her dark hair back.
Quinn went back to searching for the blonde. Why the hell did Richard like dancing? Why did anyone? The air felt sticky and smelled of sweat.
Not unlike jungle work with a terrorist group, he realized, which made him feel a bit better.
A tall man, fitter than anyone had a right to be, danced up to him.
Oh, hell. Quinn flushed with embarrassment. He caught another glimpse of Eva through the crowd. She winked at him. He couldn’t hear her over the beat, but he knew laughing when he saw it.
At least one of them was amused.
He wasn’t here to entertain her. He was here to find their mark. Giving the more-fit-than-human dancer a “maybe later” nod, he shuffled past the guy and headed back to the stairs, going up halfway, where he could get a better glimpse of the room.
Once there, he leaned forward against the banister. Better. Eva pointed with her glass toward the back of the room. The blonde stood at the smaller bar, nodding his head in time to the music.
Skirting the edge of the crowd, he took a place next to the blonde, making sure to stand close. He gave a nod hello.
The mark gave him a once over and smiled.
Male or female, Quinn knew that expression, and it said, “Interested.”
“Dave,” Quinn shouted over the thumping.
“Heath.”
“Dance?”
“Sure.”
Leave the jacket. Leave the jacket.
No such luck. Heath set his drink on the bar and headed out to the floor without shucking his leather coat.
The music made chatting almost impossible. Quinn wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad. Talking would negate some of the need for dance and help hide his lack of dancing skill, but the more they danced, the hotter Heath would become, and the jacket might come off.
Dancing it was. Quinn did his best to imitate his partner. Even if he couldn’t improvise a dance step, mimicking the blonde’s moves was a subtle, subliminal way to gain attraction from either sex. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Eva inch closer, waiting and watching.
The song ended, morphing into the next heart-thumping beat, but Heath showed no signs of letting up.
Please, no. Another minute of bodies pressed tight, and he was ready to take off his shirt. How the hell could Heath keep that jacket on? He had to be sweating buckets. A familiar laugh cut through the music.
Eva?
She was on the floor. Wedged between two men. Dancing,
And doing a great job of it.
Heath followed his gaze. It seemed beautiful, talented women were admired by everyone, not just straight men. But then Richard always was one of the first to comment on a pretty girl, so he shouldn’t be surprised that Eva could be popular in any setting.
One of her partners took her hand and whirled her outward, pushing back the crowd. The dance floor opened up enough to let them move. She followed her partner, spinning, arching her back, and performing every step with a flair that made the crowd shout.
God help him, he thought he had his need for her under control, but seeing her—a wanton, free spirit—as she spun through the heat and people brought back every intimate moment they’d shared.
Uninhibited nights in his bed. Watching her sleep. Eating lunch. Watching a movie with her feet in his lap. Holding hands. The fleeting pieces of time that bound them together.
All those small moments, the kind that shouldn’t matter but always did. And always would, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
Heath bumped him, and he realized that he’d been ignoring his partner. Dammit. Seducing men really wasn’t his style. He danced closer to help cover the slip-up.
“She’s good,” he shouted over the music.
“Amazing is more like it,” Heath shouted back.
It seemed like hours before the song changed. “Drink?” Quinn shouted. He needed a break. They were both soaked with sweat, and he had to get off the floor.
Heath nodded.
They worked their way back to the bar, and Heath held up two fingers to the bartender. Seconds later, there were two drinks in front of them—something clear, with lime.
Please. Not gin.
Quinn took a sip and almost grimaced as the piney, spicy taste of gin filled his mouth. He forced himself to take another sip.
At the other end of the bar and in his line of sight, Eva watched him, her dance partners back on the floor without her.
Heath’s jacket stayed on. “Aren’t you hot?” Quinn asked, leaning in.
“Burning up,” his partner replied, stroking Quinn’s thigh.
He wasn’t talking about the heat, Quinn realized. Help. But Eva was nowhere in sight now.
Someone bumped Quinn’s back, and his drink shot out of the glass and onto Heath, spilling down the front of his jacket. A familiar laugh echoed in his ears.
Eva? She wiggled her way between the men.
“Oh, my God. I am so sorry!” she shouted, grabbing napkins, dabbing at Heath’s jacket. “I ruined your coat. Do you want some soda for it?”
Heath grabbed her hands, stopping her. “No need.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s fine.” But he didn’t look fine. He looked pissed.
She pivoted on her heel. “Good luck,” she mouthed to Quinn as she strode away.
“She’s right,” Quinn said. “You should take that off and put some soda on it.”
“It’s leather. I take it off here, and I might never see it again.” He leaned in. “Maybe we could go somewhere else, and I can take care of it.”
That was quick. And easier than he thought.
Then he realized what Heath said. He was only taking the jacket off if they left. Together.
Chapter Nine
Eva clutched the black marble in her hand and considered how far she was going to let the situation go before she told Quinn she’d lifted it from the blonde’s jacket when she was trying to clean it.
She leaned against end of the bar and watched the crowd. Quinn and Blondie were back on the dance floor. Quinn looked like he was having fun, but she knew better. He loathed dancing. Once, she’d tried to convince him into going to a club, and he’d confessed that dancing was one of the few situations where he felt awkward.
And if there was one sensat
ion that was unfamiliar to Quinn Blackwood, it was awkwardness. She suspected he’d always been some form of ridiculously handsome—from the cutest baby in the playpen to the hot guy in high school—and he loathed the sensation of feeling like he didn’t belong.
On the other hand, she loved to dance. She remembered watching her parents in their living room. They’d push back the furniture, put on the music, and spend the next hour showing off their Cali-style salsa skills. She’d held on to those memories with fierceness. She loved them. Protected them.
And watching the crowd had brought it all back with a rush, so when the two men had asked her to dance, she’d said yes before she could stop herself.
Being on the dance floor made her more obvious, but she also knew the odds that a tail had followed them into the bar were small. And if there was a spy in the club, he was already watching her, and dancing wasn’t going to make a difference.
Sipping her drink, she scanned the crowd again. No one seemed interested in her.
They were safe for now. She watched Quinn. Or, rather, she was safe. He and Blondie had left the dance floor and were sipping drinks again. From the stranger’s body language, he wanted something that Quinn wasn’t prepared to offer.
She grinned, but as much as she wanted to let this play out, the stranger didn’t deserve to be led on. Plus, she and Quinn needed to get sleep while they could since tomorrow could bring a whole new batch of chaos.
Tugging at the hem of her dress, she sauntered toward the men and stumbled, hitting Quinn.
Once again, Quinn’s drink spilled.
The blonde didn’t seem as forgiving this time. His eyes narrowed, and Eva was sure that he was only a moment away from slapping her.
On the other hand, Quinn smiled at his salvation.
Prepared to be even happier. “Sorry,” she said. “I seem to be having issues walking, tonight.”
“Maybe you should go somewhere else,” the blonde said. “Someplace more appropriate.”
Risking It All for Her Boss: A Heroes for Hire novel (Entangled Ignite) Page 12