The man scanned Soren from head to toe. He never even looked at his tablet. “Not on the list.”
Nick glanced back at the line. They might be able to interview some of the people who were waiting, but—
“Check again,” Rowan said. When had she moved her hand to the man’s wrist? And holy shit, that was one hell of a ruby on her finger. It almost seemed to pulse as it glinted in the moonlight. “Try Valor.”
The bouncer looked her in the eye, and Nick saw something strange pass through his expression, a subtle widening of the eyes and flaring of the nostrils. Recognition and fear. He was desperately trying to hide it.
“Of course, Ms. Valor.” He reached for the rope and unclipped it, letting them through. “Have a good time.”
The bouncer hooked the rope behind them and Nick followed her to the door, trying his best to keep his dangling jaw from wagging in her wake. A hostess opened the door for her and the music swallowed them, a pulsing throb that he could feel on his skin and was accompanied by coordinated dancing lights. He had to lean in so she could hear him.
“There is no way that guy isn’t going to tell his boss you’re here,” he said into her ear.
She smiled and leaned in to answer him, her warm breath hitting the shell of his ear in a way that made his cock twitch. “It couldn’t be avoided. Did you see that line? We weren’t getting in without help. We need to hurry though. As much as I’d like to believe there’s no bad blood between us, I’m not sure how Michael will react to me being here. Like I said, we haven’t seen each other in years.”
If Nick didn’t know better, he would have thought he’d come down with an instant case of heartburn, but the ache in his chest had nothing to do with his digestion. He suddenly had an urge to punch Michael Verinetti in the solar plexus, which made absolutely no sense and was completely not like him. He cracked his neck and tried to get his head in the game.
“Let’s split up,” he said to Soren, who had edged to his side. “Try to find your friend or anyone else with the tattoo. Text if you find anything.”
Soren nodded once and disappeared into the crowd. Nick hooked his hand around Rowan’s upper arm.
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“Anything or anyone with that logo I showed you.”
“Would it be more effective for us to divide and conquer? I could ask around. We might be able to cover more people.”
He shook his head slowly. No way did he want her more than an arm’s reach way from him. Not in this crowd. Not in that dress.
“It’s better if we stay together. Look like a couple. Blend in.”
She seemed to agree because she threaded her fingers into his and held his hand. As they entered the crowd, Nick tried to concentrate on scanning the arms and wrists around him for the symbol, but it was hard to think of anything but the feel of her hand in his. He forced himself to focus. Nothing unusual. Expensive suits. More jewelry than he’d ever seen in one place in his life. Botox-tightened skin. Shiny, color-treated hair. Perfectly straight smiles.
Rowan stopped at the edge of the dance floor. “Nothing.”
“Me either.”
She tipped her head toward the bar, where it took exactly five seconds for the bartender, who looked like he needed surgery to remove the giant chip on his shoulder, to notice Rowan. The guy was an Irish caricature with shocking red hair, freckled skin, and a scrappy physique. Nick could already tell he was going to be a pain in the ass.
“That’s Connor. He sees everything,” she said. “Whether he’ll share it with you or not is a different story.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that.”
They sidled up to the bar where Connor served the person he was waiting on, then made a beeline to where they’d pulled up a stool.
“Rowan. There’s a face I never thought I’d see in here again,” Connor said. “Can I mix you my special Irish jig martini? It’s Irish cream, vanilla vodka, and a bit of Irish luck to either knock you on your arse or have you knocking him on his. Whatever suits you.”
“No, thanks, Connor,” Rowan said. “It sounds delicious, but unfortunately, I’m not drinking tonight. I’m here on business and I need a favor.”
Nick felt her gentle nudge at his elbow, and he produced the pictures he had brought with him. The first was Allison Sumner’s high school senior portrait and the second was of the symbol tattooed on her wrist.
“Have you seen this girl?” He started with the portrait.
Connor glanced down at the photo. “No.”
He caught Rowan frowning at the picture and quickly slipped it back inside his jacket.
“Are you sure? She sometimes went by the name Allison.”
