“Ready?” Gene asked, staring right at Corbin—the weakest link.
The man nodded.
“Don’t do anything ridiculous,” Gene ordered. “We’re working and on the clock.”
He got it.
They weren’t going to be pounding margaritas and table dancing with some Goth music in the background.
“No worries,” Corbin said. “I know we’re handling a case. My memory is just fine. One drink.”
That was another rule, and Corbin definitely had been paying attention. Getting sloppy drunk on the job was stupid.
And dangerous.
It dulled your senses.
Inside, they were met by a hostess who was dressed in a tight black dress and her arms were covered by all kinds of symbols of Paganism.
Ethan was checking them out, making mental notes if they were found on the bodies.
None were.
Once more, he wasn’t shocked.
That just reinforced his belief that it had been staged out the wazoo.
“We need a table for four,” Gene said, pulling out his badge and flashing it. “And we need to speak to a few people. We’ve already spoken to your boss. Is she here?” he asked, scanning the area.
The woman nodded.
“Essie told us you would be coming in, and she said to accommodate you with anything you wanted or asked for,” she admitted.
Thank.
God.
The last thing they wanted to do was jump through hoops when it came to the mob man and his lady.
They still didn’t have a decision on whether they were part of this, or being set up.
It was a toss-up for now.
“We want to do it lowkey so no one is any the wiser, so can you give us a table that’s off to itself, Miss…?” he asked, waiting for her name.
She smiled, and the fangs appeared.
“Lilith, and yes, I can,” she offered, as she led them through a crowded bar to a dining area.
Once there, they saw the VIP section, and both Rodrigo and Esmeralda were there, cozied up to each other in the owner’s booth.
When they sat, Gene went there, jumping in to start the questioning.
“Did you work last night, Lilith?” he asked, not buying for a second that was her name.
Call it a hunch.
She nodded.
