He shrugs, that coy smirk back in place. “You asked for it.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m going, I’m going.”
I head toward the stairs, heart pounding, the guards flanking me like I’m an actual threat instead of a paralegal with poor impulse control and a dead woman’s ring around her neck.
The door opens just as I reach it.
Alex stumbles through, flushed and slightly disheveled, her lipstick smeared and her eyes bright. That just-got-thoroughly-distracted look I’ve seen a hundred times before.
“Oh thank god—” She grabs my face with both hands, searching my eyes. “You okay? You were supposed to?—”
“I’m fine. Also, I’m being escorted out by two security guards like I tried to steal the silverware.”
“Very dramatic for a drink and some questions.”
“I know, right? I didn’t even get to finish the good nuts.”
“Dylan—” But she’s fighting a smile now, even as she pulls me through the door back toward the VIP.
The security guard gives me a look. One that says try it and see what happens.
“Now, Alex.” I grab her elbow and physically redirect her back through the door, yanking it shut behind us.
Only when we’re in the stairwell does she stop.
“What happened?” Her hands are shaking where they grip my shoulders. “You were supposed to be five minutes. That was like ten. I was about to?—”
“Security noticed me. I pushed too hard.” I’m still buzzing with adrenaline. “But I got something. We need to move.”
“Gamóto, Dylan.” She pulls me into a quick, fierce hug. “Don’t do that to me.”
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“Not even a little.”
She pulls back, studying my face. “What did you find out?”
“We need to figure out who owns this club.” The words come out sharp, urgent as we start down the stairs. Fast, but not running. Never running. That would look guilty.
“Dylan. Stop.” Alex grabs my arm, stopping me on the landing between floors. The music from below is getting louder. Her other hand goes to my face, forces me to look at her. “Are you okay? Actually okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Your hands are shaking.”
I look down. She’s right. “Adrenaline.”
“What happened up there?”
“Security was about to throw me out. The bartender—” I swallow hard. “He was scared, Alex. Really scared. Of whoever’s in that booth. The one with the?—”
I stop. Can’t say it. Can’t admit I saw curtains moving on their own.
“With the what?” Her eyes narrow. “Dylan.”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” I pull away, keep moving down the stairs. “The bartender said the owner’s info is public. That’s the lead.”
