Jake put the Range Rover in gear and pulled away from the curb, following her directions through the city. Left on Kennedy. Right on Howard. Past the restaurants and bars of SoHo, deeper into a part of Tampa he knew by geography but not by habit.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"
"No."
"Is this payback for every time I've said 'you'll see'?"
"Absolutely."
He glanced at her. She was radiant. Not the expression he'd gotten used to, the one that rationed itself like a controlled substance. This was wide and reckless and full of anticipation, and it landed in him like a round he hadn't heard coming.
"You're enjoying this," he said.
"More than you know."
She directed him to a street he didn't recognize, then pointed to a parking lot beside a building with a dark exterior and a line of people waiting at the door. Music bled through the walls, bass heavy enough to feel in the steering wheel.
"A club," Jake said.
"My club. Mine and Claire's." Emily turned to face him, and the light from the dashboard caught the curve of her neck and the small diamond studs at her ears and the challenge written across every feature. "This is where I go when Claire can drag meout. Which hasn't been often, because I never wanted to go. But tonight I want to go. And I want you here."
"Emily Callahan at a club."
"Emily Callahan at her club. With her boyfriend." The word landed between them with the power of a first-time declaration. She'd said it casually, woven it into the sentence like it belonged there, but he heard the slight acceleration in her voice. The word was new. She was trying it on. "Unless Jake Walsh is afraid of a dance floor."
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Prove it."
They skipped the line. The bouncer, a large man with a shaved head and the stillness of someone who'd seen it all, recognized Emily immediately. Not the way people recognized Jake at The Anchor, with warmth and history. This was different. This was a man who remembered a face because it was memorable.
"Ms. Callahan. Been a while."
"Marcus, this is Jake."
Marcus looked at Jake. The assessment was quick and thorough and Jake recognized it because he did the same thing. The bouncer took in the build, the posture, the calm eyes, and nodded once. Professional respect for someone he'd identified as capable.
"Have a good night."
The inside was exactly what Jake expected and nothing he was prepared for. Dark, crowded, the music loud enough to bypass thought and go straight to the body. Lights moved across the ceiling in patterns that seemed random but weren't. The bar ran the length of one wall, three bartenders deep, and the dance floor took up the center of the space, packed with people moving in the rhythm of a weeknight crowd that had decided not to care about tomorrow.
Emily took his hand and led him through the crowd. She moved differently here. Confident in a way that wasn't her courtroom confidence or her case-building confidence. This was physical confidence, the ease of a woman who knew this space and how to occupy it.
They found Claire at a booth near the back. She was sitting with a man Jake hadn't met, and she was glowing. Not with romantic interest. With anticipation. Claire Harper had been waiting for this night for years.
"You came." Claire stood and pulled Emily into a hug that lasted longer than a greeting. A celebration. "You actually came. And it was your idea. I need to mark this calendar date for posterity."
"Don't make it weird."
"It's already weird. It's gloriously weird." Claire released Emily and turned to Jake with an expression that contained multitudes. Warmth, amusement, assessment, and underneath all of it, the fierce protectiveness of a woman who'd watched her best friend guard herself for a decade. "Walsh."
"Harper."
"You got her here."
"She got herself here. I'm following orders."
Claire's expression opened. Whatever test that answer had been, he'd passed it.
