“She dumped white powder into your whiskey.” Halston waved down the club owner.
“You need another drink?” Hawk asked.
“Do you have video you can pull up?” She made sure to maintain her Russian accent. “A woman dropped powder—” she pointed at Gabriel’s drink— “but he doesn’t believe me.”
Hawk took the glass, tossed its contents down the drain. “My office.” He spoke with the other bartender before leading them down a hallway, stopping in front of a closed office door. Afterstanding in front of a scanner, the light changed from red to green. He opened the door, gestured for them to enter.
They filed in, he shut the door.
“Have you two met?” Hawk asked.
“Yes,” Halston replied. “I’m No Name.”
Hawk stared at her for an extra beat. “Got it.”
“And he’s an idiot,” Halston said as she glared at Gabriel.
Hawk sat behind the desk, got busy on his computer. Seconds later, he blurted, “Come check this out.”
They stood behind him, leaning close to see.
The second Gabriel looked away, the stranger dropped a vial of white powder into his drink and left.
Halston crossed her arms, glared at Gabriel. “Pozhaluysta. You’re welcome.”
Without waiting for a response, she walked out. As she passed the men’s room, the door opened. A chubby guy exited, they made eye contact.
“Hey, pirate girl, you wanna dance?”
“Sure,” she replied.
Halston was fuming, so releasing angry energy on the dance floor worked. Whirling and moving, she shimmied and shook as the fast-paced melody came to a crescendo. She’d come to the club to unwind, Evangeline had suggested a sync-up, so they’d met there. Then, she saw some woman try to roofie her mark. The same man she’d hooked up with a day earlier.
“Ugh,” she blurted as the song came to an end.
I’ve gotta stay away from Santini. He’s trouble. But… what if the thumb drive wasn’t in Italy? What if it’s here with him…
The next song began. One with a slow, seductive beat. The man assumed she wanted to dance close and stepped into her personal space.
Halston backed away. “I’m gonna pass.”
He lunged for her, ended up shoving a woman aside to grab her. But he missed as she headed off the dance floor.
“Ow!” shouted the clubber he’d banged into.
Ignoring her, the man forced his way through the dancers and over to Halston.
“Why’d you bolt?” he asked.
“I don’t want to dance with you,” Halston replied.
“I like your accent,” the stranger said. “Where are you from?”
“Russia.”
“C’mon, one dance, then you can kick me to the curb. It’ll be fun, Russian pirate girl.” He winked.
She winced. As she turned to go, he grabbed her arm.
