Dev frowned. “We’re missing something.”
“We know,” Alec said.
The silence that followed carried the weight of an entire week spent chasing leads that evaporated under scrutiny.
Finally, Michael wandered up to the bar. “Where’s Callan?”
Monitoring wasn’t Callan’s favorite thing, and, since he stared at a monitor all day, working the security office was a have-to case. He actually didn’t mind tending bar and could often be found there when not playing on Wednesday and Saturday nights. He was good at it; his mathematical mind with his ability to memorize drink ratios, anticipate bar flow, and track inventory helped, no doubt.
“When I left HQ, he was buried under several terabytes of surveillance footage,” Alec replied.
Michael winced. “Damn.”
“Yeah.” Alec took a pull from his beer. “Apparently The Underground systems are a mess.”
“How so?” Leland asked, wiping condensation off the bar top with a towel.
Dev shook his head. “I didn’t understand all the technical jargon, but Callan said the cameras recorded at different frame rates and don’t sync properly. Half the timestamps don’t match, and feeds jump a few seconds before correcting themselves.”
Leland paused mid-bar swipe. “Don’t tell me the footage is useless.”
“No. Just frustrating,” Dev said. “It’s all there, but reviewing is taking three times longer than it should.”
Michael whistled low. “That’s brutal.”
“Tell me about it.” Dev raised his whiskey, staring into it without drinking. “I called in extra help. We’re not waiting weeks for answers.”
“Which leaves me as the substitute bartender,” Leland said. “What’ll you have?”
“A beer,” Michael said.
“Safe,” someone muttered.
“But my lovely submissive asked for a cosmo. Can you—”
“In my sleep,” Leland replied, mildly offended as he reached for the vodka and cranberry juice.
Cosmopolitan was Julia’s drink.
As he poured, images arrived uninvited. Julia perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, blue eyes bright with amusement. The sound of her laughter. How her pink lips puckered after the first sip.
Other memories followed. Julia curled against him after a scene, warm and boneless beneath a blanket. Those same lips, swollen from his kisses, as she looked up at him as though he hung the moon.
He shoved those thoughts aside and reached for another bottle.
About to pour, Alec drawled, “You sure about that?”
Leland frowned at the bottle in his hand. Bacardi White Rum. Not Triple Sec. Not even close.
For a moment, nobody said anything. Then Michael started laughing.
“Jesus Christ, you’ve got it bad,” he wheezed. “Why don’t you swallow your dom pride, grovel a bit, and get her ass back here?”
Boone nearly choked on his beer.
Alec was openly grinning now.
Dev looked suspiciously amused.
