Page 9

On the other side, a woman spoke rapid Spanish, low enough that I had to pause to hear it. The words came too fast for a casual call, but her tone was too controlled for panic. I couldn’t catch enough to make sense of it.

She had no idea that entering my club with more bravado than legal backing had brought me to her door with a visitor badge and every intention of making her regret it. I was the devil in the details, and her cases were about to go up in smoke.

I opened the door, stepped inside, and slammed it shut.

Her head shot up.

Her mouth fell open, the Spanish dying on her tongue.

Then she snapped it shut.

For one perfect second, I had her completely off guard.

Then the mask came down.

She ended the call with one tap and shoved the cellphone into the top drawer of her desk.

Her chair scraped back as she shot to her feet. “Who the hell are you? Get out.”

The office was bare, even by government standards. A city-issued desk faced two visitor chairs, and a dented file cabinet stood in the corner. A half-dead plant sat on the sill beside one narrow window facing brick instead of the skyline. It was the kind of room assigned to someone without enough seniority to get decent furniture.

I crossed the room in three strides and dropped the folder on her desk—the one with Nik’s research on her and the threats against Xyst tucked inside.

She slapped both hands flat against the surface. “You can’t be in here.”

I planted my fists on the desk and leaned in until only inches separated us.

“What, love?” I asked calmly, holding her stare until she blinked first. “You don’t remember me from the wee hours of this mornin’? I find that hard to believe, seeing how confident you were when you walked into my club.”

Her chin lifted.

There she was.

The pretty, polished courtroom soldier in the navy suit. Long black hair fell in waves over her shoulders, her makeup was perfect, and those big brown eyes locked on mine like I was a nuisance with a pulse.

“Oh, I remember.” Her gaze dragged over me with deliberate insult. “You’re the barkeep from that dive at Tenth and Fifteenth.”

A slow smile cut across my face.

Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then snapped back to my eyes. The irritation on her face said she hated that I was enjoying this.

“The dive that can’t legally pour a drink,” she continued. “You had a window to cooperate. Slamming doors and throwing your weight around just closed it.”

“Careful.”

“With what?”

“Using that tone when no one’s here to save you from it.”

Her nostrils flared.

She reached for the phone on her desk.

My hand moved before hers touched it.

The phone shot sideways across the surface and smashed into the wall hard enough to crack the plastic shell before it hit the floor.

Isabella sucked in a breath.