Page 42 of Fanged Desire
For a split second Hunter faltered. Just for a moment, her smile slipped, replaced by something I couldn’t quite place.
“It’s not the smile that does it.”
She said it quietly, and I recognized that distant melancholy I’d seen from her back at the spa.
I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but before I could get the words out Hunter turned her eyes back to the ceiling, not-so-subtly changing the subject. “You know your roof is leaking, right? I guess Micere can’t compete with a surgeon’s paycheck.”
I knew a deflection when I saw one, but I also knew when to let sleeping dogs lie.
“Micere barely pays well enough to keep the lights on.” I shrugged, draining the last of my coffee and sinking into a slump. “You’d think such a swanky establishment would pay their performers better.”
Hunter shot me a wry smile, hair falling over her eyes. “I guess I’ll have to sign up for a few more private sessions then. Whatever helps you pay the bills.”
I shot her a sneering smirk of my own, but something fluttered in the pit of my stomach at her subtle flirting.
What was supposed to be a serious sleuthing session had, somehow, turned into what felt suspiciously like hanging out. Not that I was complaining – having Hunter around made everything easier to manage, even if she seemed to spend most of her time humoring me. I was about to suggest ordering takeout when my phone buzzed on the coffee table.
I hauled myself to my knees and reached for it, glancing at the screen.
Ethan’s name lit up. I answered quickly. “Hey, everything all right?”
“Get your ass to Micere,now.” Ethan’s voice burst through the speaker, flustered and urgent. “That woman – big glasses, weird vibes – the one from the video footage. She showed up at the club not ten minutes ago. How soon can you get here?”
Adrenaline shot through me, sharp and poignant. I glanced at Hunter, who was already on her feet, yanking on her jacket and ready to move.
“We’re on our way.”
The club was packed when we arrived, the thumping bass vibrating through the walls as we slipped inside. Ethan was waiting near the back entrance, looking simultaneously high-strung and suspicious as Hunter and I approached.
“Nice of you to show,” he muttered, eyeing Hunter warily. “Let me guess – you’re here to...help.”
“Don’t start,” I warned, steering both of them deeper into the club. “We’re here for Cathy… or whoever the hell she is.”
Ethan snorted but didn’t argue, which was as close to cooperation as I’d get from him.
“She’s over by the VIP area.” He gestured to the secluded section to the left of the stage and I squinted at the undulating crowd of figures illuminated in the dim light.
We edged closer, weaving through the throng of dancers.
The VIP area of the club was a world of its own, a stark contrast to the chaos of the main floor, with fancy leather sofas arranged in intimate clusters under the glow of blue neon lights. Hunter and I edged into the space, and my eyes immediately landed on the woman we were searching for.
The woman I had watched over and over again through the grainy pixels of the club’s camera footage.
She was tall, statuesque, with sharp cheekbones and dark sunglasses that seemed wildly out of place indoors. She sat near the back, alongside an equally tall man. Their demeanor was calm, almost disinterested in the revelry around them. While the rest of the room buzzed with activity, the pair at the back seemed detached, lips moving languidly as they spoke, like the rest of the club barely registered.
I noticed the woman’s eyes kept darting toward the stage, her expression unreadable but focused, like she was waiting for someone specific.
Hunter and I exchanged a glance. Ethan sidled up next to us, wary expression firmly in place.
“What’s the plan?” he muttered, barely audible over the thumping bass.
Hunter’s lips curled into a smirk. “We get closer, try to hear what she’s saying.” Her gaze slid to me and her troubling smile grew wider. “But we’ll need to blend in.”
“Blend in how?” I whispered, though I had a sinking feeling I knew where this was going.
Hunter didn’t bother answering. Instead, she grabbed my hand and led me toward the VIP section, her confidence exuding an air of belonging. The bouncer at the velvet rope took onelook at me, recognized me instantly, and nodded us through without a word. Despite my attire – blue jeans and tank top – he probably thought I was here to perform for Hunter and I wasn’t in the mood to correct him.
Once we slipped into one of the plush sofas, positioned strategically near the mystery woman’s table, Hunter leaned in close, her voice low in my ear. “Time to put on a show.”
