Page 137 of Captive Audience
“Fine.” I waved him ahead.
Ten seconds later, he reappeared and held the door. “It’s clear.”
I paused before entering. “Please, Finn. I just want a night with my friends without Rook being an uninvited party to the conversation. How is he listening?”
He glanced at the ceiling. I did the same. Only one camera in the hallway, and it was behind Finn.
He pulled out his phone and typed something on it. “Like Liam said, we don’t know.”
He showed me the screen, keeping it low in front of him so the camera couldn’t see. It read:Dress is bugged.
Good man.
“Thanks for nothing.” I gave Finn a concealed thumbs-up, then went into the bathroom to see if I could get rid of the bug.
Rook hadn’t bought the beautiful dress to spoil me. He’d only bought it so he could spy on me. It wasn’t enough that he could watch me through the bar’s cameras; he had to hear every conversation, too? That gangster son of a bitch.
In the stall, I gave myself a pat down, starting at the bodice. At the waist, my fingers found a small, hard lump in the lining, no bigger than a shirt button. That had to be the bug.
The problem was, I’d have to shred the dress to get it out, and I wasn’t walking out of here looking like I’d been mauled by a tiger.
Dammit. I was stuck with Rook eavesdropping.
I paced the stall. “I know you can hear me, you infuriating sack of shit, so listen to this. You’ve gone too far tonight. I ought to poison you. I ought to smother you in your sleep with a?—”
“Um…” a woman’s voice came from the next stall. “Did I stare at your man too long or something?”
I winced. “Sorry, honey. Not you. Just sending my husband a voice note.”
“Oh.” She let out a relieved chuckle. “That makes way more sense.”
Maybe she was stuck living with a scheming mobster, too.
After collecting my wits, I left the restroom and almost ran into Finn.
He stepped back to let me pass. “Everything okay?”
“Peachy.”
“I don’t suppose we can leave now?”
“Not a fucking chance.” I walked over to the booth and slid in beside Beth.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Yeah. Where’s Daisy?”
“Ordering shots.”
I glanced toward the bar to find Daze tottering back in her three-inch heels, not only with a tray of shots but with three guys in tow, all of them built like brick shithouses.
Rook would have a coronary if they joined us.
Maybe it was for the best if he died of natural causes. No cover-up required.
“Guess what I’ve got,” Daisy said in a singsong, placing the tray on our table.
Beth folded her arms. “By the looks of it, all the ingredients for a regrettable night.”
