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“Could be both.” Anne tilted her head to the side, admiring the cut of Clary’s dress.
“Possibly.” William knocked back his drink and stepped forward. Anne put hers back on a tray passing by without drinking it.
“Let me hover over there for a few minutes. They won’t know me, so I can talk to that woman over there and pick up whatever conversation they’re having before you come to get me.”
William bobbed his head and grinned. “See, your mind is too good to be wasted on the police force.”
“You just told me that I’m too smart to be a detective,” Anne drawled.
“Solving petty crimes, you are.”
“Murder isn’t petty.”
“It is when the murders you’re solving are of thugs and hookers.” William picked up another champagne glass from a waiter. “It doesn’t really matter if you put this one away. There will be another to take his place within a few weeks, if that.”
“If it doesn’t matter,” Anne said crossly, “why are you even helping me?”
“Because I’d prefer not to be finding one of those cute little crisscross marks on your cold, dead hand.” William’s voice was breezy, but he looked away to sip his champagne. He was rubbing his thumb over the scar.
“You’re collaborating with the police because you’re afraid I might die?” Anne whispered.
“Why don’t you get over there and do your job, pet?”
Anne wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or annoyed. William’s protective streaks tended to do that to her. Putting that aside for the moment, Anne went to introduce herself as Anne Pruit to the elderly woman standing near Clary Egerton and her father. Jeffers and DeWinter were in a car outside recording whatever she picked up, so she wasn’t too concerned about hearing every word, but she was able to handle simultaneously talking to one person while listening to another. A skill she had learned over the ye
ars of dealing with both a teenager and an infant.
“Last time I was in Vegas, I don’t think we had anything quite as lovely as this,” Mr. Egerton said.
“Yes, dear, it is such a good cause. I hope that they can properly fund her hernia surgery,” the old woman, Mrs. Evans, told Anne.
This went on for some time, with neither saying anything of importance. William was on the other side of the room. It looked as though someone had caught his arm and had him pinned to her. A woman even older than Evans. William had her sympathies, but she wished he’d just extricate himself and get over here. He hadn’t consented to wearing a wire (not that she’d imagined he ever would), and she would need him to recount whatever he’d discovered.
“That dress is amazing on you,” Clary said.
It took a moment for Anne to realize that Clary was talking to her. The sleek woman cradled a glass in one hand as she shifted her hip to the side and smiled warmly. Her high cheekbones made her all the more glamorous, and Anne felt a little dull in her presence.
“Thank you! My boyfriend picked it out, actually. I don’t usually go to fancy parties like this!” Anne said in a voice just a shade higher than her own.
“You’re not missing much.” Her accent was as thick as William’s but much more proper. “It’s the same group of gossiping geriatrics practically every time. It’s good to see new blood in here. I think I’d rather go visit a cabaret show, how about you? I heard they had a parody of Fifty Shades, you know? Whips: The Musical, how funny would that be?”
Anne smiled. She liked her, even if her father seemed to be both boring and terrible. After sharing an unending story about foot warts, he was discussing tax loopholes.
“Maybe I can get Will to take me there after we’ve put on a good show here.”
“Will?” Clary’s curiosity took her over, and she threw a glance around the room. “William Spencer? Has he really shown up here?”
“He has. He’s over there.” Anne pointed.
Clary’s eyes lit up, and she licked her lips. Anne clenched her jaw and swallowed hard. What was that look? She looked like a cat about to pounce.
“He didn’t say how he knew you,” Anne fished. “Were you two classmates? Or… more?”
Clary laughed. “Our fathers are enemies. You know how it is with old men and their little empires.”
“Well, I don’t, but William tells me.”
“Does he?” Clary smiled coyly.
