Page 22 of Bitter Spirits

“Three years ago.” She put her phone back in her pocket. “Des and I were meeting up with some friends at this club, and he was there. He tried to approach us, but we left before he could make contact.”

She remembered how she’d frozen when she spotted him. Des had picked up on her fear and stepped in, making himself a target as he blocked Angel from playing his games.

“And he didn’t try to contact you afterward?”

“He tried a couple of times, but when I refused to give him the reaction he wanted, he finally got bored and stopped.” Although the poltergeists Des had sent his way probably helped. Not to mention Cass’s warnings, which had allowed Isa to avoid tripping over Angel’s unexpected appearances.

“That’s why Des doesn’t want me to leave you alone tonight?”

Funny—she thought Des didn’t want her to leave Locke, but whatever. She’d take whatever protection she could get when it came to Angel. “Yeah, that would be why.”

Locke flexed his grip on the steering wheel and, with studied casualness, said, “You know, I can go in by myself.”

“Nope, not happening.” She couldn’t, in good conscience, let him face Angel alone.

She played with the beads on the charm bracelet Des had given her. No matter what she told Locke, he’d believe he could keep Angel out of his head and away from his emotions, but Harvesters were subtle siphons. By the time you realized they were feeding on you, it was too late. If nothing else, her presence would distract Angel enough for him not to focus completely on Locke.

“Like I said, he may not be there.”

Locke’s disbelieving huff said it all. “If he is, you’ll let me deal with him.”

Since it wasn’t a question, she didn’t have to lie—she just kept her mouth shut because if Angel was there, she wouldn’t be given much of a choice. She decided to change the subject. “So, what’s your plan tonight?”

“Pardon?”

“What are you hoping to get out of this visit?”

“Ideally? Isaiah’s location and the name of whoever is supplying those red pills.”

“Getting a positive ID on your missing teen is going to be a long shot,” she said. “Flashing a photo, asking questions—things like that will end with our asses getting kicked to the curb.” Or worse.

“Not sure we can go in looking to score unless there’s something you’re not sharing.”

Her shoulders snapped tight, and she gave him a sharp look, but the teasing curve to his lips had her biting back a stinging, defensive retort. “No, but it is an angle we can use. When something new hits the scene, word gets around.”

It didn’t take him long to put it together, and his humor evaporated. “You comfortable with that approach?”

She wasn’t comfortable with any of this. Between shielding Locke and walking willingly back into hell, there wasn’t much of a choice— at least, not one she could live with—but she knew enough about the man sitting next to her to be aware that he’d get his answers one way or another. If she took this on, there might be a slight chance of him walking away with what he needed.

“I think it’s wiser than putting the Cordova name on everyone’s lips,” she said.

“I’m not an idiot, Isa. And I’m damn good at my job.”

Realizing she’d stepped on his male toes, she softened her tone. “No doubt, but in this crowd, you being all that’s you, they’re going to peg you as police or Family, and neither one is going to encourage a friendly exchange of information.”

“Me being all that’s me?” he repeated, focused on the wrong damn thing.

She waved a hand in his direction. “Stop fishing for compliments. You know what I mean.”

“No, actually, I don’t, but I’m dying to hear what it is you think makes me whatever it is you think I am.” There was a dangerous purr to his voice.

She suppressed a shiver and tried to regain control of the conversation. “My point is, we need to play this right, which means you can’t go in as the Cordovas’ Hound. You need to be⁠—”

“Yours.”

His calm declaration robbed her of air, and all she could squeeze out was, “What?”

“I need to go in as yours. We go in as a couple out on a date.”