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CHAPTERNINE
Madelyn
We stepped into the dance club on one of the main downtown streets to a staccato house beat, reddish lighting, and a pretty empty dance floor. Almost everyone around at eight pm on a Sunday night was at the bar or one of the small tables set along the walls. I’d heard Keeley mention this place a few times—it was one of the venues she and her friends circulated between for their Friday-night get-togethers—but it obviously wasn’t too happening right now.
Which was probably a good thing, since I wasn’t sure if the bouncer would have let me in with my basic though fitted jeans and top if there’d been more demand for access.
I came to a stop a few steps inside and glanced at the guys. “There’s a chop shop run out of this place?”
Slade guffawed, but he shot me a smile warm enough to smooth over any impression that he was being anything other than good-natured in his teasing. “Right, because with all the car parts lying around, it’d be easy to get confused.”
I elbowed him lightly in the ribs as we followed Logan and Dexter toward the bar. I noticed Dexter had taken out his phone, his thumb swiping over it in a careful motion—taking more pictures? “Well, I wouldn’t expect them to leave the illegal merchandise out for the regular patrons to see. You did say the chop shops need a cover business.”
“It’s always someplace that deals more in car-type things,” Slade explained. “Mechanics, used vehicle dealers, scrap yards, etc. But we know a few people with ties to the criminal life who come by this place pretty regularly. We’ll hit them up for info if they stop by.”
Okay, that made a little more sense. I hopped onto a stool at the bar next to Dexter, Slade coming up at my other side and Logan staying on his feet a little farther down. It seemed we were going to try to blend in, since there obviously hadn’t been any reason for menotto come along. It wasn’t as if I was going to push myself into their interrogations. I just wanted to observe.
The woman behind the bar finished splashing and spraying the liquids from various bottles, slid a couple of glasses down the counter to a couple who looked to be in their late twenties, and turned to our group. Her gaze latched on me first. “What can I get you started with?” she asked with a professional but easygoing smile.
“Can I get a mojito with a splash of lemon juice added?” I asked. I rested my hand on my purse, prepared to pull out my fake ID, but she didn’t ask. In a college town, she probably figured anyone who looked close to old enough wouldn’t come in without supposed proof of their age. The guys were all legal drinking age anyway.
“On it, and for you three?” she asked, shifting her attention to them.
Logan didn’t hesitate. “Just a Coke.”
“Ginger ale for me,” Dexter put in.
“I’ll take a Shirley Temple,” Slade said with a flirty grin.
Understanding hit me like a jab to the chest, and my cheeks flushed with shamed embarrassment.
Of course. Logan couldn’t drink booze without jeopardizing his transplanted liver. The guys must always order non-alcoholic beverages in solidarity. I’d have done the same, but it hadn’t really come up when we’d been living at home still in high school. We hadn’t gone out to any bars together then, and he wouldn’t have been ordering a beer in a restaurant in front of our parents. That factor hadn’t even occurred to me in my overall nervous state.
I opened up my purse anyway, feeling the need to do something to show my own commitment to the group. The bartender nudged my drink toward me, and I pushed enough cash toward her to cover all our orders and a generous tip. “It’s all on me.”
Logan’s head jerked toward me. “You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to,” I said firmly. “But you’re helping me out. It’s the least I can do.”
His mouth flattened, but he didn’t say anything else. I doubted he wanted to get into an argument about why we were actually here in front of the other club patrons.
I sipped my cocktail and found it tasted exactly the way I’d wanted, even though I had trouble enjoying it now as I watched the guys grab their less potent drinks. I took a longer gulp, planning to drain the contents quickly so I could switch to a club soda or something.
I couldn’t chug it too quickly or the alcohol would rush straight to my head. I still needed to keep my thoughts clear, or I’d prove Logan right about being a liability to the investigation. Taking regular but measured swallows, I studied the rest of the space.
More people were already hitting the dance floor as the night went on. A gaggle of girls bobbed to the beat of the hip hop tune now blaring over the speakers, a few couples and a couple of clusters of single guys dipping and swaying, showing off their moves and laughing together. I felt weirdly isolated sitting here with three men who’d barely wanted me along.
Logan and Dexter appeared to exchange a little conversation, but the music had gotten loud enough that it was difficult to talk. By the time I’d gotten to the bottom of my glass, none of the three had left the bar to approach any other patrons. I frowned and turned to Slade, who seemed like the safest person to ask, even though I had to lean close to avoid shouting obnoxiously over the music. “None of your contacts have shown up yet?”
He shook his head and then tipped it toward Logan, who was just getting up from his stool. My stepbrother made a vague gesture that Slade seemed to understand. When I raised my eyebrows in question, my neighbor flashed another grin. “He’s going to scope out the other parts of the club to see if anyone’s hiding away in a corner or something.”
There was a set of stairs that led to a second floor, I realized. As Logan headed up them and Dexter took another sip of his only half-finished ginger ale, his gaze fixed on the dance floor, Slade slipped off his own stool and sidled even closer to me. “Since we’ve got no business to take care of yet, we might as well have some fun while we’re here. Do you want to dance?”
I blinked at him in surprise before it occurred to me that the invitation was probably all part of blending in. It’d look a bit odd for a few college guys to come into a dance club and not actually do any dancing, especially when they’d brought a girl with them.
Slade confirmed that thought, leaning close enough that I caught the whiff of cinnamon on his breath. “Standing here without dancing looks more suspicious than busting a move on the floor.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped me. “Busting a move? What are we, ninety?”
