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Kat hands me a pair of glasses. “Now put these on.”
I slide them up my nose and lift an eyebrow at her reflection in the mirror. “I look like Clark Kent.”
She grins. “Yeah, you do. I wonder what your bride-to-be will think.”
“Like it matters. I think it’s safe to say she can’t stand to be in the same room with me, Superman or not.”
Kat takes a hand towel and runs it over the sink to get rid of the streaks of hair dye. “You know, Quinn. You two have more in common than you think. I’ve known Val for a long time and I’ve heard plenty about you from Alek and Patrick. You have the same goal—to protect your own. You just go about it a little differently.”
“A little?”
“You’re too reckless and emotional; she’s sometimes a little too analytical and cautious. I think if you work together, you can find middle ground and get the job done.”
“So what’s the plan? We get membership to this string of clubs, sniff out Luis Navarro, and then what? How does he lead us to this Branko Ivanova guy?” I turn, my back against the counter. “Seems like a lot of work to get to the source of the fuckery, no? Why can’t we just track Ivanova and ice him without all the fucking fake marriage bullshit?”
“Because Branko is like a ghost. He never reveals himself to anyone. Valentina’s family managed to kill his two brothers and a good number of his operatives. But they never got close to him. He just disappeared into his black hole.” She waves her hand out of the bathroom door. “Go in there and put on what I laid out on the bed for you.”
I pick up the black button-down shirt and slip it on. “If he’s gone, how are we supposed to lure him out?”
“Be patient and you’ll get answers.”
“I want to find this bastard, kill him, and get back to my life, Kat. Patience isn’t something I have much of.”
“Clearly, or else you wouldn’t be in this situation, right?” She pokes her head out of the bathroom just as I slide one leg into the black pants.
“You liking the view?” I snicker, buttoning up the shirt.
“I’m liking that you don’t look anything like the thug-ass street punk from earlier today.”
“Never got any complaints before.”
A smile plays at Kat’s lips. “This can definitely work.” She walks toward a large tote bag sitting on the dresser and digs around before she pulls out an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“New ID, passport, credit cards. Everything you need to convince the world you’re Liam McDermott.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Can you do a brogue?”
I give it a shot and she actually cackles. “You sound like the Lucky Charms leprechaun.”
With a roll of my eyes, I pull on a pair of black socks. “Fuck off. It’s not that bad.”
“Okay, so no brogue.” She takes a step back and clasps her hands together. “My goodness, you’re pretty.”
I straighten both sides of the black jacket. “Screw you. I’m rugged and tough.”
“Yep, and soooo pretty.” Her phone pings with a text and she grabs it from her bag while I slide my feet into a pair of black shoes near the door. “Okay, it’s go time. We have about ten minutes to get you to the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel.”
“What about Val?”
“It’s bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding.”
“Considering we only just met a few hours ago, are complete opposites, and were pretty much ordered to get married or suffer the wrath of Alek Severinov, I don’t see how much worse the luck could get.”
“That’s all true. So you need as much good juju as possible. Let’s go.”
A blacked-out Cadillac Escalade waits in front of the Montepremi, the back door already open. I jump inside and Kat follows.
She leans in close and whispers against my ear. “By the way, your bride’s name is Elizabeth Harper Remington, of the Remington Real Estate Consortium. A supersweet sugar mama, so don’t fuck it up.”
