The door closed, leaving me alone again. It wasn’t the hum of the decrepit heater that hardly worked that caused the chill in the air. It was the way Goose said he truly hoped so, as if everything was on the line if I couldn’t see what he couldn’t say.
I’m not sure how long I sat in the recliner, attempting to put the pieces together. I only knew that each time the amulet called to me, promising to put an end to all my problems, I remained in my spot and didn’t go to it.
If Goose was right, this was one mystery I had to solve on my own.
Chapter Nine
“Rhiannon!” Deena tore my attention from the brown box I’d retrieved from UPS. The club was in full swing, but I was having a hell of a time focusing on work.
At the moment Sucker was safe and sound under the bar along with my jacket—a jacket that just so happened to have Marigold’s amulet inside its inner pocket—and I didn’t want to move too far from my prizes. I’d listened to Goose for a change and hadn’t put the necklace back on. At first it had been liberating, but after I retrieved my package from the Men In Brown, I’d almost had a panic attack. Emotions were harder to deal with when they weren’t filtered, and there was nothing to block my fear or anxiety when I realized I was actually going to give Marius what he asked for.
If I lost the fucking thing, he’d probably kill me.
“Earth to Rhiannon!” Deena screamed. “Are you there?”
“Sorry,” I yelled back and gave a sidelong glance down the counter. “What do you need?”
Deena was busy as hell, pouring two shot glasses with vodka. Her skin tight, black leather outfit put the dancers to shame, showcasing her trim and fit physique. She didn’t look at me when she barked, “I need two Crown and Cokes, pronto.”
“You got it.”
Thankfully, the Crown was right behind me, so I didn’t have to move far from the station to do as she asked. When I finished, I rushed the drinks over and returned to my spot. It was almost midnight, which was when Deena and I usually chose opposing ends of the bar to work. This time around I was responsible for keeping the beer flowing, which was a hell of a lot easier than creating custom drinks for sloppy drunkards.
“I’ll take a Samuel Adams, tall.”
The order wasn’t unusual, but the way the man requested it caused me to frown. There was no loud, “Excuse me,” followed by someone leaning across the counter to invade my space or cop a feel. The man requesting a drink asked for his beverage of choice as though he was in an expensive restaurant instead of a tittie bar. When I lifted my gaze and got a look at him, I knew why.
He was huge, huge, and huge, forcing me to crane my neck to stare him in the eye. His sweater was expensive, probably cashmere, and since he was so hocking tall—his hips were level with the counter—I could see his dress slacks fit him like a glove. His blond hair brushed his massive shoulders, and his ice blue peepers seemed to shimmer and pop. He brought to mind models on billboards, flashing dazzling smiles guaranteed to make the ladies pull out their checkbooks. If I’d been on the prowl, he would have definitely fit the ticket.
“Samuel Adams, tall,” he repeated and cocked a brow.
“Oh right.” I cursed my reaction and rushed to get his order since I didn’t want him to think I was a larger dumbass than he likely assumed. I couldn’t tell what his reaction was, since I avoided eye contact as soon as I finished with his drink, placed the mug in front of him, and he handed over a ten dollar bill.
“Keep the change.”
I waited until he spun away from the bar to watch him and allowed my gaze to travel down to his shoes. It had been like this all night. I met a random patron, I inspected him, and I assumed he was the killer. From what I could tell, the leather adorning Mr. Enormous’s feet were pricey. Sadly, I wouldn’t know Prada from Payless. Otherwise he fit the description, aside from the blond hair.
Large, muscular, and intimidating. Could he be the asshole killing off strippers?