Making his plans.
Zach started her way, winding through the partiers. Her back was to him as she moved. She spun around, saw him, and stopped. Her expression registered surprise, then cleared.
Zach fell into step with her, mirroring her movement. Moving closer. He felt the heat emanating from her. The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils.
Hands at her waist, he caught her, pulled her against him, matching her undulations, bodies brushing. It was damn erotic. Or would have been if he wasn’t focused on saving her life.
He leaned closer still, lips to her ear. “Surprise.”
“What are you doing here?”
She was angry; the emotion trembled there on her words. “I’m staying. At least for tonight.” He paused. “You need me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He tightened his fingers on her waist. “Happy birthday, Mick.”
“How did you know?”
“Angel. She called me.” He released her, then retreated. To her credit, she never broke character. Sliding sinuously up to another admirer, then laughing and flirting with yet another.
Zach’s turn again. Drawing her close. Drinking in her perfume. “Mr. Twitchy’s been watching you.”
“Kenny?”
He breathed deeply, his nostrils filling with the scent. “Mmm hmm . . .”
“We had a moment earlier. Maybe it’s time for another.”
She spun away from him, made her way to the bar. He watched, noting the Eighth was well represented. Her friend, Detective Stacy Killian, scooting over to join her. Laughing. Girlfriends out for a wild night. McConnell, alone at the bar. Brooding over his beer, missing nothing.
He moved his gaze over the room. No Parker, Truebell, or Eli. Bastards. Throwing her to the wolves.
Wolf, he amended. One of them. With weird eyes and a twitch.
At his hip, his cell phone vibrated. The same number as earlier, he saw and answered, voice low. “Angel?”
A moment of silence, then, “Who is this?”
A woman’s voice. Not Angel’s. Desperate sounding. “Zach Harris. Who are—”
Then he realized. “Jacqui?” he said. “Micki’s friend?”
“Yes, but how—”
“Hold a moment, please. I need to find someplace quiet.” He headed out to the balcony, found a corner. “Sorry about that. I’m Micki’s partner.”
“Partner? But I thought— I saw this number and thought the worst—”
“Is Angel all right?”
“She’s gone. I woke up. Thought I heard Angel rummaging about. I listened a few moments, then went looking. She left a note.”
“Read it to me.”
“I know where they are.” Her voice trembled. “I have to help them. Please don’t be mad.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. I—”
“Where do you live?”
“Excuse me?”
“What area of the city?”
“Gentilly Terrace, but why—”
“She may be on her way here.”
“But how would she know where you and Micki are?”
“I can’t explain other than to say she called earlier, worried about Mick. How far are you from the French Quarter?”
“On foot, a long way. By bus—” She paused, as if mentally working out a route. “It’s the middle of the night, not all buses are running and she’s not even familiar with the nearby stops!”
The woman’s voice rose, an edge of hysteria in it. He worked to calm her. Not easy to do when panic was knocking against his door as well. “Do you have a car, Jacqui?”
“Yes, I— Oh my God. Wait—” Her phone clattered as she dropped it; he heard her rummaging for something. A moment later she was back. “My keys are gone!”
His stomach sank. Angel out in the city. Unprotected. Tonight, Saturday, the seventh day of the week.
“What should I do? I have Alexander, I can’t—”
“Stay put,” he said firmly. “I’m coming to you.” She didn’t question why and he asked for her address. She gave it to him and a moment later he reentered the club.
Micki, back on the dance floor. As if she sensed his presence, she turned, met his eyes. She smiled, completely in character. A temptress, teasing, seductive.
But he saw the question in her eyes. She had seen him on the phone, exit to the balcony, probably saw the strain around his eyes.
He started deliberately forward, also in character. The part of rejected lover teased to the breaking point. He pulled her forcefully against him.
She stood on tiptoe, wound her arms around his neck, found his ear. “The phone, who?”
He responded in kind, nipping her earlobe. “Not here.”
He caught her hand, laced their fingers and led her to the back hallway that led to the restrooms. There, he backed her up to the wall, arms on either side of her head, pressed fully against her.
“Jacqui,” he murmured.
She stiffened. “What’s wrong?”