The Silence That Speaks (Forensic Instincts 4)

“Are we getting drinks now?” Roger asked.

Shit. Emma had forgotten about the little worm.

“Yes. What would you like to drink, Roger?” Emma’s voice was pure honey.

Roger began stammering so hard at this point, she almost felt bad. Almost.

“Um, whatever y-you’re h-having?” It was a question, not a statement.

Emma grinned and turned back toward the bar. She reached her bartender of choice and waved her arm to get his attention. It must have been her natural blond hair coupled with the amazing dress. The bartender came over right away.

“How can I help you?” The guy was practically oozing testosterone through his fake tan and tattoos.

Choking back vomit, Emma ordered two Long Island iced teas, then winked at the bartender. Hopefully that would motivate him to move faster. Less than a minute later, the two beverages were waiting for her. The bartender seemed quite pleased with himself.

Emma handed him two twenties. “Keep the change,” she cooed. The bartender flashed a grin, even more excited by the generous tip than by Emma’s flirting.

Drinks in hand, Emma walked back to where Roger was awkwardly standing. She handed him a glass. He eyed it nervously, like a parakeet inspecting a pretty new toy.

Amateur. Emma almost said the word out loud. Catching herself in time, she instead explained, “Long Island iced teas. They guarantee us a good time!” She flashed a persuasive grin.

Not wanting to displease her, Roger grabbed one of the drinks and pretended to be enthused.

Emma almost started to laugh. Not only did Roger have no idea what an LIT was, he’d probably never had a drink in his life that didn’t come with a little umbrella in it.

The two of them searched around for a bit, finally finding a table in a quieter section of the club. Emma plopped down on one of the cushy couches, putting her drink on the low table just in front of it. She patted the seat right next to her, indicating that Roger should sit. He eased down onto the couch.

“You know they have speakers in the walls?” Roger was vibrating with excitement. “They conduct the vibrations so that the thumping bass you feel resonates through the whole club.”

Frankly, Emma couldn’t care less, but nodded appreciatively as she downed her drink. Even with the multiple types of liquor in it, the LIT still didn’t have enough alcohol to make this pasty loser seem tolerable.

As if he sensed her boredom, Roger sheepishly admitted, “I’m sorry for going on about the speakers. It’s just that anything technological like video games and sound systems gets me excited.”

Figures he would be a gamer, Emma thought in disgust.

“Drink up,” she encouraged him.

They sat for a good thirty minutes, drinking their beverages, while Roger droned on endlessly about technology, superheroes and video games. He kept mumbling about some blonde princess named Zelda. Whoever she was, Emma felt sorry for her.

Time to regroup. She was about ten seconds away from punching Roger in the face, glasses and all.

“Let’s dance.” Emma snatched both of Roger’s hands and pulled him to the dance floor, which had now taken over the entire club. Moving with the massive crowd, she let the beat guide her. Roger was not that coordinated. He stumbled around the dance floor, waving his arms like a deflated puppet.

Roger didn’t even notice. Clearly the alcohol had kicked in. As the bass thumped louder, Roger waved his arms more violently and started shrieking something about techno music and how much he loved it. Emma couldn’t wait for the

night to end. Talk about a terrible waste of an awesome club. Maybe Ryan could get her back in some other time so she could actually enjoy herself.

Roger was completely oblivious to Emma’s inner monologue. Still stumbling around like a seasick sailor, he stopped right in front of her.

Uh-oh, Emma thought. Liquid courage. This was going to be bad.

“You’re so unbelievably beautiful,” Roger slurred. “My princess...” And in one quick motion, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his wormy hands on her ass. Before Emma could register this invasion, he squeezed her—hard—and lowered his head, attempting to stick his tongue down her throat.

“Let go of me.” Emma struggled to get free.

When he showed no signs of doing so, she yanked out of his grasp and slapped him across the face with all her strength. The force of this motion, coupled with the alcohol and his lack of coordination, sent Roger reeling back a few steps.

Angry red fingerprints marred his face. He looked stunned.