“Fuck him.” Her voice is calm. “Let Sloan Reynolds try to come here. I have a Louisville slugger for that very purpose.”
Grinning, now I’m the one shaking his head. “I love you so much, and there is no fucking way I’ll let you be a sitting duck out here.”
She stops moving and faces me, hands on hips. “So you have a plan? Patrick’s in on it?”
“Yeah. I’m heading to Raleigh with him to meet someone he says will help us.”
“Toni Durango. You’re hiring a hooker.”
“He really lost that Rolex this time.”
“I saw the name on his phone. He told me what she does.”
Standing, I cross to where she is and put my hands on the tops of both her shoulders. “I don’t know what Sloan might do, but at this point, I’m willing to consider any possibility. After last week, I was willing to hire someone to take care of him for me—”
“Don’t let him win.” Her eyes are round and serious. “If he took you away from me, I’d have lost something I can’t live without.”
“Enter Patrick, our man with the plan.”
“And his friendly call girl.”
A little groan rises in my throat. “I’ll let you know how it goes. I haven’t committed to anything yet.”
Chapter 5: American Muscle
Derek
The Skinniflute saloon is about the type of dive I’d expect from a Patrick source. A wood-paneled biker joint with perforated steel plates on the lower half each exterior, the only windows are small and near the ceiling, and the dark interior is lit by single-bulbs hanging over the small booths lining the walls. Fluorescent lights and neon beer signs add illumination behind the bar in the center of the room.
As instructed, I’m wearing dark jeans, boots, and an inconspicuous black tee and leather jacket. Patrick’s in a similar getup, but he’s added a bandanna tied over his light brown hair.
“Should I be expecting a fight?” I quip as we slide into the wooden booth to wait for Toni.
“Hell, no. These guys are pretty mellow. Didn’t even look up last time I was in here.”
“How often are you in here?”
He shrugs. “Third time.”
A waitress, who resembles Amy Winehouse in hot pants and a tight sweater, appears with a small, round tray. Her dark eyes move quickly from Patrick to do a slow sweep over me. I don’t return her interest.
“Hey, Brian. What can I getcha?”
My eyes cut across the table to my partner’s. “Vodka rocks and this guy will have…”
“Coke is fine. I’m driving.”
Her eyebrows rise, and she spins on her heel before sashaying away. I’m pretty sure her exaggerated hip movements are for our benefit.
When she’s far enough away, I lean forward on the table.
“Brian?”
“First time I was here, I didn’t want Toni to know I was looking for her, so I told Lylah my name was Brian.”
“Lylah?”
“Just go with it.”