“Good.” He hesitated. “I did a little more research on Mr. Elusive. It appears the real Nadler was married fifteen years ago. It only lasted a couple of months, but she might be the one person who can give us some decent information.”
“Meaning she’s still alive?”
“Surprisingly, yes. Obviously, if we are dealing with a face-shifter, then he either didn’t know about her or didn’t think she was enough of a threat to his takeover of Nadler’s life.”
“So she may not be able to tell us much.”
He snorted softly. “Are you kidding me? You’re a prime example of just how well you women can hold a grudge against a lover who has spurned you in some way.”
“If I was holding a grudge, I wouldn’t have come to you in the first place.”
“Lie,” he said equably. “You came to me because you needed me, and no grudge, no matter how well cherished, was going to get in your way. Simple as that.”
I couldn’t exactly deny that statement when it was the complete truth. So I simply said, “Have you managed to track down the wife’s current location?”
“Certainly have,” he said cheerfully. “Want to meet me there?”
“Maybe. If you’ll share where ‘there’ is.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He paused, and in the background, paper rustled, meaning he was flipping through his notebook. He’d never really taken to the electronic kind—he’d always said they were too easy to steal. Although if his rat-gang story had been stolen, then his scribbling barely legible notes in a book wasn’t exactly foolproof, either. “Okay, she’s a waitress at Dino-Bar over on Swan Street. She works the morning shift and takes a break about one, so our timing should be perfect if we both head there now.”
“The divorce obviously didn’t go well if she’s forced to waitress for a living.”
“Yeah, it was nasty, from all the reports. He got the better lawyers, and they really did a number on her.”
And a bitter woman was more likely to tell tales. “I’ll see you in about twenty, then.”
“Righto.”
He hung up. I told the taxi to wait as we drew up beside the hotel, then dashed inside to dump my purchases. Within minutes I was on my way again, heading to Swan Street.
Jak was waiting for me outside the Dino-Bar. Which was, I noted with some annoyance, a male strip club. Just what I needed when my hormones were so primed for action. Obviously, my annoyance showed in my expression, because he held up his hands. “It’s not a deliberate choice on my part. I had no idea it was a male strip club until I got here.”
“This is a general pissed-off look, not one specifically aimed at you.” I studied the plain, yet oddly gaudy facade. The Dino-Bar was obviously not one of your more up-market strip clubs. “Are you going to have a problem getting inside?”
“No—all sexual orientations are welcome, from what I’ve briefly seen.”
“Then let’s get inside.”
He touched my back, guiding me. Heat crawled from the epicenter of that light touch, spreading through me in wicked waves.
I swallowed heavily and did my best to ignore the sensation. The interior was dark, and smelled of humanity, booze, and arousal. The building was wider than it was long, the bar along the left wall and a high stage dominating the back. Two men in cages were gyrating to a slow, heavy beat, their movements mechanical and about as far from sexy as you could get—at least to this half werewolf’s eyes. But apparently I was the only one who thought that, because the crowd gathered beneath them was whistling and catcalling.
Jak guided me to the bar, ordered two beers, then put down some extra cash. “We need to speak to Jacinta Nadler.”
The barman studied him for several moments, then nodded and swept up the notes. “She’s on a break. I’ll call her out for you.”
“We’ll be at that table over there,” Jak said, pointing with his chin toward the far corner.
The barman nodded and ambled over to the phone. We picked up our drinks and took them to our table. He studied me for several seconds over the rim of his glass, then said, “Why is a wolf as hot as you so damn frustrated?”
“That,” I said heavily, “is none of your damn business.”
He grinned. “I’m a reporter. Puzzles are my business.”
“Not this one. Not any longer.”
I glanced up as a woman approached our table. She was small and shapely, with ample breasts and thick blond hair. She was also almost naked—paisley flowers covered her nipples, and the only other thing she wore was a glittery G-string. As Jak had said earlier, the club seemed to cater to all sexual orientations. Both sexes worked the floor, and the scantily clad females got as much attention as the males.