Flirting With Disaster (Camelot 3)

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He pointed to the right again, and she whipped the wheel around. The club was just a few blocks down on the left, a nondescript place called the High Hat.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said. “That was so rude.”

He gestured left, and she entered the lot and parked.

She turned fully toward him, her nostrils flaring with outrage. She had a great nose, long and straight, like some kind of aristocrat. Princess Katie demanding he apologize for insulting her royal person. “Aren’t you even going to try to explain yourself? I’ve been putting up with the silent treatment from you so far, but we have a job to do together, and it’s not going to work if you refuse to talk to me. Particularly if you’re going to pull shit like that. That was way out of line, Buster.”

It had been, but when he tossed the phone in

her lap and got out of the car, he couldn’t help feeling pleased with himself. They were here, they were alive, and he no longer had to listen to Katie talking about her plan to seduce Judah Pratt.

He checked out the club with his back to her and a smile on his lips.

Even in high school, she’d called people “Buster.” Where had she picked it up? Old movies?

Katie came up behind him. “Seriously, can you at least write me notes? Send me emails? I don’t see how this is going to work otherwise.”

She had a point. He didn’t see how it was going to work, either. How to interview Judah Pratt with Katie as a sidekick and manage not to stutter?

He’d have to improvise.

He took his phone out of his pocket and tapped out a text message. Shall we go in?

Katie’s phone chirped. She checked out the screen. “Very funny.”

She stomped across the gravel lot toward the building’s entrance, leaving him to trail along behind her, trying to keep his eyes off her ass.

From the outside, the High Hat looked like any other seedy club that hosted college bands and past-it rock acts—just a windowless one-story stucco box with floodlights on the corners.

Not the kind of venue where Pratt belonged. The man hadn’t had a hit in years, but he was still too well-known to be playing a dive like this.

Except that when Sean followed Katie through the battered steel front door, he discovered the High Hat wasn’t a dive at all.

“Whoa,” Katie said. “This place is swanky.”

Swanky as hell. The club boasted a long, gleaming hardwood bar, high-backed velvet booths, and cherry tabletops inlaid with peacocks wearing top hats.

A fresh-faced blonde rose from one of the booths. The room was otherwise empty.

“You must be the folks from Camelot Security,” she said as they approached. “I’m Ginny Wainwright, Judah’s assistant manager.”

She stuck out her hand. Katie shook it and introduced herself, then added with a quick glance over her shoulder, “This is Sean Owens.”

Sean clasped Ginny’s fingers. She was very short and very young, with hair that didn’t match her eyebrows and a cheery smile that didn’t reach her eyes. They were bright green, a color concocted in a lab.

“Nice to meet you both,” she said. “Have a seat.”

“Where’s Judah?” Katie slid her long legs into the booth. Sean sat beside her, careful not to touch her.

“He’s not coming in until later on. He sent me ahead to meet you.”

Pratt had dragged them across two states in the middle of the winter for this meeting, and he couldn’t even be bothered to show up for it. What a dick.

An absent dick. Too bad for Katie.

“When will he be here?” she asked.