down.
He kept the stone in his hand as he left the apartment, went down flights of stairs. Doors opened and closed and let out the sound of voices, the smell of food. Someone played a horn of some kind, and not well at all.
Outside the air cooled and clogged with the smell of the cars and the fuel they burned. Again, the colorful struck him. Not just in the clothing or the many hues of skin but in the city itself.
It was like rainbows, he noted, and couldn’t fault it.
Again, someone played a horn, but this time very well indeed. Lamps pooled light on the streets and sidewalks, and many strolled as if in no particular hurry. Two men approached each other with smiles in their eyes, then kissed as he walked by them.
He made a turn as the stone directed and found himself outside a building. More rainbows here and the lights in that same color spelled SALLY’S.
He stepped in—heat and music and color beyond even what he’d seen. But what he didn’t see was Breen at the bar where she’d been in the glass.
The idea of hunting her through the city irritated, and still the place itself lifted something in him.
Three women—no, men again—stood on a stage in costumes that glittered like stars. They sang in exceptional harmony.
The air smelled as bright as the voices.
So he paused to take in what had pulled her back to this place, and consider what he would have to do to find the way to pull her away again.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Behind the bar, busy mixing the perfect martini, Marco noticed Keegan the minute he walked in.
Some people, in Marco’s experience, had that power—the power to pull attention to them in a finger snap. It took more than looks—though, man, this guy had them—it took POW.
You couldn’t fake the POW. You had it, or you didn’t.
He poured the martini into the chilled glass, added three olives while he watched POW take in the club.
Liked the music, clearly, but then the Supremes never failed. And just as clearly POW looked for someone.
Lucky someone.
Tall and built, he thought as POW began to move toward the bar. Casually dressed—dark blue sweater, dark brown pants, sexily scarred boots. A sharp, angular face with a scruff that came off casual instead of deliberate.
The kind of thick, black hair anybody’d want to get their hands into. And with the kick of a single skinny braid running down the left side.
Something started to click, then POW stood at the bar, looking him straight in the eye. Marco had no shame admitting his brain fuzzed with lust for a minute.
“Welcome to Sally’s, Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous. What can I get you?”
“I’d be looking for Breen Kelly. Would you know her?”
The Irish accent slayed. And completed the click.
“The Irish god.”
Keegan’s eyebrows shot up. “Not altogether, no. A redhead, she is,” he began.
“I meant you. I’m Marco. Marco Olsen.” He shot out a hand to shake.
“Marco, is it? She spoke fondly of you, so I’m pleased to meet you. And would Breen be about?”
“She went backstage for a minute. She’ll be back.” Meanwhile, Marco thought, I can pump you for information. “What can I get you to drink while you wait? On the house,” he added, “from one friend of Breen’s to another.”
“That’s kind of you.” And easier by far, as he hadn’t thought to bring any local currency. He glanced at the taps, nodded. “I’d have a pint of Guinness, and thanks.”
“You got it. So . . .” Marco set the pint glass under the tap and began the process of building the Guinness. “You live near Breen’s grandmother.”
“I do.”
“Breen’s really happy she found her grandmother. It means a lot to her, especially after she found out her dad had died. Did you know him?”
“I did, and a finer man I’ve never known save my own father.”
While the layers of the Guinness settled, Marco took an order for a Moscow Mule, a Cosmo, and a couple of house reds.
“Breen didn’t mention you were coming.”
“She wouldn’t, as I didn’t mention it to her.”
“Surprise! How long are you in town?”
“Not long, I’m thinking. You know what you’re about there,” he commented as Marco filled the order. “A skilled barman’s a fine thing.”
“On-the-job training.” With the order filled, Marco finished the Guinness, set it in front of Keegan. “Breen’s more than a friend to me, more than a sister. She’s more.”
“And you to her, as I know from how she spoke of you.”
“I figure you could