two fingers. His attention lingered for too long on the screen.
“Ignore him,” I growled, and Mike swiveled toward me, hopefully forgetting about you entirely.
“Have you seen this man?” I showed him the picture of Seneser’s human host. Mike donned his reading glasses and took a closer look. After a moment, he sat back in his chair and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his pants.
“Nope,” he said.
“Take another look.”
Mike obliged but didn’t change his answer. I attempted a few more seductions, but the man remained steadfast in his denial. And yet, I sensed there was something he was hiding from me. I glanced up at the monitor again.
“Send your associate to fetch my companion,” I instructed him.
Mike picked up a walkie talkie and communicated the message. You looked uncertain when the man in the floral shirt approached you, so I assured you by radio that it was safe. A minute later you joined us in Mike’s tight quarters.
“You’re even prettier in person,” Mike said with a leer. The way he studied you was unnerving, like he was trying to estimate what you might fetch him on the black market. It made me want to gouge out his eyes. And there was something else in his expression… recognition? Impossible. You’d never visited Las Vegas, and I doubted Mike had business in Miami.
You looked at me questioningly and I nudged the photograph toward you. “I was just asking Mike if he’s ever seen this man. I thought maybe you could get a better answer.”
You grinned, excited to be included in your first interrogation. You perched on the edge of Mike’s desk like a lounge singer, crossed your legs, and reached for his hand. Your gaze locked with his while you placed his hand just above your knee with yours on top of it. Even though I knew it was necessary to your thrall, I chafed at the intimate contact.
“Hello, Mike,” you said in a dulcet tone. “I’m Vincent.”
“Hello, Vincent.” The gruffness in his voice disappeared as he stared up at you with wonderment.
“I’m looking for someone, and it’s very important to me that I find him. Will you help me?” You batted your eyelashes and pouted, projecting vulnerability and innocence. Your seduction reminded me of Lucian in his younger years, lovely and lethal.
“I can try,” Mike said almost shyly.
“That would be wonderful. I’m sure a lot of important people pass through your club. Would you take a look at his picture for me?”
Mike nodded, and I held it up for him in case he needed a refresher.
“I’m sorry, Vincent, I’ve never seen him.”
“That’s too bad,” you said sorrowfully, practically swooning. “I was really hoping you could help me.”
“I wish I could,” Mike said. He sounded sincere.
I glanced up at his wall of monitors. “Ask for the link and login credentials to his surveillance footage.” You did as I instructed, and Mike readily recited them while I jotted down the information.
“Could you look out for him?” you asked. “As a favor to me?”
“Yes. Anything for you, Vincent.” Mike’s gaze fixated on you as if he were one of your cats.
“That’s all I’ve got,” I said, hoping the footage would be more productive than this conversation.
Just as you were about to let go of Mike’s hand, he spoke again. “There’s something I should tell you, Vincent.”
My awareness clicked into high alert. Your head inclined, curious.
“You can tell me anything, Mike,” you cooed and laid your free hand on his shoulder.
“There’s a man looking for you. He said you might visit me. That you might come with him.” Mike’s eyes flashed toward me for a split-second before seeking your liquid gaze again.
“Who’s the man?” I demanded, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. Mike flinched.
“He didn’t tell me his name.” Mike appealed to your sympathies.
“What did he look like?” I growled.
“He was…” Mike drifted off, then glanced around as if disoriented. It was maddening.
You rubbed his hand and uttered soothing words. “It’s okay, Mike. We’re not mad at you. Take your time. See if you can describe him to me. Anything would help.”
He nodded, gaining confidence. You were far more patient than I, because all I wanted was to drive my dagger into his gut and relieve him of his intestines.
“He looked like…” Mike’s eyebrows drew together in deep concentration. “I’m sorry, Vincent. I can’t remember.”
“What does he want?” I asked, growing increasingly alarmed by Mike’s admission and damnable lack of information.