He smiled politely out of habit, saying, “No. Thank you,” as he leaned back so she could reach across him to gather empty plates and cups. When her tray wobbled dangerously from the added weight, he provided a supportive hand. Their eyes met. And held.
She looked away first with a rushed, “Thanks,” then using both hands, stabilized her burden and headed back to the bar. Kip stared after her. Frowning slightly, he turned attention back to the table, not sure what stirred the tightness in his gut. Then his gaze brushed Mia Guedry.
Features bleached of color, she stared away from their group, wide dark eyes following the same path his had. Colin, who was in an animated discussion with Cale, didn’t notice until her fingers bit into his thigh.
“Hey. Hey! You okay?”
She gave no sign of having heard him, her respirations pumping fast and shallow.
“Mia?” Colin caught her as she swayed.
By then, Kip was out of his chair, circling to crouch next to hers. Taking up her other cold hand, he squeezed tight to command her attention.
“You recognized her, too.”
Her focus gathered at that claim, breaths deepening. “I don’t know. Something . . . something about her.”
“She’s favoring her arm,” Kip stated. “My little brother put a bullet into the same one of our Baton Rouge intruder. We made eye contact. That look. I’ll never forget it.”
Mia trembled, but her voice was strong. “It’s her, isn’t it? She’s the one who pretended to be me.”
Colin’s expression hardened with the quiet purpose it always assumed before battle. He spoke Mia’s name to bring her gaze up to his. “Are you sure?” At her brief nod, he turned to Kip. “Stay with her.”
Kip gripped his arm. “Don’t underestimate her.”
A fierce flash of teeth. “Not likely.”
Jacques LaRoche was coming out of the stock room as Colin strode rapidly up to the bar. Noting his lowered brows, the club owner looked to the unattended tables and back. “Sorry. I was just looking for her. Is there something I can get you?”
“Where is she?”
“Frannie?” Jacques scowled at the curt tone, having no great love for the unpredictable Terriot. “She was just here. Thought she went into the back.”
Colin vaulted the bar, striding past the startled owner without a glance.
Jacques shook off his surprise, temper surging along with concern for his employee. He stalked after the huge trespasser, pausing as Terriot did, inside the unoccupied storage room, following his focus to the delivery door leading out into the side alley. It was ajar. “What the—?”
Colin sprinted to it, stepping outside to survey the area. Head tipping, he took in the scents around him. Nothing. Too late. She was gone. Turning back, his features formidable, he demanded, “Where did she go?”
Jacques shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe an emergency.”
Colin’s long strides brought them face-to-face in an instant. “Is there a cold cellar underneath the building?” Ignoring the puzzled look, the big Terriot followed Jacques’ gesture to a barely noticeable door.
“We keep the good stuff down there. I’ll have to get the key.” The bar owner broke off, alarm spiking when he saw the broken hasp. He followed Colin down the narrow flight of stairs to a small, windowless room, shivering at the chill as he took quick stock of the inventory. The wine and liquor shelves seemed undisturbed. Colin paid them no mind, striding purposefully to a large crate that had contained CdC’s holiday shipment of local ales. The hasp securing its contents was open, a heavy padlock lay beside it.
Colin lifted the lid, chest tightening. This was where his mate’s consciousness had been imprisoned in darkness and fear inside a stranger’s body while whoever that waitress bitch really was walked about in hers. In this small, dank space right under their very noses.
“What the hell is going on?”
He faced LaRoche, the other male taking a quick step back at the sight of his features. “What do you know about her?”
“Frannie?” Broad shoulders shrugged. “’bout as much as I know about anyone who works behind my bar. She shows up on time, doesn’t dip into the till, and the customers like her.”
“No references?”
“For this job? Just verbal. I’m lucky to find anyone for what I pay. Was down a server, and she showed up lookin’ for work. Wasn’t about to be picky. What’s she done?”
Colin skipped over his question, too busy with his own. “She been here every night?”
Jacques frowned, worry lines crowding his broad brow. “She’s been taking some time off. Hurt her shoulder carrying some heavy