night than I’ve seen my entire life, and it’s just not me.
I watch Ian as he scans the club, a frown on his face. When he spots me at the bar, his frown is replaced with a grin. He tears himself away from his entourage and joins me at the bar, where it’s standing room only. He stands close beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine. I can smell his overheated body mixed with faint cologne, and my body responds.
Ian reaches for my beer and helps himself to a healthy swig. “What’s wrong, detective?”
“Nothing.”
His hand is halfway to my glass again when he pauses to give me a questioning look. “D’you mind? I’m parched.”
“Go right ahead.” I watch his throat muscles work as he downs half my beer. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I’m getting a kick out of the fact he’s sharing my beer. It feels intimate. And out of all the guys fawning over him out on the dance floor, I’m the one he seeks out. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here right now, Ian. Please let me take you home.”
As he sets the empty glass on the bar, the corners of his lips rise. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I’m finding it hard to believe he’s giving in that easily.
He nods. “Sure. Why not? Yours is the best offer I’ve had all night.”
Before I can clarify my meaning—he makes it sound like I’m offering him a hook-up—he winks. He’s just playing with me.
He leans close, his lips brushing against my ear. At the feel of his warm breath on my skin, I stifle a shiver.
“I have a possible lead,” he says. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk without having to shout.”
A lead? Now Ian thinks he’s an amateur investigator? I lay enough cash on the bar to cover my tab and a tip for the bartender. “Let’s go.”
We drive back to Ian’s townhouse, and I park in the driveway. Once again, I follow him up the steps to his front door, but with the police presence gone, it feels different this time. It feels more personal and far less professional.
While he unlocks the door, I quickly scan the immediate neighborhood, my gaze sweeping the line of cars parked along the curb. I peer into dark shadows across the street, looking for anything out of place. It’s a deeply ingrained habit.
The truth is, I don’t like the fact that he lives here alone, with no protection. There’s still a chance he could be in danger, especially if he’s nosing around dance clubs asking about Eric Townsend.
Ian opens the door and steps inside. I follow him in.
“So, what’s your lead?” I say as I close the door and turn the deadbolt.
He switches on the foyer light. The crystal chandelier casts rays of fractured light on us, reflecting on the golden highlights in his hair. His eyes look even greener, and they’re fairly glittering with excitement. “A friend told me Eric recently met someone, and that they’d been seeing each other pretty regularly, right up to the night of Eric’s murder.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“I do now. His name is Brad Turner.” Ian walks into the parlor, turning on a lamp. “He was there tonight, at Diablo’s. Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Well, I want one.” Ian grabs a bottle of top-shelf whiskey from behind the bar, pops the top, and pours a shot of whiskey into a glass. Without preamble, he downs the entire shot, coughing as the liquor burns his throat. Once the coughing stops, he says, “I danced with him tonight. His name is Brad Turner.”
Ian’s words chill me to the bone. “You danced—why didn’t you say something at the club?”
He pours himself another shot. “I didn’t want to tip him off. Besides, he might not be the guy we’re looking for.”
Ian downs the second shot, his hand shaking slightly.
“You should have said something, Ian.”
He meets my gaze head on. “I’m saying something now.”
I can tell Ian is shaken. “Are you all right?”
He slams his empty shot glass on the bar. “No, actually, I’m not! Someone practically decapitated a friend of mine, and I might have danced with the motherfucker tonight and pretended to like it. No, I’m not fucking all right!”
His hand tightens on the shot glass, his knuckles turning white. Afraid he might break the glass and cut himself, I take it from him. He’s hurting.
Ian comes around to my side of the bar and