front of him, but it was flat and the glass had no condensation.
He’d been nursing that drink for a long, long time.
“How ya doin’?” Dan nodded to him, noticing the Mediterranean features, the black hair and olive skin contrasted with eyes so pale blue they were nearly silver.
“What did you say your name was?” the other man asked.
“Dan Gallagher. You?”
“Constantine Xenakis.”
Dan tilted his bottle in greeting. “Just in from Athens?”
“Something like that. Where are you from?”
“New York.”
The other man shifted over one seat, keeping one between them but obviously inviting conversation. “What brings you to Marathon? Business or pleasure?”
“A little of both,” Dan said, vague by habit. “What about you?”
“Business is a pleasure.”
The barmaid stopped her wiping right in front of them and looked from one to the other. “Look at you two. The man gods have been good to Smitty’s tonight.”
“ ’Scuze me, sweetheart,” Xenakis said, reaching over to put a friendly hand over hers. “Can you give us some privacy?”
She backed up, surprise and a little disappointment darkening hazel eyes that had gotten a retouch of mascara since Dan’s last visit.
“Anything you want.” She walked to the opposite end of the bar and Dan waited, curious as to why the stranger would prefer to talk to him than flirt with the obviously interested bartender.
The other man turned toward Dan, locking on him with an intense gaze. “You here to see Mrs. Smith?”
Dan just nodded, not willing to commit to anything.
“She’s a fox,” Xenakis said, lifting his beer. “How’d you meet her?”
“Here,” he said.
He settled back on the stool a little, eyeing Dan. “When?”
“A few nights ago. Why?”
“No reason. I noticed her.”
Who wouldn’t? “She’s noticeable, that’s for sure.”
The other man looked side to side, as if he wanted to make sure no one could hear him, then leaned a little closer to Dan, his silvery eyes piercing. “Have you had any luck?”
Was he serious? “Why, have you tried and failed?” Dan asked.
He got a long, hard look in response. “I never fail.”
“Good for you.” But he was the one nursing a flat beer, and Dan was the one with the midnight rendezvous.
“Don’t think for one minute I don’t know why you’re here, Gallagher. I can’t be the only one after it.”
“I’m sure the line is long for Ms. Smith’s attention.” Dan lifted his beer and gave the guy a warning look. “But there’s only one in the queue tonight, pal.”
“You’re not getting it tonight.”
What the hell? Dan drank and turned back to the bar, hoping to end the conversation.
“I’m serious,” he continued anyway. “You are not getting it.”
Dan set the bottle down. “I don’t discuss my personal life with strangers.”
The man laughed softly. “You can keep your personal life all to yourself. You’re not getting her fortune.”
Maggie had a fortune? That wasn’t in the Bullet Catcher dossier. “You want some advice?” Dan asked coolly.
He got a raised eyebrow in response. “No.”
“Well, I’m giving it.” Dan added an edge to his voice and leaned closer to deliver his message. “Stay away.”
The other man just smiled. He stood, put a bill on the bar, and gave Dan a half-assed salute. “You might think you’re real good, Gallagher, but trust me, I’m better.”
Dan watched him leave, memorizing his gait and posture, and every detail he could. Including the bulge of a gun on his hip.
“You know that guy?” he asked Brandy when she came back to his end of the bar.
“Wish I did.” She glanced at the door as it thudded closed. “I managed to find out his name is Constantine and he’s Greek.”
“Does he come in here a lot?”
“Never. All he did was ask questions about Lena, even after I told him she was, uh, taken tonight.” She added a saucy wink. “But I really think he was hanging out to see if you’d reappear or not.”
“Of course I’d …” The door next to the service bar opened and Maggie stepped into the dim bar, her eyes sparkling at the sight of him. “Reappear.”
“Hey.” Her smile was warm and wide and glistening. She’d put lip gloss on for him.
“Hey yourself. How was the night?”
“Long.” She eased onto the bar stool next to him, sending the softest scent of cinnamon perfume mixed with the citrus from a lot of limes she’d probably squeezed that night. “And yours?”
“Longer.”
That made her laugh, soft and low, drawing him closer. “I’m done now.”
He nodded in Brandy’s direction as the bartender disappeared into the back carrying a load of clean glasses in a dishwasher bin. “Letting your