"Is that the cop speaking or the woman?” he asked, voice so low it seemed little more than a warm vibration across her skin.
"Both.” The blonde had gotten out her phone and was searching the upper balconies as she talked. Looking for Denny, or someone else? Savannah frowned as the woman's gaze seemed to hesitate on her and Cade, lingering for too many seconds before moving on. “We've been made."
"What?” He looked down. “How?"
The blonde was still talking on the phone, and though her gaze seemed to be on the dancers in front of her, the sudden tension in the way she stood suggested she was ready to flee given the slightest reason. And that reason would undoubtedly be a movement from Cade or Savannah. “I don't know, but she's seen us. Or me, at least."
"Odd that she answered the phone before she apparently made us.” He glanced at Savannah. “It suggests an accomplice."
"Or that the person behind the threats is in this room.” Yet if Tane didn't recognize her, why would anyone else here, especially dressed up as she was? “Shall we wait or move?"
Before Cade could answer, the woman made the decision for them, slipping her phone into her bag as she turned around and headed toward the door. “You go left; I'll go right,” he said, thrusting away from the railing.
She nodded and headed left. Her stilettos clattered against the metal stairs as she ran down them, making enough noise that the dancers closest to her glanced up. Though Denny was one of them, there was no recognition in his eyes. At least that meant he'd probably still be here if she and Cade missed their quarry.
Ahead, the blonde was climbing the stairs and walking towards the door. She didn't seem to be in a hurry, meaning they either had the wrong woman, or she knew she had plenty of time to escape. Savannah was betting on the latter. If this woman was involved in the murders, then there would have been provisions for something to go wrong. The fiend behind the recent murders was too well organized to leave anything to chance.
Savannah ran along the edge of the dance floor, dodging the occasional overenthusiastic dancer or alcohol-affected patron. By the time she got to the steps, the blonde had already left the building. Cade was two steps behind her as she pushed the door open and ran out.
"There,” he said, pointing left towards the flare of reversing lights.
They ran towards the truck as it reversed out of the parking spot. Savannah glanced at the plates, noting the number and the fact they were from Arizona. Before they could get any closer, the truck sped off, leaving them coughing in a cloud of burnt rubber and exhaust fumes.
Cade swore and thrust a hand through his hair. “Our first solid connection to the murders, and we let her get away."
"I wouldn't call her a solid connection as yet,” she said, her words wheezy as she tried to catch her breath. “And at least we can track down the truck via the plate number."
"Not when it was wearing false plates."
She raised her eyebrows. “How do you know that?"
"Because the second plate wasn't stuck on too well. Saw the corner of the real plate sticking out on the right edge."
She grimaced. “At least we still have the truck.” Even if that make and color was one of the more popular ones in Ripple Creek. She tugged off her wig and scratched irritably at her scalp. “Of course, the question is what—or who—tipped her off?"
Cade glanced at her. “Did anyone see you coming over here?"
"I was in wolf form, so it wouldn't have mattered."
"Maybe they were watching your apartment."
She frowned. “They could just as easily have been watching your rooms. It'd be no state secret now that the IIS is in town, even if no one really knows why."
"I would have noticed a shadow."
Irritation swept through her. “Meaning I wouldn't have?” Her voice rose several notches without her meaning to.
The guard glanced their way. “Keep it down,” Cade said, as he waved a reassuring hand toward the guard. When he looked back at her, Cade's expression was a mix of annoyance and frustration. “Meaning, you've had less experience in being tailed than me."
"Less experience doesn't mean no experience,” she bit back. “And I wasn't followed."
"Then how the hell did that woman—who I've never met and I presume you haven't—make us?"
"I don't know."
"Someone must have followed one of us."
No one had followed her. She was sure of it. So what had given them away? She frowned, remembering the way the blonde's gaze had lingered on them—or, more particularly, her. It suggested that she'd been the one recognized, rather than Cade. But how? With the wig and the costume, she looked nothing like herself. Someone from Rosehall might have recognized the shoes, but the darkness of the club precluded that.