“I haven’t heard from her all day,” one of them said.

“Text her.”

“I have. She’s pouting. She does this.”

Were they talking about Jessica? If so, they couldn’t have been more right.

“She’s missing out,” one of them said, a purr in her voice.

Of course, I knew Reyes had come in. I felt his heat the moment he walked through the door.

“And, oh … my … god,” one of them said. “He’s … he’s wet.”

The room quieted as it often did when he walked in. I turned to him.

He walked right up to me and the fact that we were both soaking wet spoke volumes.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world.”

“You forgot something.” He tucked something into my hands. A bra.

My bra!

What the—? I wiggled my shoulders, testing Danger and Will. Yep. No support whatsoever.

He watched me for a sec, then said, “Want me to put it on for you?”

“Okay, but I doubt it’s your size.”

I lifted Uncle Bob’s firewater and stole his napkin to pat Reyes’s face. He studied me from under his spiked lashes, his deep, coffee-colored irises glistening in the incandescent light. His mouth, full and sensual, tilted up at one corner, exposing the most charming dimple I’d ever seen, and I stopped, just to absorb him, just to memorize every line of his face, every curve. After we stared into each others’ eyes a long moment, he sobered and asked, “What’s wrong with your uncle?”

“What?” I was still staring. I shook out of it and said, “I think he’s upset about Cookie’s date.”

“Ah. That makes sense.” He ran a finger over the back of my palm. “Is he ever going to ask her out?”

“If he doesn’t, I’m going to beat him to death with wet noodles.”

“Does he know that?”

“He will soon enough. It’ll be a long, slow death. Arduous and labor intensive. Hopefully I won’t get a repetitive motion injury.” I couldn’t help but let my hand rest on his hip. I hooked a finger in his belt loop and pulled.

He eased forward, a willing participant. “I saw your apartment, by the way.”

“I thought that was compliments of your Dealer. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Why?”

“He said he didn’t do it.”

“Ah, right, I remember. And you believed him.” It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway.

“Why would he lie? He has the dagger. He freely admitted to taking it.”

“Dutch, they lie because that is what they do. That is who they are. They lie when the truth would sound better. So, can I sever his spine yet?”

“No, you can’t. I think he could be an asset.”

“You’re partly right. He can be an ass.”

I gave him an admonishing glare. “Are you here to cook?”

“Nah, Sammy’s got it covered. I’m just here.”

Oh, how nice. “You mean just the two of us? Like on a real date?”

“If our dates are going to include your uncle and your best friend, then yeah.”

I laughed out loud, and asked, “Okay, why are you really here?”

“Just keeping an eye on you.”

“Reyes, you can’t babysit me forever.”

“Would you like to bet on that?”

“I mean, you have a life. I have a life. We both have lives.”

He glanced toward the man in the seat beside me. It was just a glance, nothing more. But the man stood immediately, excusing himself. Reyes sat down and pulled me closer to him, leaning in like we were lovers having a flirtatious conversation. But what he said next was anything but flirtatious. “Have I explained fully what the Twelve is?”

“Yes. They’re mean, horrible beasts who want to eat me for breakfast.”

“Wrong,” he said. “I want to eat you for breakfast. They want to rip you apart and hand your soul over to my father on a silver platter.”

“I don’t get it. If your father imprisoned them, why would they want to do him any favors?”

“They’re the Twelve. There is no understanding them.”

He’d rested his hand on the bar. As I leaned toward him, he let his fingers brush across Danger’s nipple. She sprang to life, pushing against the restraint of my blouse, craving more of his touch. I couldn’t blame her.

“We have an audience.”

When his words sank in, I finally realized that we did indeed have an audience. Half the room was staring at us. I started to lean back when Reyes said, “Not them.”

He nodded toward Uncle Bob.

I turned to him. “Oh, sorry, we were just talking about how lovely this rain is.”

“I bet.” His disposition had changed. It was weird. He looked over at Cookie and her date, and instead of anger and jealousy, there was just anger. And some of it seemed directed at me.

“So, about Brinkman and his cars.”

“Yeah, it seems that his dealership is a front to launder money. He runs way more through it than he sells, but he hides that by duplicating titles.”

“And they are just finding this out? What does that mean?”

“What that means is that if they can get him for that, they may not need Emily Michaels to testify against him. Agent Carson is working toward that goal.”

“You’re working with her?”