“You could go dance with Ms. Mink,” she suggested playfully. “Dancing is a great chance to ask questions.”
“I ain’t the guy to ask
questions,” Wrench suggested dryly. “I’m the guy breaking fingers while the other guy asks questions.”
Lydia squinted up at him. There was a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. “Was that supposed to be a joke?” she realized in astonishment.
“Supposed to be, yeah.”
Lydia giggled helplessly and squeezed him.
Then he let her go, and Lydia had to fight back her instinct to throw herself back into his arms.
Duty called.
As she clicked across the dance floor in her shoes, she looked critically at her choices. The Swedish hockey player, Lars, looked like he might be lighter on his feet, but he was also gazing across the dance floor longingly at the bookish woman in glasses who was dancing with Tex. He didn’t even glance at Lydia as she sashayed towards them.
The Russian bruiser had an unexpectedly innocent look as Lydia drew closer, gazing wistfully out at the dancers and tapping his fingers against his sleeve. At any other time, this would have made Lydia choose him, but she wasn’t here just for dancing. She made the third figure of the group her target, extending an imperious hand to the grim-faced smoker from her flight. She thought his name from Scarlet’s list had been Tim.
He looked at her outstretched hand for a long moment before reluctantly accepting it.
Lydia didn’t care for the smell of cigarette smoke, and was relieved to find that he was more soap-and-sandalwood scented. He stepped out after her onto the floor with more grace than Lydia had braced for and his hand at her waist—while not Wrench’s—was neither desperate nor tentative.
“How do you like Shifting Sands?” Lydia asked, after they had negotiated the lead and settled into a comfortable pattern.
“It’s… a nice place,” the young man said uncomfortably.
“Enjoying the food?” Lydia pried. Normally, she wouldn’t push a conversation if someone preferred only to dance quietly, as this one certainly did. But she was on a mission, and grimly determined to find out who had bitten her mate and might be a threat to his niece.
“Er… it’s good,” maybe-Tim agreed plaintively.
“What brought you here?” Lydia asked cheerfully, with her best empty-headed smile.
“It’s… personal,” he said, biting off the end of his words.
Lydia let him turn her, aware of Wrench’s gaze attempting to burn holes through her partner.
“Like a contracted sort of personal?” she risked saying, hoping to surprise him into reacting.
But that only puzzled him. “Look,” he said crossly. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for. I’m only here because my sister didn’t want to come alone.”
It was Lydia’s turn to be surprised. “Your sister?”
She caught his automatic glance towards the librarian dancing with Tex. She was laughing at something he was saying.
“My sister,” maybe-Tim repeated.
Lydia sighed. While it was possible one sibling was a cat and the other a cobra, it seemed ridiculously unlikely that the pair were assassins.
Unfortunately, she had piqued the young man’s interest. “What do you mean contracted? Like… an assassin?”
Lydia hastened to hush him, and the young man stumbled over his feet as he immediately looked towards his sister. “Are we in danger?” he asked in an anxious whisper.
“You should be fine,” Lydia was swift to say, taking the lead automatically as his steps faltered. “It’s a personal matter, I promise.”
“Who is he after? Has he already made an attempt on someone? Is it a guest?”
Lydia sighed. “Listen, Tim… is it Tim?”