Gail mused with a small smile as she took a sip of something called a martini. She didn't seem to notice Hope's dazed expression of wonder. "Speaking of which, how did you do it, girl?"
"Uh ... do what?"
"Every woman at the station would kill to have Ryan Daire stare at her like he does you.
He looks like he's going to eat you alive." Hope's brows crinkled in confusion when Gail patted her hand over her heart frantically and then waved her face as though she'd overexerted herself. "Just seeing that look got me all hot and bothered and it wasn't even aimed at me. You lucky, lucky girl. So . .. what's the verdict?"
"Verdict?" Hope asked, completely at a loss.
"What's Daire like in bed? Jenny Martin from the organized crime unit said he was amazing. She told me she was addicted to the sex with him, you know? But Daire is never forthcoming on a long-term supply. So is it true he tends to be controlling!" Gail asked with a knowing grin.
Hope stared, mouth agape. Her cheeks flooded with heat. It was one thing to be joyful that women had progressed so much in claiming their sexuality but quite another to suddenly be chatting casually with a virtual stranger about a topic that Hope's culture considered not only extremely intimate, but taboo under these circumstances.
And as far as the rest, Miss Jenny Martin better be prepared to expire from her addiction, because she was never, ever going to touch Ryan Vincent Daire again if Hope had her way about it!
Fortunately Ramiro saved her from having to respond to Gail when he approached the table.
"Daire's leaving. He wanted me to let you know," Ramiro said softly when he perched at the end of his chair.
"What happened?" Gail asked in an undertone, allowing the swelling music of the orchestra and the crooning singer to muffle their voices for anyone but themselves. Hope had come to understand that although Gail wasn't officially "on the Donahue case," as she'd put it, her work in the research lab made her aware of the generalities of what was occurring tonight.
Ramiro shook his head slightly, his dark brown eyes making a casual-seeming surveillance of the room.
"Something's going down. If it screws up this operation, I'm gonna be 'roid-rage-caliber pissed off, too. Before Chirnovsky had the chance to get Donahue to talk, Gutierrez got a call. He said something was arriving and Donahue ordered Chirnovsky to go to the Sweet Lash."
"The Sweet Lash," Hope murmured. Ramiro met her eyes and she knew he was thinking what she was—that Ryan had predicted Diamond Jack Fletcher's old brothel might be involved somehow tonight.
"Yeah. Crenshaw ordered Ryan to the Sweet Lash in the mobile unit since Ryan was the one who warned him this might happen."
Gail swung her long blonde hair over her shoulder and glanced to the right of her at the same time. "But Donahue is still here."
"Yeah. So are a couple of his boys. All we can hope for is that Donahue relocates to his nightclub and Chirnovsky can get him to talk before the warrant for covert recording expires at midnight. If not, all this tonight will have been for nada."
"Well, shit," Gail muttered in sympathy. She picked up her evening bag from the table. "I need to go to the little girls' room. Care to join me, Hope?"
Hope shook her head. Ramiro asked if she'd mind if he made a circuit of the room and she assured him she was fine. Once she sat alone, however, she became hyperaware of the area just behind her—the place where Gail had just covertly looked over her shoulder and said but Donahue is still here.
She couldn't seem to stop herself. It was just like when she was little and her friend Fanny shrieked "don't look" at some childhood horror like a huge, smashed spider.
Hope had to look.
Her breath caught in her lungs when she twisted around and her gaze landed dead center on Jim Donahue. For one thing, he looked very similar to his former self—same dark hair and large, bold features going to fat. He sat at a larger round table than the rest at the edge of the gathering with two men and a blonde woman. Beady, cold eyes ran over her body speculatively just like they had several nights ago when Hope lay naked beneath a thin sheet—or 102 years ago, however you wanted to look at it.
And just like then, Hope shivered.
Gail returned and drank another martini. Hope was distracted from the unpleasant feeling of Jim Donahue's stare on her back by a steady stream of men asking Gail and her to dance. The feeling was only caused by her overactive imagination, anyway. Why would Donahue be singling her out of the crowd?
Ramiro gave one of their potential dance partners a fulminating look when he returned to the table. The man beat a hasty retreat, undoubtedly aware of Ramiro's gaze burning a figurative hole through his back.
He gave Gail a quick kiss. "Gotta go."
"Yeah, I saw him leaving," Gail whispered. Hope didn't have to ask who they were talking about.
She'd seen Jim Donahue's date putting on her fur wrap earlier and Jim accompanying her through the crowd to the exit.
Gail sighed dispiritedly a few minutes after Ramiro left.
"Are you ready to leave, Hope? You don't look like you're having much fun, and both Ramiro and Ryan are gone now. It's not like I want to dance with any of these yahoos."