“Is there any actual booze in this place, or is it just for show?”
“Over there.” She points a thumb behind her to a bar in the corner that’s better stocked than Joe’s Tavern. The bar top has white leather with chrome studs and a matching chrome foot clamp. Wine glasses hang upside down beside heavy crystal rocks glasses, Collins glasses, cocktail glasses, and two types of champagne glasses. “You guys have lots of parties here?”
“What,” she asks absently and shakes her head. “No, but when my parents entertain, they do it in style.”
That’s an understatement. The bar is over the top luxury, but it is nice and well-stocked. I don’t give a shit about pricey booze, so I grab the bottle of Maker’s Mark and pour until two rocks glasses are half full.
“Here, drink this.”
Her brows dip in confusion. “This isn’t the time to get drunk, Ace.”
My lips curl up at the emphasis she puts on my name, and I hold the glass out to her. “My real name is Mark, but everyone calls me Ace. And this will help settle your nerves and hopefully keep you from crying again.”
McKenna reluctantly takes the glass with a smile. “Can’t handle emotions?”
“As a matter of fact, Miss Priss,” I growl. “I can handle them just fucking fine.” I’m man enough to admit that much. “But crying won’t help us figure out who killed your friend.”
At my words, McKenna sits a little taller and takes a tentative sip from her glass. “Seriously?” She winces and stares at the glass like it’s offended her somehow.
“It’s an acquired taste, like the daiquiris you toss back, or is it White Claw?”
Her hazel eyes narrow in my direction. “White Claw is some good stuff. Don’t knock it. This is just…different.”
McKenna takes another sip and doesn’t wince. Almost. Unwilling to back down, she takes a bigger sip the third time around and another without reaction.
“You’re right. It is strangely calming. Thanks.”
Fucking finally. I take a big gulp of the whiskey and keep my gaze on the emotional blonde. “Not a problem. Now we can talk?” I fill the glasses again with the whiskey.
McKenna nods and takes another slow sip before she sits back and gives me her full attention. “If you don’t know Grace or her killer, how do you know she has a boyfriend when all I know is that she had a boyfriend?”
I mentally debate how much to tell her because I still can’t trust her motives or trust her to keep her mouth shut.
“Once we connected her to you, it was just a matter of checking social media. She talks about her boyfriend, her bae, her boo, but she never mentions him by name. And there are no photos of him or them together, which even I know is pretty fucking weird these days.”
McKenna laughs and finishes her glass. “Not big on social media, I take it?”
“Fuck no. I have too much other shit going on in my life to post pictures of my egg and cheese sandwich for the masses.”
“Ah,” she nods knowingly. “Mr. Too Cool For School. I thought you had a familiar look about you."
“Not too cool, just too busy. Anyone in my life worth talking to knows how to get in touch with me. That’s it.” And living my life online is too dangerous in my line of work. “So, do you know anything about this guy?”
“No,” she admits reluctantly. “I noticed how tight-lipped she was about him, but I figured she was just that way with me because I have been accused, by some, of being super judgmental.”
“You? That’s unbelievable.” I don’t bother to hide my sarcasm, and McKenna glares at me. I reward her with a grin and a wink.
“I don’t think I am, but it’s been said enough times that there might be a ring of truth to it.” She lets out a sad sigh and shakes her head. “Maybe if I was more open-minded, she would have told me more about him.”
“Depends. Maybe she didn’t tell you because he’s married, or,” I gasp and put a hand to my chest with a playful smile, “a criminal.”
McKenna nods her agreement. “Possible. He could just be from the wrong side of the tracks, and she might not have wanted to tell me. See earlier judgmental accusations.”
I laugh out loud at her dry delivery. “At least you know your weaknesses.”
McKenna smiles again, but it slowly fades to a type of anguish I know well. “But why would anyone do that to her, Mark?”
My name on her lips hits me unexpectedly, and I finish off my own drink so I can focus on business.
I refill our glasses and sit beside McKenna, ignoring the expensive feminine scent emanating from her increased pulse.
“People are fucked. This world is fucked, McKenna, and you should consider yourself lucky that you don’t know that first hand.”