Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(28)

Shepherd sipped his coffee and stared listlessly at the cup.

“Where are your keys, Shep?”

“Someone stole them.”

Wyatt slid in beside him, directly across from me. “Your Jeep is still outside. Why would someone steal your keys and not your car? You misplaced them, you drunken bastard.”

“I already searched the club,” I said. “No one’s turned them in, but the waitresses are keeping an eye out.”

“Buttercup, the only thing those ladies are looking for are tips.” Wyatt propped his elbows on the table and tapped his fists together. “How did dinner with Mr. Fancy Pants go?”

I pointed my finger at him. “Next time we do anything like that, you’re going.”

Wyatt regarded Shepherd for a moment with a concerned look.

“I’m going to close the tab,” I announced. “Meet me by the bar.”

“Hold up.” Wyatt shot out of his seat and fell into step beside me, his voice low. “What’s up with him?”

“I don’t know. Has he ever been this way before?”

“Cantankerous?”

“No, drunk for no reason.”

We both stopped and looked back at Shepherd, who was pouring sugar into his coffee.

“He’s pretty tanked,” Wyatt said. “Nothing unusual happened tonight that set him off?”

I shrugged. “After cake, I left them alone to talk privately. His whole mood changed when we got here. Maybe it was Gem and Claude accusing him of murder.”

Wyatt shook me by the shoulders and laughed. “You guys really know how to make a guy feel loved. Run along while I do some damage control. We need to get back so I can monitor the, uh… listings.” His gaze darted around.

“No one is watching? What if someone puts him up?”

“Hold your horses, Calamity Jane. Blue’s my backup, but I don’t want to leave her alone too long. Christian better get his butt home. He’s supposed to take over the night shift while I sleep.” Wyatt glanced back at the table and rubbed his chin. “I just hope Shepherd doesn’t put up a fight. Sometimes he gets too comfortable hanging out in these places.”

I poked his shoulder. “Drag him if you have to. Let’s go.”

I strode down the wide hall, passing each circle of hell. Red light illuminated one wall, blue on another. The music grew louder as I entered the main room, people dancing all around. I’d brought sufficient cash tucked in my front pocket—a habit from my old life—and closed out the tab. Afterward, I pulled my fingerless gloves out of my back pockets and realized I wasn’t wearing my coat.

“Dammit,” I whispered.

Hopefully one of the guys had noticed and grabbed it on the way out. Just in case, I decided to send Wyatt a quick message. But before I could reach for my phone, a guy across the room caught my attention.

I stood frozen, observing a man and woman standing beneath a red light. The woman had her back to a pillar and appeared uncertain as the man kept talking. He had a tattoo on the back of his neck, and I remembered him from earlier. Sure, lots of guys had tattoos, but now that we had a vague description of someone in this club who had been talking to our victim, it was enough for me to pay attention.

He touched her shoulder, still talking a mile a minute while she listened, her eyes downcast. The whole conversation felt off, as if he were trying to talk her into something. Maybe he was just hitting on her and she didn’t know how to let him down, but it didn’t appear as innocuous as that.

I squinted, trying to make out what his tattoo was. Nothing identifiable like a panther or someone’s name—just a strange design.

Someone bumped into me, and I stumbled forward. A bevy of women moved between us, and when the tatted guy headed toward the door, I cut through the crowd and followed behind him.

“Excuse me!” I yelled out, hoping to ask him if he knew Jennifer.

He glanced over his shoulder and kept walking. He didn’t react the way most men would if they saw a woman chasing after them.

I quickened my pace, and when he looked back and finally noticed me, he picked up speed. I shoved my way through a sea of people who made little or no attempt to move aside when they saw me coming.

“Raven!” Wyatt yelled from behind.

I looked back and spied him through a gap. He held up his arms as if asking “What gives?” and I pointed frantically toward the door, hoping he could read the expression on my face.

When I turned around, the main door down the hall was closing. I bolted toward it, weaving around a woman who shrieked when I bumped her glass and splashed red wine all over her dress.

The moment I emerged outside, a burst of frosty air burned against my skin. My silk blouse was as good as wearing nothing at all for all the warmth it provided. I scanned the pockets of people who were gathered together for a smoke or a chat.

“Sneaky little bastard,” I whispered, racing around to the parking lot on the right side of the building.

Footprints were everywhere, and I couldn’t sense his energy among so many other Breed. He was probably long gone.

Before I could turn around, I heard an engine throttling and tires skidding on slush. A car gunned toward me—headlights off—and the man in the driver’s seat was the guy from inside. He almost flew past me until a group of people crossed in front of his path and forced him to slam on his brakes.