Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(78)

“Are people listening with our table anymore?” I whispered.

Ian glanced at the glowing surface. “No.”

“Good. So, what is it with men and titty bars?”

Ian was only pretending to take a sip of his wine, but that didn’t stop him from nearly choking. “Pardon?”

“Titty bars, or as Grandma and Yasha call ’em, hoochy-koochy parlors. You’re a man, and don’t think I haven’t noticed,” I added in a singsong voice. “And we’re in a titty bar.” I glanced around with even more appreciation at the scenery. “Among other nice things. If you weren’t here to hunt and hog-tie some leprechauns, why would you be here?” I lowered my voice conspiratorially. “Come on, you can tell me. We’re partners.” My voice of reason was banging on the door in my head and screaming for me to Shut. Up.

Ian’s eyes were intent on mine. Lord, but they were nice. He was looking at something.

“What?” I swiped my tongue over my teeth. “Do I have lipstick on my teeth?”

“No. Your pupils are enormous. Did you inhale some of that blue smoke?”

I shrugged, the movement only made the room do a half spin. “I’ve never inhaled.” I gave him a goofy grin. “But a girl’s gotta breathe.”

“Mac.”

“They blew it in my face, okay?”

“I thought so.” He took out his phone. “Can you still function?”

I looked him up and down with a lazy, appreciative smile. “I’m functioning just fine, darlin’.” The little voice groaned and gave up. Good. She was giving me another headache.

“I meant can you do your job?”

I had to think about that one. After pondering for a pleasantly dazed moment what my job was, and why I was doing it here, the blue-smoked brain fog parted ever so briefly.

“Do you mean whether I can still see little green men?”

“That’s right. Can you?”

I looked around. “Dunno. There ain’t none to be seen right now.”

Ian swore under his breath and dropped his head into his hand. “See Steve over at his table?”

“You mean Steve the elf?”

“Yes. Steve the elf. But can you see that he’s an elf?”

“Yeah. Pointy Spock ears, clear as day.”

Ian sighed in relief and put his phone away.

I didn’t mention that every bit of stress had floated out of my body. New job nerves? Gone. Awkwardness being in a sex club with my hot new partner? Buh-bye. Giving a damn what any man, woman, or combination thereof around me was doing? Vamoosied.

Suddenly my partner wasn’t the only badass at the table. I was starting to feel downright invincible. I felt the urge to pull a couple of tuffets together and make myself comfortable, maybe even put my feet up on the bugged-for-sound table and really give whoever was listening to us one hell of a show.

Oh yes, I felt much better. And I felt myself smile, which was pretty danged impressive considering that I couldn’t feel my lips anymore. Then the room spun in a slow, languorous circle.

Ian took a good look in my eyes and sighed in resignation. “Dammit, the boss didn’t tell me you were part elf.”

“I’m not.”

“Are you feeling good?”

“Quite.”

“Confident?”

“You know it.”

“Absurdly relaxed to the point of doing something stupid?”

I scooted my tuffet toward my delectable partner. If Ian wanted to ensure every man here knew I was taken, I was more than willing to help spread the word. “Why don’t you come over here and try me.”

“If you’re not an elf, clover weed shouldn’t affect you, but it does. We’ll deal with the why later. Right now, we need to find those other three leprechauns and get you the hell out of here.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I never said I was.”

Elana was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Elana?” I asked.

“With Yasha and our prisoners waiting for transport from HQ.”

The next dancer was slinking her way over to Mike and Steve’s table. She was acting awfully friendly, and I think the boys were about to become part of the next show.

“Shit,” Ian hissed in a whisper.

Their replacements hadn’t arrived yet, and Ian had wanted them to just sit at their table, mind their own business, and stay out of trouble until their replacements arrived. Let’s just say that due to the influence of the clover weed, the boys were getting into the spirit of the performance. Since our table was right up front, I got an all-too-close look at—and scent of—what covered Miss Congeniality’s costume.

I gaped in disbelief, then giggled. “Are those Red Hots?”

Ian started to get up. I grabbed his arm and sank my nails in, my eyes wide.

Oh. My. God.

Miss Red Hots was none other than our AWOL leprechaun prince.

If I’d ever needed proof that leprechauns liked practical jokes, the proof was staring Steve right in the face—or at least his . . . uh, her Red Hots-spangled G-string was. She’d already tossed her top on Mike’s head, and both elves looked like they were about to indulge their collective sweet tooth.

Prince Finnegan was a sex-shifting, cross-dressing leprechaun.