Through the Fire (Daughter of Fire, #1)(55)

I took a moment to examine the changes in Louise since the last time I’d seen her. Her hair was still platinum blonde but had grown out into a sharp bob. Her dress clung tightly to her athletic frame. Whatever had shaped Clay’s body so well had undoubtedly helped Louise too. The pink material of her outfit was cut into angular segments that showed off large patches of skin even as it accentuated the severe line of her jaw and cheeks.

Watching as the two of them interacted, it was as hard as ever to believe that they were related—let alone twins. Clay’s face was round and soft in all the places Louise’s had grown sharp and hard. She wasn’t unattractive, quite the opposite in fact, but there was something about her that screamed unapproachable.

The bartender placed my drink on a napkin in front of me. I panicked as it hit me too late that I didn’t have any cash on me. My purse was in my bag, which was sitting in the garden outside of the hotel. Even if I’d had it, it was empty. Instead of showing any outward fear, I moved the clutch Clay had given me to my lap on the off chance he’d had put money in it. He seemed to have planned most of the details fairly well so far, so I was willing to go on faith.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked. Before the bartender could respond, I opened the bag and breathed a sigh of relief that there were a few bills stashed in it.

He held his hand to stop me. “Everything’s on the house tonight.”

“Thank you.” I slid a bill across to him regardless. “For your trouble.”

He grinned. “Thank you, Miss.”

When he didn’t leave but continued to stare at me instead. Figuring he wanted to know I was happy, I took a sip of my drink. I wasn’t entirely sure about the cocktail. My one night with Brian was the extent of my alcohol drinking experience—something I wasn’t readily willing to relive. With the little money I stole, buying food and shelter was more important. Still, I raised my glass and nodded to let him know I was happy.

With my gaze back on the mirror above the bar, I watched as Louise and Clay continued to talk. His eyes scanned the room, just like Louise’s, only his seemed to settle on one person more regularly than any other. Me.

I took small sips of my drink so that I didn’t look out of place, but my gaze remained glued to the scene going on behind me, watching their hushed discussion. Neither of them seemed overly comfortable beside each other. Clay asked something, and Louise nodded in response, and I longed for the ability to read lips. Louise shifted closer to Clay and showed him something in her palm.

I shifted in my seat, trying to get a better view, but all I could see was a flash of light glint off whatever was in her hand before it disappeared again. I was tempted to turn around for a better view, but a tiny shake of Clay’s head stilled me. His fingers tightened into fists and released, repeating the same cycle over and over. Watching him carefully, it appeared that his discomfort was growing with every passing second.

There was a movement in the air beside me, and I shifted my gaze along the mirror as a man slid onto the barstool beside mine. There was something familiar about him, even from the quick glance I’d risked, but I couldn’t place what it was.

Heat prickled my fingers, and the hairs on my arms stood to attention at his proximity. I shifted my body as far away from his as I could and turned my attention back to Clay and Louise. My gaze was certain to be a weight on Clay as I watched carefully for any signal he might give. I was shocked by his new stance. His back was ramrod straight. His eyes no longer searched the room.

Instead, his gaze was settled fiercely on the spot between the man on my left and me.

“Nice night,” the man said after the bartender had given him his drink.

“Yeah,” I said quietly, not trusting my voice too much. I tipped my head forward so that the blonde wig fell forward to cover my face.

He turned in his barstool, apparently taking my one word as an agreement to start a conversation.

“Here for anything interesting?” he asked.

Keeping my eyes fixed on my drink, I shook my head. “Just passing through.”

“You here for business?”

I lifted my eyes back to the mirror, glancing at Clay as furtively as I could. “Nah, I’m just visiting an old friend.”

Clay shook his head when he caught me looking at him. He mouthed something, but I couldn’t make out the words. His eyes darted between the guy sitting beside me and me.

“So you’re not here for the convention?” The words were heavier than the previous ones my neighbor had uttered, weighted down with an intention that was almost impossible to miss.

For the first time since he’d sat beside me, I looked properly at the man through my curtain of hair. His dark-brown hair was cut short, and the edges were graying. The growth of his closely shaved beard hid the almost familiar shape of his face. His eyes, in the instant I dared to look at them, were such a dark brown that they looked perceptibly black—just like Clay’s. His lips, although not as pink, were a very similar shape to Clay’s and sat in the same permanent pout.

Realization dawned on me dangerously late. I’d been too focused on Clay and his sister that I hadn’t noticed the danger that had sidled into the seat beside me. I was making small talk with the man who killed my father—who would kill me without thinking twice. My first instinct was to stand and run, but that would only make the situation worse.