Oh, fuck him. The Iron Mask? Damn it, the last place he wanted to be was back in that club. Especially with—

Devina appeared in the doorway of the study. “I don’t suppose you two would like to go out?”

Well, if that wasn’t an opening.

Jim cursed to himself as he tried to imagine being there with her again—only this time under the watchful, suspicious eyes of her boyfriend. And he’d thought this whole dinner thing had been awkward?

Except the movie had to be a sign, right? The four lads said he’d have help.

“Yeah, let’s head downtown,” he muttered. “To the…How about the Iron Mask.”

Devina’s eyes flared as if she were shocked by his choice of club.

Schmega dittos there.

There was some conversation at that point and Vin got to his feet. “Okay, if that’s what you two want, I’m game.” He went over to his woman, and like he was trying to make an effort, leaned in and kissed her. “I’ll get your coat.”

Devina turned away with him and followed her man down the hall. Jim, left behind in the study, dragged a hand through his hair while wishing he could rip the stuff out of his head.

Maybe he had to stop thinking TVs were sending him messages. Because this was a dumb fucking idea.

CHAPTER
11

Marie-Terese saw the man first.

As she stood by the bar closest to the Iron Mask’s front door, she was inspecting the crowd when he walked into the club. It was, as they say, right out of the movies: Everyone else disappeared the instant he came in, the other people fading into dim, blurry shadows while she focused on him and him alone.

Six-three-ish in height. Dark hair and pale eyes. Suit like something out of a Fifth Avenue window display.

On his arm was a woman in a red dress and a white fur coat, and beside him was a taller guy with a brush cut and a military manner. None of them fit in among the crowd of leathered and laced and chained, but that wasn’t why she stared.

No, the staring thing was all about the man himself. He was eye-catching in the same sharp, hard way her ex had been: a wealthy man with a shot of gangster in him, a guy who was used to being in charge of whatever was going on around him…and someone who was probably about as warm and caring as a meat locker.

Fortunately, shutting down her instant attraction was easy: She’d already made the mistake of assuming wealth and power made guys like that some kind of modern-day dragon slayer.

Very bad assumption. Sometimes dragon slayers…were just slayers.

Gina, another one of the working girls, came up to the bar. “Who is that by the door?”

“A customer.”

“Of mine, I hope.”