“Hi.” Of course she said that. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t I tell you to quit following me?”

Maybe it was because there was more long-suffering exasperation in his tone than anger, or maybe it was because she was relieved to see a familiar face in this intimidating bar—even if it was his face—but once again, her mouth worked before her brain could stop it. “Mind if I sit down?”

He blinked at her, his face poker-straight and his lips compressed, but he didn’t say no. Cara slid into the booth next to him, careful to leave space between them so she didn’t intrude on his personal bubble. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Sitting.” A part of her was impressed with her audacity, while the rest was just screaming a warning that she was going to get herself killed.

“There’s an entire empty bench over there.” He flicked his hand at the other side of the table.

“I can’t see anything from over there.” Her tone was apologetic, but she settled more firmly on the battered vinyl seat. This was perfect, once she got used to the idea that she’d plonked herself down next to an accused killer.

“So find another table.” That tone was back—the annoyed yet resigned one that was starting to become so familiar. It was oddly reassuring, which made her wonder if she was right in the head.

“This one is perfect for watching the bar, though.” She pretended to take a sip of her beer and scanned the crowd. Unless Abbott was wearing an excellent disguise, she was pretty sure he wasn’t in the main room.

A heavy sigh drew her attention back to her booth-mate. “Who are you stalking now?” he grumbled.

“Geoffrey Abbott.” She watched his expression as she said the name, but he didn’t even twitch. Even if he did know Abbott, she wasn’t sure why she’d expected Kavenski to show any reaction. He had his poker face down pat. “He’s a tax evader.”

The amber liquid in his drink caught the light as he rotated his glass. He hadn’t taken a sip since she’d joined him, making her wonder if he was pretending to drink, just like she was. “A tax evader with connections,” he grumbled.

“What do you mean, connections?” Even as she asked, her stomach sank. She’d known it was too easy, especially coming from Barney.

“You don’t want that mess,” he said, rather than clarifying. “Find another target.”

“But he was perfectly non-violent and seemed kind of dumb. That’s just what I was looking for.” She allowed her head to thump against the back of the booth. “I should’ve known he was too good to be true.”

Kavenski stayed silent as she worked through her disappointment. It made sense, now that she thought about it. After all, weren’t mobsters traditionally brought down by tax evasion? She stared at the crowd as she mentally ran over his file again. Organized crime ties fit, she had to admit to herself.