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He couldn’t even quite decidewhyhe’d done it.

He told himself it was because he didn’t want to fight.

He told himself he’d be back before Nick even knew he was gone.

He knew there was an element of bullshit to both things, which made him wonder what his real reasons had been.

Dalejem glanced down the bar, making his look as idle, bored, and arrogant as he could manage. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched someone walk through the front doors of the hotel. Had he missed one of them, spacing out while he thought about Nick?

He looked for the features of Frasier first, and then for his live-in companion, Ungerman. He’d memorized the appearances of both men from the electronic files Black sent while Jem had been on his way to the airport. He didn’t see either among the new faces lined up at the bar, or in any of the leather booths behind him when he casually turned his head.

He got plenty of returning stares.

A number of those stares showed an undisguised interest.

Jem ignored all of them.

Black had been specific about how to pull Frasier and his companion. He’d given precise instructions, even around exactly how Dalejem should wear his hair (down and relatively coiffed) and what style of clothing would work best on either and both of them. Luckily, Black had experience infiltrating this type of target, in addition to knowing Frasier personally. He knew exactly what colored lure to dangle in front of the two men.

There were areas of crossover between them, which made Jem’s job easier.

Still, he’d leaned more heavily into what attracted Frasier, as Frasier was the primary target. Black assured him that the two of them “brought people back” for one another, and that each was intimately familiar with the other’s taste, so it wouldn’t necessarily matter, precisely, which of them he dressed for.

Dalejem glanced down at the full glass in front of him, and tried to remember when he’d ordered it exactly. Unfortunately, he hadn’t checked the time, either right before or right after he placed his last order for a drink, so he had no idea how much of it had passed.

Given he’d been there over two hours already, according to his phone, he definitely should be drinking faster, or someone might notice.

He took a sip, and had to fight not to spit it out.

What on earth had possessed him to order a rum and coke? He’d never liked sweet drinks. They always made him feel ill after a few swallows.

No, he never would have ordered this.

Someone else must have bought it for him.

He hadn’t been paying attention to what the bartender said when he brought it over. Again, though, whythatdrink? Was someone being cute?

He suspected they probably were.

Whoever it was, they’d probably given up on him by now.

Dalejem signaled the bartender, nudging him a bit with his light.

The man walked over, and Jem pushed the rum and coke towards him.

“Could I get something different?” he asked politely.

The man gave him a strange look, but only nodded.

“Just a bourbon,” Jem said. “Neat. The best you’ve got.”

The man nodded once, gave him a faintly appreciative look, and walked away. When he returned a few seconds later, hetraded out the rum and coke for the bourbon, wiping the bar and setting down a new napkin for the new drink.

Jem raised his glass to the bartender in thanks, then took a few swallows.

Much better.

Gaos.Much,muchbetter.