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“You never know how he’ll come at you.” He steps to the door and opens it, and I follow him back to the kitchen. “This fucker didn’t give us any time. If Patrick were closer, we’d have at least one more set of eyes.”

“I give our friend credit. He’s bringing you two together in a way I never could.”

“Extra muscle is always helpful in situations like this. Regardless of whether I agree with him.”

Clapping Stuart on the shoulder, I head for the exit. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

* * *

The Palomino bar is adjacent to one of the nicer steak houses in town. The main bar is large and traditional. Wooden booths line the perimeter and a matching bar is located in the center of the room. A layer of tall tables with high chairs ring the space between the two, and it’s all shiny brass and low lighting. Off to the side is the dim-lit martini bar where I’m looking for an asshole with a Gibson. And a gat.

It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. For a Thursday night, it’s pretty deserted, but it’s early.

A couple sits in one corner leaning close together. The female holds a pink martini, a cosmopolitan, I’d bet. Her date has something with a curled lemon peel slivered in it. Lemon drop. A table of three women is across from them, but again, pink drinks. Finally my eyes land on a patron in the very back, dead center of the room. I can’t make out the face. Whoever it is has leaned out of the light, but on the table directly in front of him or her is a martini glass containing clear alcohol. In the bottom middle of the crystal is a small, white onion on a toothpick. Our “Friend.”

Without hesitation, I walk straight to where he or she is sitting and stop, waiting for the snake to slither into the light. When it finally does, I’m momentarily winded. I have to take a step back.

“Bennett?” Confusion lines my face as I recognize the contract private investigator I’ve worked with for years. I’ve trusted him on several cases, and he’s been my right hand tracking subjects in remote locations. The last time we worked together was... last year. He kept an eye on Sloan for me in Baltimore when I was in Wilmington with Melissa. Anger mixed with betrayal fires in my chest. I’m ready to kill this guy, but for the moment, he has the upper hand.

“Derek Alexander.” He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table and giving me a sick grin.

“Robert.” I pull out the chair across from him and sit. “I confess, I’m surprised. You’re better at your job than I gave you credit for.”

His eyes narrow before they travel over my torso. “Credit is hard to come by in your business, Mr. Alexander.”

“The bird in the hand is always preferable to theories and promises.”

He exhales a short laugh. “You’re so fucking smooth. You with your suit and tie, your fancy car, your ultimate bachelor pad, and sexy-assed fiancée.”

My fist tightens. “A smart guy would keep his thoughts about Melissa to himself.”

“Or what?” He leans back and really laughs. “You’ll kick my ass? She’s not even yours anymore.”

I meet his ice-blue stare. “I’ll break your neck.”

He takes a long sip of the Gibson in front of him. “Your preferred method of disposal.” A pause as he evaluates my response. “Such a rookie mistake, losing control like that. You honestly thought no one would find out? I’m disappointed.”

“The feeling is mutual.” The waitress puts a short glass of scotch in front of me and sashays off again.

Lifting the toothpick, he slips the tiny onion into his mouth. “Even more disappointing. I gave you the perfect setup. That hot piece of ass right in your condo. You never even fucked her, and I hear she gives a hell of a hummer.”

“You’re talking about Star?” My eyes narrow. “Is she in on this?”

He shakes his head and frowns. “I’m no amateur. All she could talk about in Baltimore was how you believed in her. It was pathetic, and I fucking thought after the way she played your partner—”

“You asked her to help you?”

His cold gaze lands on mine. “Of course not. I knew she’d never turn on you. She’s too in love with you.” A disgusted noise, and he takes another sip.

I’ve heard enough. “What do you want, Bennett?”

“My letter was perfectly clear,” he says with a smirk. “I want you, big guy.”

Leaning back, I shove my drink forward. “What the fuck? I’m not gay.”

“HA!” He says loudly, leaning forward in mock laughter. “Your ego is only outsized by your stupidity.” Straightening, all traces of his smile disappear. “I want you taking a dose of your own medicine.”

“What the hell does that mean?”