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“I saw six, also.”

“What the hell are twelve men doing?”

Our drinks are slid in front of us without a word.

“He certainly changed his attitude.”

“He did. You couldn’t see, but when he poured the scotch, he gave the man some sort of sign with his eyes.”

“Weird, what the fuck is happening?”

“I think we need to stay put for a little while. I’m not too hot on following these men.”

I nod and settle back in my stool. Twenty minutes later, the men begin trickling back in, noticeably more somber than when they left. After an hour, nine of the men have returned. None of them are the husband.

“This is so weird—” Maren starts to talk, but I don’t hear the rest because the hair on my arms and back of my neck start to prickle.

The familiar scent of Walker fills my nose right before I feel him nearby. “Shh.” I pinch her knee under the bar top.

“What the hell?” She smacks my hand away.

“Walker’s here,” I sputter.

“What? Where?”

“I don’t know. I can feel him.”

Her brows furrow in confusion. “You feel him? Did you two drink some kind of vampire blood to sense each other? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

I start to explain my reasoning but can’t speak, because she grips my elbow and spins us with our back to the crowd. I peer in the mirror behind the bar as Walker and Oliver breeze behind us, both dressed in suits.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” I ramble, hanging my head. “What’s he doing here?”

“He and Oliver just sat at a booth in the middle,” she informs me. “We can slide out easily. Don’t make a scene.”

“I’m not going to make a scene,” I protest a little too loud.

She calmly reaches in her purse and slides money across the bar to pay our tab. “What exactly did he say to you when he called?”

“He said he had a situation.”

We don’t get to discuss it more because the same man in a three-piece suit enters the bar again, performing the same routine as earlier.

“Don’t move a muscle. Just try to act normal,” Maren tells me so low it’s barely audible. I do as she says, feeling the man close to my left side.

When he leaves, it’s exactly like earlier. Men file out discreetly, this time taking a few women with them.

“Obviously, something is happening, but we’re getting out of here. Follow my lead and get to the car. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Yep.” The drinks in my stomach turn sour as my nerves soar.

What the hell is Walker doing here? What if he recognizes me? How can I explain this?

I’m no longer remotely concerned about R. Dell and her husband. I’m worried about tripping over my own feet as I try not to run out of this place.

“Go on to the ladies’ room, Rachel. I’ll meet you there after I pay,” Marin says loud enough to get the bartender’s attention.

“Okay, Monica, see you there.”