Page 134 of Indiscretion

The space is far larger than I’d like, with lots of dark crannies around the edges of the main floor where people are congregating. In the middle of the main space, right in front of the stage, there’s a pretty heated mosh pit in motion. I haven’t yet tried working my way through the crowd because I’m hoping my Jordan is smart enough not to be smack in the middle of them. My pucker factor is ratcheting up by the minute.

Make that by the second, when I spot a set of stairs and I turn and look up to find there are two balcony levels above the main floor.

Fuuuuck me.

The crowd is a mix of people from all walks of life and races. It bothers me that I’ve already spotted at least five guys I’m pretty sure are sporting gang colors, and from the way they’re looking at me as I pass, I can tell they aren’t happy about seeing me.

I know what I look like from how I’m dressed, too—Special Agent Leo Cruz, and not a civvie. They don’t know I’m not wearing a badge.

But, hopefully, they assume I’m carrying. That could be good or bad.

I belatedly remember I’m not wearing body armor, either, because I rode with Elliot, and we pulled into the hotel via a secured underground garage. I felt like I wouldn’t need it tonight.

Fuckballs. I feel bizarrely naked and vulnerable right now. Weirdly enough, I do also feel my age, and not because of the smartassed remark from the merchandise guy. More because the median age of nearly everyone around me is about Jordan’s age. He’s eighteenyearsyounger than me.

What thehelldoes the kid see in me? He’sliterallya virgin, for fuck’s sake. Besides, he’s not here for the long-haul. Once his job is finished and the inauguration’s over, he’s probably heading back to Tallahassee to complete his master’s. Last night he wasn’t exactly jumping all over my suggestion that he could get a job in the administration.

This is a recipe for disaster, right? Worse, it’s a recipe for me to get my heart broken.

Again.

Or to needlessly hurt Elliot.

Yet I’m still here, willing to dive into this indiscretion headfirst, when I already have one complicated situation to deal with that’s likely to remain unresolved for at least the next eight to sixteen goddamnedyears.

I never realized how much of an emotional masochist I must be to do this to myself.

After my first spin around the main level, I realize I’m going to have to go upstairs and search the balconies. On the first landing, I pass another drug deal in progress, a girl who doesn’t even look like she’s legal buying what’s probably E from a skeezy looking guy who’s the closest thing I’ve seen to someone my age since I arrived.

I fight the urge to get in her face and ask if her parents know where the hell she is right now.

Goddammit, Jordan.

Iamgoing to spank that boy’s ass when I get my hands on him.

That thought mentally pulls me up short. No, he’s not “mine” yet, and technically I have no right to lay hands on him.

That doesn’t mean I’m not going to put the fear ofMeinto that boy when I finally locate him and put my hands on him.

Yes, I willdefinitelybe putting my hands on the boy.

Tension sends my pulse spiking as I work my way up the stairs to the second level and start searching. It’s darker up here, and very little in the way of seating.

While it’s still loud in the balcony, at least it’s not bone-jarringly thumpy, since I’m out of the direct line of fire of the speakers.

This isnotfun. In fact, this is the exact opposite of what I would even come close to calling fun.

I would, however, have come with Jordan, had I not needed to work. If I’d had a formal relationship in place with Jordan, I would’ve ordered him to take a cab here and handed him the money from my own pocket, if he couldn’t afford it.

Fuck that.I would have paid someone to come with him, any one of a number of guys I know in the security field who I’d trust to keep him safe.

I pull out my phone and text his personal cell because there’s no way in hell I could hear him even if he did pick up.

Where are you?

I keep my phone in my hand so I can feel it if he replies but I’m not hopeful. If he’s somewhere in the throng downstairs, it’s no wonder he didn’t answer my earlier calls. He probably couldn’t even feel it ringing in his pocket.

The music’s so loud, I’ll be lucky if the damn fillings in my teeth aren’t vibrated loose by the time we leave.