Shadow of Doubt by Linda Poitevin

Author:Linda Poitevin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Michem Publishing
Published: 2018-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

Kate paused inside the door of the bar, her nose wrinkling at the sour odor permeating the air—a mix of stale beer, sweat, and old vomit, if she judged correctly. A steady thud of music vibrated through the floorboards as she scanned the gloomy interior. The place was already half full, even though it was only eleven-thirty in the morning. Her gaze passed over the scattered tables, most occupied by single males, and settled on the stage at their center. A blond, skinny woman gyrated there, clad only in a G-string and a feather boa—neither of which provided enough coverage to count as clothing.

Kate held back a shudder of distaste. The place hadn't changed one iota in the three years since she'd last set foot in it. She just hoped that held true where James Lazarus was concerned.

She looked around as Jonas's shoulder brushed against hers. He stared over her head, brows drawn together, jawline flexing.

"Nice company your informant keeps," he muttered.

She raised an eyebrow at the thread of a snarl running through his voice. "Yours hang out in better places, do they?"

His gaze flicked to hers and away again, and his glower deepened. Kate held back a sigh. His mood had steadily worsened since breakfast, and she suspected he'd been going over their conversation in his mind again. And again and again and again, making more out of it each time he did so. She'd done her best to ignore his ill humor, hoping that if she behaved normally, he would follow suit, but he hadn't, and her patience was beginning to wear thin.

"Why don't you wait—" she began.

"No." His flat gaze returned to her. "No way am I leaving you on your own in here."

She didn't even try to hold back the eye roll. "Oh, for—" she broke off, biting back an epithet that wanted to follow. She debated having—again—the conversation about how she was a cop, but decided it would do no good. Not with Jonas in his current frame of mind.

Gritting her teeth, she turned her back on him and threaded her way through the tables toward a darkened corner, ignoring the assessing male gazes that followed her. She paused to let a waitress pass by to set a drink on a nearby table. The leering man seated there ran his hand suggestively over the woman's mini-skirt-clad backside, and Kate's skin crawled in silent empathy. God, how she remembered those looks and touches. Hell, even some of the clientele themselves looked familiar from her days of working undercover here. One hundred and sixty-seven days, to be exact. She'd counted them.

"How long did you say you worked here?" Jonas growled in her ear.

"Six months, give or take," she replied. She saw him level a glare at the man trying to feel up the waitress, and a spark of mischief made her add, "but only as a waitress, not a dancer."

Jonas's expression darkened even further, but she felt no remorse. Served him right for being so crotchety.

The

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