Would they waltz over his body the same way? Playing silent songs that drove him wild?
He turned his head away, scowling at the distraction. Idiot. He needed to keep his head in the game.
Picking up his beer, he wandered toward the back of the pub. Safer there. He wouldn't be able to see Cilla. Wouldn't be distracted by her. Miss a deal going down in the pub.
Cilla had done a great job getting ready for this gig. Now it was time for him to do his job.
He leaned against a wall and watched Tiffany. She was talking to a woman at the bar, laughing with her as she sipped a martini. That grabbed his attention.
He hadn't seen Tiffany talk to any women last week. She'd focused completely on the men.
Was her friend an escort, too?
Brendan watched for several minutes, until Tiffany set her empty glass on the counter and moved away from the other woman. He waited until Tiffany disappeared into the crowd, then slid into the empty spot beside her friend.
"Hey," he said, setting his beer on the bar. "I'm Brendan."
The woman smiled at him. "Holly," she said. She tilted her head and studied him. "I haven't seen you here before."
"Just found the place last weekend," he said easily. "Liked it so much I came back this weekend."
"Welcome, then." Holly took a drink of her beer. She had medium length curly blond hair and a pleasant face. Not drop-dead gorgeous, but striking. Memorable. A full mouth, wide eyes, a killer smile. "Lots of people here on weekends."
"Yeah? You been coming here for awhile?"
She lifted one shoulder. "Long enough to recognize the regulars." Her gaze slid over him. "Are you going to be a regular?"
He didn't see even a tiny flicker of interest in her eyes. Brendan's gaze sharpened. That didn't fit with this crowd.
"I'm coming back next weekend," he said, keeping his tone easy. "Does that count?"
"Three weekends in a row?" Her eyes drifted over him again, then she turned away to pick up her martini. "Good looking guy like you? I'd say you're in."
"Good to know." Clearly, Holly wouldn't be fighting over him with Tiffany. He settled one elbow on the bar. "So what do you do, Holly? When you're not at the Pipe and Shamrock?"
"I'm a physical therapist. How about you?"
"I work in the IT department of a big company in the loop." He shrugged. "Kind of a boring job."
"Not if you like it." Instead of leaning closer and giving him a view of her cleavage, as he expected, she eased away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. "And you don't seem like a boring guy."
"Hope not. Boring is the kiss of death." Under other circumstances, he might spend more time with Holly. Get to know her. Figure out what made her tick.
Get her story.
But he wasn't here to pick up women. He was here to pick their brains. Without them realizing it.
Holly was apparently indifferent. He'd said he was coming back. She hadn't said she'd like to see him there.
Not the reaction he expected in a pick-up bar.
Instead of flirting, she was distancing herself.
And she'd been talking to Tiffany. What was up with that?
Maybe it was time to stir the pot.
His heart rate picked up, and he tapped his fingers on the bar. Then, remembering Cilla's question about his 'typing', he forced himself to stop.
"What do you do for fun when you're not at the Pipe and Shamrock?" he asked her.
"This and that. I don't spend all my free time here."
"Yeah? Where else do you go?"
"I go to clubs sometimes. Places where I can dance. Let my hair down."
Brendan's heart beat a little harder. "Around here?"
"Most of the good places are downtown."
"You know it." He shifted a little closer to Holly. "I used to go to a club downtown myself. Close to where I work. I liked the noise, the action, the crowd. But a guy died of an overdose a few weeks ago." He shook his head. "Too many cops there now. Asking a lot of questions."
Her hand tightened around her glass for a long moment, then relaxed. "That's scary."
"It is. This place is different. A lot more quiet. Don't think anyone has to worry about overdoses here."
She raised one eyebrow. "You don't have to go to a fancy club to get drugs. You can find them anywhere. Even in this white bread neighborhood."
"Probably true, if you're looking for them."
"Yeah." Her expression was calculating. "You don't have to look too hard, either." She stirred her drink with the toothpick holding its three olives. "You sit and watch long enough, you have a pretty good idea who's dealing."
It couldn't be this simple. "Yeah?" He scanned the crowd in the club, wondering who she was talking about. "Any of them here tonight?"
She snorted as she lifted the martini glass. "I'm not that stupid. You want to buy something, figure it out for yourself."
He'd approached Holly, made conversation with her, given her an opening to flirt with him. But she hadn't taken it. It sure didn't seem like she was here to pick up a guy.
So why did Holly come here every weekend?
He straightened, his fingers tightening on the pint glass. Something about Holly was off. Was she selling drugs? Was she an escort?
He scanned her face again, imprinting it in his memory. He'd point her out to Cilla tonight. Look through some mug shots tomorrow.
He'd keep an eye on her at the Pipe and Shamrock.
He waved over Holly's shoulder, as if someone had signaled him. "See a guy I met last week. I'm gonna go say hi. Nice to meet you, Holly. I'll see you around."
"I'll be here," she said. She leaned against the bar. "Every weekend."
He nodded. He would be, too. And he'd be watching her.
Brendan wandered off, waving as if he was hailing a friend. He glanced over his shoulder and found Holly watching him. He nodded at her, smiled, and waited until she turned back to her drink before he slid through the crowd, hiding himself from Holly's gaze.
The band had started playing. He'd gradually make his way toward the front of the room. Time to solidify his standing as one of the guys crushing on Cilla.
* * *
As Cilla set up her keyboard and fiddled with her mic, she glanced over at Phil, the guitar player furthest away from her. His eyes looked glassy, and he fumbled as he tried to plug the jack into his guitar.
She leaned toward Keith. "Everything okay with Phil?" she asked quietly.
The drummer shook his head. "No. He's had a few drinks, but he's a pro. Once we start playing, he'll snap out of it. Be okay."
"Hope so," Cilla said, watching the guitar player. Phil had had more than a few drinks. "He's really good, and we have a big crowd tonight. Don't want to disappoint them."
"He won't." Keith adjusted the angle of his snare drum and shrugged. "I've seen him worse."
"Right. You guys know him better than I do."
"Yeah." Keith leaned closer. She wasn't sure if it was to share something quietly or stare at her cleavage. "You did a great job last night, by the way. Not sure if we told you. You want to do any singing tonight?"
"Not tonight," she said easily. "I like to sing, but this is only my second night. Let me get comfortable with you guys first. Learn your style, the songs you like to play. You know? I don't want to step on anyone's toes."
Keith's expression softened. "Think that's the first time I've ever heard that in a band. Most people want to stand out."
She shrugged. "I do, too. But this is your band and your gig. I'm here to support you."
"Nice to hear." He was actually looking at her face. "But jump in anytime."
"Maybe I'll do some harmony tonight."
He nodded. "That'd be great."
A few minutes later, George played the first notes of the first song on the playlist. Cilla glanced at Phil, who seemed to have gotten it together. She jumped in and glanced at the audience. A lot of men were clustered in front of the stage.
She suppressed a smile. Men were so easy. She'd have plenty of guys to talk to at the break.
.
Four songs later, the crowd in front of the stage had increased. Brendan was there, in the background. His eyes fixed on hers. He lifted his beer and took a sip without looking away.
She shivered, even though the spotlights were hot. What would it be like to have all that intensity focused on her in a more private setting?
Cilla jerked her attention away from him. She didn't have to work to draw Brendan in. That was part of the job, and she was confident he'd play his role. Just like she'd play hers.
She let her gaze drift from one of the men to the next, making brief eye contact with as many of them as possible.
Not Nick Romano, though. She scanned the crowd again and didn't see him. Wonder what Brendan thinks about that?
Maybe he'd noticed Romano somewhere else in the pub. She'd ask him at the break, if she got a chance.
Then she glanced at the keyboard and focused on the music.
They were playing a Tom Petty song, and Phil was taking the lead. He sounded good, his voice strong, his guitar playing masterful.
After the second round of the chorus, though, his voice faltered. As if he'd forgotten the lyrics. There was one awkward moment of silence. Then, without thinking, Cilla picked up where Phil had left off.
Her voice was weak at first, but as she sang, it got stronger. She had been telling Keith the truth – she liked to sing. But it had been a long time since she'd sung in public. Usually, she only sang along to the radio or her iPod.
She pretended that having her sing the final verse and chorus had been the plan all along. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught George's appreciative glance. Keith's nod. Only Phil didn't respond.
He swayed on his seat, his face pasty.
When the song ended, a cheer arose from the crowd gathered at the front of the stage. Keith reached a fist over to her, and she bumped it with her own.
"Thanks for saving his worthless ass," Keith muttered.
George nodded to her. "Nice job," he said quietly.
"Not a problem." She swallowed once, wishing she had a glass of water for her suddenly dry throat. "He okay?"
"He will be." George's voice was hard. "I'll sober him up at the break." He pointed a finger at her, and she straightened her shoulders. Was he going to tell her she'd overstepped? "And you," George said. "We need you to sing. You've got a great set of pipes. And they," he jerked his head at the crowd, "loved it."
Brendan stood behind several people, leaning against the bar as he took another sip of his beer. She had no trouble interpreting his expression. He wasn't even trying to hide his desire as he stared at her.
Answering desire swept through her, and she didn't look away. Their gazes locked for a long moment, then George played the first notes of the next song.
Her face flamed as she dropped her gaze to her keyboard. They were putting on a good show. Exactly as they were supposed to do.
But she was afraid it was more than a show. The heat on her face, the quiver in her belly, felt too damn real. And that was a problem.
Chapter 5
After she stepped in for Phil, she sang a few more songs and the crowd in front of the stage cheered wildly after each one. She didn't have any illusions they were applauding her vocal abilities.
When she finally stepped off the sage for the first break, Cilla waited for Brendan to approach her, but he couldn't get close. Too many guys had pressed close to the stage. Cilla had to fight her way to the bar, using her elbows when some of them got too close.
All of them wanted to buy her a drink. Ignoring the shouts, she chose one guy at random, drinking deeply when the bartender set an iced tea in front of her. Suddenly, three more arrived and the bartender offered a quick grin.
Her lips twitched. She hoped Rick appreciated the way she was generating tips for him.
She chatted briefly with every guy who was close enough to hear her, sighing in relief when George signaled it was time to start the second set. As she stepped onto the stage, she noticed that Phil's hair was dripping wet. Darker spots dotted the black fabric of his tee shirt, and he seemed more alert. Clearly, George had tried to sober him up.
By the time George set his guitar down for the second break, the crowd had thinned. This time, Brendan was waiting when she stepped off the stage. He held out a hand to help her down, and his fingers tightened on hers for a long moment before he let her go.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he murmured into her ear.
His breath stirred the hair at her temple and made her skin quiver. Heat flushed up her chest and onto her face. She wanted to say it was the heat from the spotlights, but she never lied to herself.
It was Brendan.
Her instincts whispered to move away from him. Instead, she edged a little closer. "I'd love that," she murmured, her voice low and a little raspy from singing.
Loud enough, though, that the other hovering men heard her.
Their faces fell and they retreated to the bar. Rick had her iced tea ready, and Brendan handed him some bills. She took a long drink, easing her parched throat, and then leaned closer.
"You see Romano anywhere tonight?" she breathed into his ear.
"Nope." Brendan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and her shiver was real. She didn't have to fake her reaction to him. "I checked a few times. He's not here."
"Too bad. I had hopes for him." She eased away and held his gaze while she fumbled for the plastic glass that held her iced tea. She was afraid the sappy 'thank you' smile wasn't faked, either.
"You never know," he said, his voice strumming across her nerves like velvet on skin. He leaned in a little closer, and she realized the men surrounding them were all listening. "There's still time."
"I guess we'll see, won't we?" She drew one finger down the condensation on the glass, leaving a crooked line behind. "Maybe something will...go down tomorrow night."
Brendan froze. One of the guys behind her groaned. She pretended she didn't hear him and leaned closer to Brendan.
His eyes darkened as he held her gaze. "I hope you're right."
Cilla put her hand on Brendan's shoulder. His heat burned through the thin material of his blue dress shirt.
"Me, too," she whispered. Her hand involuntarily tightened on his shoulder, then she spotted George and Phil. She let Brendan go and straightened. "Looks like it's time to get back to work."
Phil stepped onto the stage and stumbled, almost crashing into her keyboard. George shoved him toward his seat, saying something to Phil in a low voice. It was impossible to hear what George said, but Phil swallowed and nodded.
"Help you with your equipment later?" Brendan asked, loud enough for other people to hear.
She turned away from George's scowl and Phil's whipped puppy expression and smiled at Brendan. "I'd like that." Then she turned and stepped onto the stage.
Phil had picked up his guitar and was playing some chords. Tuning up, just like she did before she began playing. She leaned toward George. "Everything okay with Phil?"
"Hope so," he said, his voice raspy from years of singing. "Should have dunked the dumb shit again, but I was too pissed off. Was afraid I wouldn't let him up." He glanced at the other guitar player and his mouth tightened. "We're going to have a conversation tomorrow."
"Yeah, sounds like he needs someone to straighten him out."
George eyed her for a moment. "You know any guitar players?"
Her sister played the guitar. But that would be complicated. Olivia was a DA. She'd prosecuted a lot of people. The chance of someone recognizing her might be small, but why risk it? "I know some people," she said casually. "But you and Phil have been playing together for a long time, right? Maybe you should give him a second chance."
George nodded once, and his expression hardened. "We all get wasted once in a while. But the rest of us don't do it before a gig. I'll kick his ass later."
Then he fixe
d an assessing gaze on her. "No way are you a full-time musician. Or you'd jump at the chance to get your buddy a job. Jump at the chance to sing, too, and we had to twist your arm. You're too nice to be a pro. What's your day job?"
She lifted one shoulder. "I work in an office. In a cubicle. Boring as hell."
"You interested in a long-term gig?"
"I might be," she said cautiously. "But what about your regular keyboard player?"
"You're better than Jerry. And a bigger draw." He nodded to the crowd in the pub. "We should talk sometime."
"Sure."
She turned away to adjust her keyboards, trying hard not to grin like an idiot. She loved being a police officer, in spite of her current status as an untouchable in the department. She had no desire to be a full-time musician.
But, damn! It felt good to be asked.
Two hours later, Cilla was packing up her keyboards and equipment and the pub was emptying. Just like the night before, most people were leaving in pairs.
A woman left by herself. Out of the corner of her eye, Cilla saw Brendan lift his chin at the blond. She took a better look, memorized her features. She'd get the story from him later.
As the blond disappeared through the door, Cilla watched several men heading for the door together. Clearly friends, they were complaining to each other about the poor eyesight and lack of taste in the women at the Pipe and Shamrock.
Two of them had been hanging around in front of the stage, trying to catch her eye. They'd been pissed off when she hadn't taken her up on their drink offers. Cilla bit her lip to hide a smile. Those bros needed an attitude adjustment, but she wasn't going to be the one to deliver it. Her job was to catch a dirtbag drug dealer.
One of the two guys shot her a dirty look as he passed the stage. She smiled at him, which made him scowl. He shoved his buddy into the door frame and pushed outside ahead of him.
Her smile faded. She'd keep her eye on Angry Bro.
She'd mention him to Brendan, too. Guys with anger issues could create havoc on undercover jobs.
Finally, there were only a few stragglers left. She hadn't seen Brendan for a while, and her heart rate quickened as she wondered if he'd found a lead. Had he gone out into the parking lot during the last set? She hadn't seen him leave, but she hadn't been watching every single moment. Occasionally, she'd gotten caught up in a song and realized too late she hadn't been paying attention.
Cover Me (The Donovan Family Book 5) Page 4
