Pretty Girl Gone (Mac McKenzie #3)

Pretty Girl Gone (Mac McKenzie #3) Page 16

Miraculously, the Barretts found an empty table and the crowd began to disperse. The hurricane was soon downgraded to a squall and Lindsey was able to sit, which brought an expression of relief to her face.

Only relief soon gave way to something else that I couldn’t name. Lindsey’s face was still as lovely, yet suddenly it seemed hard. I watched her eyes. They were locked on an object far away. I tried to locate it, failed, and then realized that Lindsey wasn’t looking at something, but purposely looking away from something. I had no idea what it could be. I searched the faces of the people around Lindsey until I found one I recognized.

Troy Donovan.

He stood above and behind Lindsey with one hand on the railing of the second-floor balcony while the other gripped the stem of a wineglass. He was watching her, yet his face revealed nothing—neither pleasure nor pain, neither joy nor reproach. It was the million-mile stare that Nina had explained to me, the one that unnerved her so.

I finally bought our drinks and returned to Nina.

“Sorry it took so long,” I told her. “Apparently, the Sixteenth Annual Charity Ball for a Drug-Free Minnesota doesn’t consider alcohol a drug, because there sure are a lot of people lapping it up.” I offered one of the drinks to Nina. “Not that we’re hypocrites or anything.”

“Of course not.” Nina took the drink. “What is this?”

“Vodka martini, shaken not stirred.”

“You didn’t actually order that.”

“Sure, I did. I’m wearing a tuxedo. What else would I drink?”

“What did the bartender say when you ordered it?”

“Oh, he thought it was hilarious.”

“I bet. I hope you tipped him.”

“Does James Bond leave tips?”

“Now that you mention it, in all his movies I don’t think I’ve ever seen him pay for anything.”

“Well, then.”

Nina sipped the drink and shuddered.

“Wow,” she said.

“It might be a tad strong.”

“You’re not trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me, are you, McKenzie?”

“Moi?”

“That’s what I thought.”

I took a sip of my martini and gazed back toward Lindsey Barrett. Barrett had disappeared, leaving his wife in the company of a woman who had joined the table and was waving her arms with great animation. She was wearing what resembled a ballerina’s costume, a fitted slip dress on top and layers and layers of black tulle on the bottom. The dress and waving arms reminded me of a spider. Whatever tale she wove must have been quite enthralling, because Lindsey never looked away from her.

I did lift my eyes, however, scanning the second-floor balcony. Troy Donovan had gone. But he hadn’t gone far.

“What are you doing here?” he wanted to know. Donovan was standing directly behind Nina, speaking to me over her shoulder as if she wasn’t there.

“Good evening,” I replied.

“What are you doing here?”

“Supporting a worthy cause. How ’bout you?”

“You’re being flip.”

“It’s one of my hobbies. Why are you here?”

Donovan chuckled.

“Supporting a worthy cause,” he said.

“And so . . .”

“I apologize,” Donovan said. “To you and your date.” He moved next to Nina and held out his hand. “Good evening, I’m Troy Donovan.”

“Nina Truhler,” she replied, taking his hand.

“Ms. Truhler, if I seemed rude earlier it is because the matter we discussed this afternoon with Mr. McKenzie is quite important to me, to us, and when I found him here I panicked a little.”

“Who is we and what matter did you discuss?” Nina asked.

“You don’t . . . He didn’t . . . Of course not.” Donovan pivoted toward me. I was beginning to think he wasn’t very bright—one of those guys who couldn’t make scrambled eggs without an instruction manual.

I said, “I haven’t discussed our business with Ms. Truhler, but, please, feel free.”

He nodded. His smile reminded me of the blade of a knife gleaming in sunlight and I realized it had been a test. The sonuvabitch had been testing me. Again.

Donovan bowed his head toward Nina and said, “A pleasure to have met you. Have a good evening.”

“You’re not doing a favor for him?” Nina asked when he was out of earshot.

“Not even at gunpoint.”

“Who, then?”

I turned my attention back toward Lindsey. She was sitting at the same table, still listening to the same woman.

“Mac?”

“I can’t say,” I answered absently.

Nina followed my gaze to Lindsey.

“Can I guess?”

“Forgive me, Nina, but there’s something I need to do.” I handed my drink to her. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t forget. You promised to dance with me.”

“I know.”

I walked in a straight line to where Lindsey sat. The woman in the spider outfit said, “That’s not even the half of it—”

“Excuse me,” I said and offered Lindsey my hand. “Mrs. Barrett. Would you care to dance?”

“Mr. McKenzie,” she said. “I would be delighted. Please excuse me, Evelyn.”

Evelyn didn’t seem even remotely happy to have been interrupted, but said, “Of course,” just the same.