Page 85 of Illusive
Ronan selected a table near the stage and bar, which also put them close to the entrance. Snagging a handful of napkins from a metal dispenser on the table, he pulled out a chair for his sister. He wiped the seat, worried about Claudy dirtying her elegant cream-colored dress. Jules followed suit with his own chair.
Claudette sat gingerly, making sure not to touch the back. “Please explain why we’re visiting this dump.”
“They have live music from four to seven.”
Jules arched a sardonic brow. “If you’re looking for Vidal Records’ next breakout performer in this place, you’ve no business running a record label.”
Ronan gave a gentle tug on one of the dark curls spilling down Claudette’s back. “What do you want to drink?”
She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Since I have doubts about the cleanliness of glassware in this place, I’ll stick to light beer in the bottle.”
“Moi aussi,” Jules said, making eye contact with a table of women wearing not much more than bikini tops and miniskirts.
Ronan weaved through the tightly packed tables to the bar and ordered three of the same.
A few more people wandered in while the heavily made-up female bartender filled his order. When she leaned forward to set the bottles on the scarred wooden bar top, her breasts overflowed the tightly laced corset she wore and threatened to escape their confinement. She gave him a saucy wink.
When Ronan returned to the table, Claudette was looking at her phone.
She glanced up when he set the bottles down. “Does Ireland not want to see you? Is that why we’re killing time in this place?”
His lips pursed as he considered what to say and how honestly to say it. “I spoke out of turn earlier and pissed her off,” he admitted. “But she didn’t break it off between us, which I’m fairly sure she would’ve done with any other man, so I’ll head her way after this and hope I can grovel enough to sweeten her temper.”
Jules shook his head as he lifted the bottle to his lips. “I really wish I could enjoy watching you finally struggle to woo a woman.”
Ronan’s sidelong glance made his brother grin.
The table of women toasted each other with inebriated shouts before tossing back what looked to be shots of tequila.
Claudette set her hand over Ronan’s. “Again, why in hell are we here?”
He licked a cold drop of beer from his lip. “We’re not the only ones who’ve set their sights on the Vidals, petite sœur. And one of those other people the police should be talking to will be here any minute now.”
“And what are you thinking you’ll do when they get here?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Jules straightened with alarm. “You don’t think this person has anything to do with her kidnapping, do you? You shouldn’t be anywhere near anyone you evensuspectis capable or culpable of the abduction! Do youwantto be seen as guilty by association?!”
“Calm yourself, Jules. I just want to get a better look at him.”
“Was Ireland intimate with this man recently?” Claudette asked, her face a mask of worry. “Is that really what this is about?”
Ronan ignored the question because it irritated him to even think of Ireland with anyone else. “I saw the man only briefly the night I met her in Jazzie’s, but I don’t like the way he looked at her. He wants to hurt her. Perhaps not physically, but certainly in every other way. And Ireland humiliated him that night, in front of the woman he was with, which added fuel to the fire.”
His sister winced. “I know the kind of nasty fellow you’re describing. But, Ronan, you’re in a precarious position. You can’t afford to get into any trouble, and that’s what this is—it’s you looking for trouble.”
Positioned so that he faced the front door and the stage beside it, Ronan saw Graham Teller the moment the man passed in front of the window. A moment later, Teller entered the bar with a guitar case in one hand and the hand of his blonde girlfriend, Gail, in the other.
“That’s him?” Jules asked. “If so, Ireland’s taste in lovers has improved considerably.”
Ronan’s mouth curved. “Merci, beau-frère.”
“Tais-toi, fonchock. This is complete foolishness.”
Teller was dressed like a stereotypical rocker in black leather pants with open stitching down the sides and a black vest over his otherwise bare chest. Adorned in a profusion of necklaces and braided bracelets, he had sleeves of tattoos covering both arms and eyeliner rimming his blue eyes. Gail wore a sleeveless denim dress that barely covered her nipples at the top and threatened to show her butt cheeks on the bottom. She was fit, her muscles clearly defined all over her body, which made her breast implants very obvious.
While it was easy to see that Gail was pretty, gauging another man’s attractiveness was not a skill Ronan had. Still, he tried to assess Teller with some objectivity and concluded that he’d describe the man as pretty, too. The musician also had an air of arrogance, which could be mistaken for confidence.
