Page 82 of Extracted

“Hey there,” said a deep voice behind her. She turned and nearly bumped into the dude standing less than a foot away from her back.

She retreated a few inches and gave him a weak smile. “Hello.”

“Are you here with someone, or . . .”

His long, light-brown hair was pulled back into a neat low ponytail. He had a tattoo of an eagle on his neck and wore a plain white T-shirt and jeans. Attractive enough that he’d offer a good cover without making her cringe.

“I’m alone. Want to dance?”

His mouth stretched into a smile. “Damn right.” He held out his arm, and she threaded hers through it.

He wasn’t Dallas. Not for a hot second. But a woman alone in a bar would draw all kinds of attention. At least now she blended with her surroundings.

She let the guy lead her to the dance floor. He stopped in the middle and gyrated to the music, his hands on her back. He dipped his head closer to her ear. “What’s your name?”

Shit.

Since she was currently wanted, she couldn’t exactly be honest. “Felicia,” she called over the music. “Yours?”

“Cory.”

The music blasted, shaking the floor beneath her feet. The lights turned wild and a fog machine blew out a cloud of mist. She coughed and turned her head away from the mixture. Her gaze fell on the hallway.

“The fog is tickling my throat,” she said, grabbing Cory’s arm. “Let’s back up.” She towed him with her until they were at the edge of the dance floor. From here, she had a better view of the hallway. In it was one lone room with a closed door.

Where the hell was Silas? And how was she going to see if he was in the room? With her damn x-ray vision?

The song changed, and Cory pumped his hand in the air. “I love this jam!”

He looped his arm around her waist, turning her so her back was to his front. A ripple of unease rolled down her spine. Dude seemed pretty harmless, but the last thing she wanted was him humping her ass.

Thankfully, he kept his hand on her hip. Still, the position made her want to scurry away.

Focus, Gemma. The sooner you spot Silas, the sooner you can get out of here.

She flitted her gaze around the room and scanned the faces of the guys hanging out around the tables. Then she glanced up and the second floor caught her eye. Booths lined the railing.

Outside the booth close to the east corner, practically above her head, were three guards.

He was there. He had to be.

But the whole point of this mission was to get a visual of his face. No room for error. She continued to dance with Cory—later she’d burn this damn dress—all the while keeping watch on the booth.

One of the guards moved and two men strolled toward him, walking along the length of the railing above the dance floor.

Silas’s dark hair caught her gaze. Yes, yes, yes! It was him. He turned to survey the dance floor. A white bandage covered the right side of his face.

It was definitely him. He’d probably been wounded in the bombing.

She had to get to the bathroom and call Charlene. She took a sip of her drink, ready to turn and tell Cory she needed a minute, but then her attention slipped to the man next to Silas.

His dark hair, olive skin, and muscular build made her freeze.

No.

His gaze fell to the crowd around her, but he didn’t spot her. Pressure climbed up her esophagus, and the fizzy drink expanded in her mouth. The urge to spit it out, to throw up all the liquid in her stomach, pulsed through her, along with the bass.

Dallas was here.

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