Page 78 of Her Wolf

Wanna party?

They’d almost arrived at the ballroom when Cora heard Finn murmur, “You get hold of Lars?” behind her back.

Her skin prickled with unease. She turned, staring at Bailey as he and Finn slowed.

Bailey shook his head. “Should we be worried?”

“Yes,” Finn said. “He should have been here by now.”

“Maybe he saw us leaving the den,” Bailey said, turning to scan the crowd. “Thought the meeting was over.”

“No.” Finn glanced at Cora, and she could see the concern in his eyes.

She stepped closer, laying a hand on his chest. “Go. Bailey will stay with me.”

“I can’t leave—” Finn began.

“I said go.” Cora intensified her gaze, willing Finn to listen to her.

It worked. That, or he was really worried about Lars. He grabbed Bailey’s arm, turning him around. “You don’t let her leave your sight.” He unclipped Bailey’s radio from his belt and thumped it into the man’s chest as he moved past. “And keep checking in.”

“Sure,” Bailey said, but Finn was already moving through the crowd. Or, more accurately, the crowd was moving around him like a river around a partly-submerged boulder.

“Come on,” Cora said, tugging at the sleeve of Bailey’s suit. “Let’s go dance.”

It was that, or stand here worrying until Finn came back. And her stomach was already queasy with wondering where the hell Lars had disappeared to.

Maybe he was in the bathroom. Bad caviar or something. The meeting had only lasted like ten minutes—

The thought cut off, eviscerated by the feel of someone’s eyes on her.

Cora spun around, searching the crowd. Everyone wore a mask, making it impossible to tell who was merely facing in her direction, and whose eyes were fixed on her.

She shrugged her shoulders, walking a little faster.

“What’s the rush?” Bailey called, grasping her wrist so she’d slow down.

“I want to dance,” she called back, knowing she sounded like a petulant child, but not caring.

It wasn’t that the gaze had been unsettling; quite the opposite. It reminded her of how she felt every time she dreamed about that man in the restaurant. The one who’d sketched her.

The—quite possibly—DEA agent.

“Hey, did you speak to your guy yet?” Cora asked, halting on the edge of the dance floor.

Music thumped around them. Bailey ducked his head, putting his mouth by her ear as he yelled, “What?”

“Your guy!” Cora let out a frustrated growl and tugged Bailey into one of the small alcoves dotting the ballroom, sliding into the faded velvet booth.

“And now?” Bailey asked, sliding in beside her.

“Your guy. The one who has connections in the DEA.” Cora gripped Bailey’s hand, squeezing it. “Did you speak to him?”

Bailey cleared his throat. “Her, actually.”

Cora blinked, her chin moving back an inch. “I thought you said it was a guy?”

“I, uh…I’m still waiting to hear back,” Bailey said.

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