Page 52 of Conrad

Rex, the superfan who’d invited them in and bought the story Conrad had fed him about needing some publicity photos.

Felicity would go wild. They selfied in front of the black dance floor under disco lights, and in one of the round white-leather booths that circled the floor, and at the media console that looked down on the masses, the DJ giving them peace fingers, and even in the private balcony, where Rex got into the picture.

Penelope drew the line at the dance platforms, thank you. But this was clearly not a wasted date, and she had to admit, Conrad was clever. And hungry.

Now, while Conrad chatted, she wandered around and took “publicity” shots, which conveniently included the security.

She counted seven men, not all of them fitting Janet’s rather loose description, but maybe the woman would recognize one. Because of course she’d recognize a man from three years ago that she’d seen running from a building in the shadowy night, his back to her.No problem.

Penelope slid onto a high-top chair beside Conrad, and he glanced over his shoulder. “Hey. Get what you needed?”

She grabbed a wing. “How hot are these?”

“It’ll take the roof off your mouth,” said Rex. He wore his dark hair short and had a shade of whiskers, and rings on his fingers.

“I think I’ll wait until dinner.” She set her chin on Conrad’s shoulder, just in case someone might be a social-media follower. “Where are we going? Or are you too full?”

He hadn’t even jerked at her intimate gesture, so game well played. Instead, he wiped his fingers with a wet wipe. “Are you kidding?” He stood up. “Thanks, Rex.”

“You should come by when we’re actually open,” Rex said. “I’ll put you in the VIP stand.”

“You too. You ever want tickets, reach out. I’ll set you up.” Conrad shook Rex’s hand, then held his out to Penelope.Oh,they were still onstage. She took it, let him lead her outside.

“Get the shots?”

“Already sent to Janet. We’ll see if she gets a hit.”

Outside, the night had started to pitch the streets, lights puddling the icy sidewalks. Her breath caught in the cool air despite the nearly above-freezing temperatures. She needed a vacation, pronto. Probably someplace in the Caribbean. She could follow Tia to her remote-island gig.

“Were you serious about dinner?” Conrad asked, leading her around the back to the parking lot.

“You’re actually hungry?”

“I’m a hockey player. I’m always hungry.”

They emerged from the alleyway into the lit lot. When they’d arrived, a delivery truck had blocked the back entrance, so he’d parked away from the door, on the other side.

Now, he slowed as he came up to his car.

She saw it too . . . Glass speckled the pavement, and as they drew closer . . .

“Someone vandalized my car.”

The driver’s-side window had been shattered, the steering wheel sheared off the mount. The front windshield, too, bore a spiderweb.

He dropped her hand. “What?”

She stepped closer, and her foot crunched glass. “Who would do this?”

“C’mon.” He took her hand, pulled her away, back toward the club, nearly running.

“Conrad—what?—”

“Listen.” He pulled her into the alleyway, turned to her, almost pushing her back against the wall, his gaze fierce on hers. “I don’t know, but this feels . . .” His jaw tightened.

And right then, she heard his words, the ones that now formed in his eyes, the ones he’d spoken just a couple nights ago, brutal and sharp inside her—“You, Penelope Pepper, are the connection.”

Her mouth opened.

---