Nightingale (32 page)

“It will?” I asked.

He smiled. “It will. I’ve made some progress regarding the surveillance footage. I don’t recognize the woman, but maybe you will. You seem to know a lot of people in Bigtime.”

A queasy feeling settled into the pit of my stomach. “I’ll give it my best shot,” I said, lying through my teeth.

#

Wesley shut the door and locked it to make sure no one else would wander in. Then, he leaned over his computer and pulled up the surveillance footage from the convention center the night of the O’Hara party. He hit a few buttons and stepped back.

My picture popped up on a dozen monitors.

The camera had caught me as I fled through the front of the center. My eyes fixed straight ahead, my arms pumping at my sides in mid-run. The still, black-and-white photo was grainy, but I recognized myself. I doubted anyone else would, though, except Piper. With my brown hair, green eyes, and pale skin, I don’t have a very memorable face. And I certainly wasn’t anywhere close to gorgeous, as Talon had so fervently claimed in my apartment.

“I’m not sure,” I said, pretending to contemplate the mystery woman. “It’s not a good photo, and you can’t see her face. Just a bit of her nose where it sticks out of her scarf.”

“I know. I just hoped maybe you might recognize her, that you’d know her from
somewhere
.” Frustration tinged his voice. “I ran her DNA and partial prints through every database I could hack into. Nothing. The same thing went for my facial recognition software. All that tells me is she’s never been arrested or fingerprinted. Which, I suppose, is a good thing.”

I tried to keep my tone light and casual. “Is there another reason you want to find her? Other than just getting the flash drive back?”

He froze for a heartbeat and stared at the monitor. I thought he was going to give me the old song-and-dance about thanking the mystery woman for saving him, but he surprised me.
 

“I spent some time with Nightingale while I was recuperating from my injury. I know it sounds crazy, but we talked, we laughed, we connected. That kind of feeling, that kind of emotion, is rare.”

I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “You sound like you care a lot about her.”

He turned his golden eyes to me. “I do care about her. That’s why I want to find her. That’s why I’m
going
to find her.”

There he went with that fierce, princely determination again. That dogged emotion that made me melt. Wesley didn’t mention sleeping with the woman, and I couldn’t bring it up. In a way, it was like I was a superhero—but I could never, ever tell my civilian lover who I really was. He’d be disappointed and angry I’d lied to him—no matter what Piper said.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you. But I’m glad I know who you really are. And—and I wanted to say I had a nice time last night. When you took me home.” I forced out the last few words.

Wesley gave me a small smile. “I did too. Once you quit screaming.”

My mouth dropped open to protest when I realized he was teasing me. “I didn’t scream, so much as whimper.”

A rumble rose up in Wesley’s throat, and he laughed. I joined in, enjoying the sound of us laughing—together. Then, the laughter faded away, and there was nothing left but his eyes on mine, and the tight, hot rush of emotions in my chest.
 

I looked away. “Well, I should be going. Getting back to work.”

“I understand,” Wesley murmured. “I should too. Do me a favor, Abby?”

“What?”

“Be careful,” he said. “Bandit is still out there. Until we find Nightingale and the flash drive, you’re in danger.”

“Don’t worry. I have no desire to run into him again.”

“Good.”

He walked over and opened the door for me, and I grabbed Rascal’s leash. I started to leave but stopped, not wanting to go. Suddenly, I wanted to confess who I really was to Wesley. Give him the flash drive and tell him everything. He deserved to know, even if I could never measure up to his idea of what his mystery woman was. I moved closer and opened my mouth.

Wesley stared down into my face, his golden eyes tracing my features. He looked at me—
really
looked at me—as if he was seeing me for the first time. His gaze darkened to the color of amber.

The intense scrutiny made me nervous, but I plunged ahead. “Wesley, I need to tell you—”

He leaned in and kissed me. His lips touched mine, and my words were lost, swept away by the tingles zipping through my body—tingles that melted into electric heat.
 

I couldn’t quite believe it. Wesley was kissing me—the
real
me.
 

Abby. Not Wren. Not Nightingale.
 

Me. Just me. Only me.

The kiss was soft, gentle, sweet. Nothing like the hard, quick, fevered ones we’d exchanged in my apartment. There was no frenzy here. No hurry. Only his lips and mine—together.

Wesley settled his hands on my hips, his fingers resting on my waist. My hands crept up to his shoulders. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck, yank him toward me, and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. Kiss him with every ounce of feeling I had for him. But I didn’t want to scare him. After all, he really wanted Nightingale. He was probably just kissing me because I was here—because he couldn’t have
her
.

The thought broke my heart, but not enough for me to end the kiss.
 

Wesley’s hand went to my cheek, cupping it. He tilted my head and deepened the kiss. I marveled at his gentle touch. How could a man with such rough hands have such an easy way with them? Wesley’s tongue found mine, and I opened my senses, imprinting every bit of him onto my mind, my heart.
 

His hard fingers against my cheek. His clean, minty smell. The scrape of his stubble against my cheek. His body pressed to mine. The quick catch in his breath. The pounding of his heart under my palm.
 

I knew this would never happen again. Not to Abby Appleby. So, I savored these sensations, these feelings, this one kiss.

Everything was perfect—until Rascal barked.

We froze, lips just touching. Rascal barked again, and we looked down at him. The puppy sat at our feet, wagging his tail. Evidently, he wanted in on the kissing action. I sighed.

Wesley pulled back, dropping his hand from my cheek. I let go of his shoulders. And the perfect moment ended.

His eyes gleamed in his face. “I’m sorry, Abby. I don’t know what came over me. Please accept my—”

“Do
not
apologize,” I snapped. “Say anything you want, but that.”

Surprise filled his features, and he looked at me as if he’d spotted something he’d never seen before. As if I was some strange zoo creature he was peering at through metal bars. A freak of nature. If he only knew what a superfreak I really was. Then, his face cleared and smoothed into an unreadable mask.

“All right,” Wesley said. “I won’t apologize.”

I nodded, not sure what else to say. Not sure I could say anything without telling him everything—including how I felt about him.
 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night at the party,” Wesley said. “Unless I find out some more information before then.”

“Until then.”

“Until then,” he murmured.

I gave him a faint smile, then led Rascal through the hidden door as fast as I could.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“You have to give him the flash drive, and you have to tell him who you really are,” Piper said an hour later. “Not necessarily in that order.”

I leaned back in the chair in my office.
 

“It’s obvious the man is attracted to you,” her voice rang with conviction.

I turned down the volume on my headset. “No, he’s not. He’s attracted to Nightingale. I was just there, a handy pair of lips he could lay into.”

Piper sighed. “You are, without a doubt, the most pessimistic person I know, Abby. You need to have more self-confidence.”

“Why?” I muttered. “So I can screw up my courage and do something stupid, like bare my soul to Wesley, only to have him tell me thanks, but no thanks?”

“No,” she snapped. “So you’ll quit thinking of yourself as invisible. As everyone else’s problem solver instead of your own. You do so much for everyone else, you never stop and do things for yourself, Abby.”

“You’re the pretty one,” I tried to joke. “I’m the one who gets things done. That’s the way it is.”

“No, that’s just the label you put on me—and yourself.”

Piper’s sharp tone cut me like broken glass because what she said was true, and we both knew it. I did think of myself as invisible. And not in a joking sort of way. Being an event planner, being a problem solver, blending into the background, had become more than just how I made my living—it had seeped into every aspect of my life, like a radioactive goo eroding everything, including my own sense of self-worth.
 

“Why do you put up with me and my neuroses?” I asked in a soft voice.

“Because I love you, and somebody has to be around to kick your ass every once in a while.”

My throat closed up. “I love you too.”

“Good,” Piper said. “Now that we’ve got the ass-kicking out of the way, I say we go blow off a little steam. And I know just the thing—karaoke.”

“I don’t feel like karaoke tonight,” I said.

“Of course you do,” she replied. “You
always
feel like karaoke. Now, finish up at work and bring Rascal over to my apartment. It’s time for some singing and drinking. Not necessarily in that order.”

#

Piper and I arrived at The Blues just after seven. The karaoke bar was housed in a brick building on the outskirts of downtown. A line had already formed outside the door as people waited to get in. Three music notes marking the entrance glowed in the darkening night. Their vivid blue color reminded me of Talon’s costume.

Piper and I had discovered The Blues in college. For a five-dollar cover charge, you could drink all the beer you wanted—as long as you sang at least one song. Piper didn’t like to sing, but she didn’t have to. There was always some guy more than happy to buy her a drink. But I actually enjoyed getting up on stage and belting my heart out. It was the only time when people looked at me—even if they were halfway wasted.

Izzy, the tattoo-covered bouncer, gestured at us. We stepped up, and he let us past the blue velvet rope. Piper and I came to the bar at least once a week, so Izzy knew us well and that I could actually sing a bit. And because this was the place where I’d had my unfortunate accident, they had to let us in.

The inside of The Blues
was simple and classy. A long, chrome bar ran along one wall, accented by strings of blue icicle lights. Stairs along either side of the back wall led up to a three-foot-high stage. Sound equipment and racks full of song books crouched in front of the area, while a blue disco ball spun over the top of it. Right now, a college-age girl with pea-green curls warbled out “Hit the Road Jack” by Ray Charles.
 

“Let’s get a drink first,” I shouted over the noise. “I need to talk to Melody anyway about tomorrow night.”

Piper nodded, and we headed in that direction. We waited until a couple of guys in suits tried unsuccessfully to hit on Piper while ignoring me. After she shot them down, we took their places at the bar. I waved to Melody Masters, the owner, and held up two fingers. She waved back.

About three minutes later, Melody deposited a wine spritzer on the bar in front of Piper and a bloody Mary for me.

“Hey, Abby. What’s up?” Melody asked, her voice a little raspy.
 

“Same old, same old. You?”

She grinned. “Same old, same old. But it ain’t half bad.”

Melody’s half bad would have been pretty good for anyone else. She was a tall, lithe woman with short, tousled red hair and sparkling blue eyes. She wore a leather miniskirt, a red bustier, and ankle-high biker boots. Melody looked like she’d been born to be a rock star—and she was trying to make the dream come true.

“We all set for the Weston event tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Yep. Me and the gang have been looking over the play list you gave us. We’re definitely ready to rock.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Within reason,” she added. “Wouldn’t want to give the old guard too much excitement.”

“Exactly, I don’t need anyone having a heart attack while you’re on stage.”

Melody laughed, but the sound devolved into a cough.
 

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You don’t sound so good. You’re not sick, are you?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Just a little something in my throat.”

She grinned again and moved off to take care of a customer at the other end of the bar. I watched her, but Melody laughed and talked with everyone the way she always did.

Piper and I swiveled around on our stools. As we watched the action, I felt myself relaxing. Piper was right. I was in the mood for karaoke. This was my place, and tonight, I wasn’t going to think about Talon, Wesley, Bandit, or what could be on the mystery flash drive. Tonight, I was going to drink, sing, and have a good time.