"I didn't take Mr. Safin for the sort of man who would frequent a nightclub," Savannah said. "Any chance of us getting in to snoop around a bit?"
"I'll see if Rebecca can have a word with her father," Maxim replied, closing the phone and storing it in the pocket of his riding jacket to examine later. He had a feeling Savannah would want to look at it as well, but not before he got everything he needed from it.
"Rebecca?" she repeated in confusion.
"Her father owns the club. If anyone can get us in, it's her." Maxim turned to discover Savannah was still standing close to him. He gazed down the length of his nose at her, and she returned his look easily, expectantly. It was one thing to say she trusted him-it was another to see it evidenced for himself.
All he ever wanted to do when he looked at her, looking at him like that, was sweep her up in his arms and kiss her until she couldn't even find it in her to trust herself. That was how crazy this woman was starting to make him, and he had a creeping feeling it was only going to get worse the longer he knew her.
"I won't tell her anything else," he continued finally. "Becky already thinks I'm heading back into the mafia and dragging you with me, so my request won't come as a surprise. She'll have some things to say about it, but she won't stop me."
"I'm sorry you can't tell her the truth," Savannah murmured. She surprised him by reaching between them to take his hand in the fading light. He didn't think he imagined the look of regret that passed across her face quickly and wondered if she wished she had mastered the impulse before giving into it. "When this is all over, I promise you can scapegoat me as much as you want to all your friends. Just tell them I … tell them the task force blackmailed you."
He said nothing.
"But it's worth it, right?" she said cheerfully as they broke contact and started back toward his bike. "Aren't you glad I tagged along? I told you that you would need me."
Maxim offered nothing in response to this. The ways he felt himself needing Savannah Casillero were climbing steadily by the hour. He mounted the Nighthawk, and she settled her much slighter weight in behind him, wrapping her slender arms around his waist. He was already getting used to having her on back behind him.
He was already getting used to her, period.
There was a time when Maxim had been a regular at Roza, but he hadn't so much as driven down the block in years. Now, as he parked the Hawk and helped Savannah off, he was surprised to find that he still recognized the bouncer standing guard outside the entrance to the club.
He crossed the street, looping his arm through the arm of the woman at his side. The queue to get in wrapped around the building, but he didn't bother heading for the back of the line; instead, he strode to the front, greeting the security guard with a silent nod of acknowledgement. The other's eyebrows lifted in faint surprise; his surprise was a lot less faint once he got a good look at Savannah. He raised the velvet rope without a word. Nobody at the front of the line dared speak up about the preferential treatment; all eyes were on the couple.
"Well, that was easy," Savannah murmured as they passed across the threshold. "I assume Rebecca called ahead. They must have been expecting you."
"I'm willing to bet you have something to do with it," Maxim replied as he steered her inside. Agent Casillero was wearing a slinky black number that just barely qualified as a dress. She had informed Maxim when he drove her home to change that anything colorful would only draw more unwanted attention to them, but he begged to differ on that point. His presence at Roza was already likely to be noticed and talked about by every club-goer they encountered; having a woman like Savannah on his arm would only raise the gossip factor.
Savannah Casillero could have been wearing a burlap sack, and she would still be the most beautiful thing to enter the establishment that night. Her ombre hair was lushly curled and piled along one shoulder, granting anyone looking a clear view of her new tattoo. Maxim had given her his riding jacket to wear to augment the visual that they were together. She deposited it at the coat check, slipping the burner phone out of the pocket at the last instant and passing it to Maxim. After some rigorous negotiation, she had agreed to leave her firearm at home.
"Now what?" she asked. They stared out over the dark room, pulsing with lights, the walls shaking with the pounding rhythm of the bass. Together, they took in the swimming sea of faces. Maxim recognized many of them; he recognized the look of many more. Roza was still mob territory in every sense of the word, and he had a feeling they would not come away disappointed this evening.