Page 28 of Secrets of the Six

Chapter 10

Ines

I'm engulfed by festive music, a cacophony of laughter, and the sound of clinking glasses as the bartender fills orders like a madman. Much to my delight, and my dismay, the bar is popular so there's not much room to move seamlessly through the sea of bodies. Despite the difficulty, I sift my way to the bar at the center of the room and by the grace of the Saints, whom I don't believe in, I find an empty barstool and claim it before anyone else can. Being in the center of the tavern will make finding Salvador a little bit easier, if he's indeed in the bar and hasn't flitted off somewhere else. But it also means, he has an equal chance of spotting me, although he isn't on alert and may very well miss me.

"What can I get for you?" The bartender abandons the drinks he's pouring to slide over to grab my order.

I shrug my cloak off my shoulders since the heat of all the bodies in such a small area is suffocating. With nowhere to hang the cloak, I'm tempted to abandon it on the floor and let someone else claim it once I leave.

The bartender extends his hand, and I glare, unsure of his intentions.

"I'm guessing there's no room to hang your cloak at the front. I'll place it back here if you prefer."

The tension in my shoulders release and I will a charming smile to my face as I shrug the stolen coat off my person and hand it to him. "Thank you, Señor…?"

He grabs my offering and places it beneath the counter, waving off my pleasantries. "No formalities here. I'm Shaw."

"Should I assume you're the Jaded Fox?" I giggle, hoping I can flirt my way into some information concerning Salvador.

His bright, wide grin shows off the dimples in his tawny-brown skin and draws a genuine smile from me. There's something infectious about his hospitality. Now I see why his bar is so crowded. He probably knows all his patrons by name and makes them feel as if their numerous troubles don't matter here.

"The one and the same." His deep voice dances around me like a welcoming embrace. When the music picks up in pace, people cheer and start singing along, so he leans closer and says, "I haven't seen you here before. Are you out by yourself?"

With my guard once again engaged, I start to wonder who is interrogating whom? Shaw is far too charming and charismatic for his own good and has more than likely smooth-talked Dons and Doñas out of their deepest, darkest secrets. He is supposed to be the pawn in my snooping game, not the other way around.

I shrug a shoulder and reuse a lie I tried and failed on Salvador. "I just needed a little fresh air."

He clicks his tongue, his hazel eyes dancing in mischievous delight. "Ah, you must be one of the elites sneaking out for a night of unchaperoned fun. I don't blame you. It's a stuffy world you live in. I'm gathering you aren't sure what you want to drink then?"

If Shaw wants to paint me as a naive damsel in need of guidance, then so be it. I can play that part well. I avert my gaze, allowing my cheeks to redden in feigned embarrassment.

"Is it that obvious?" I peer up at him through my lashes and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "I was trying to blend in."

Shaw roots his elbows to the wooden counter and whispers, "Your secret is safe with me. But if you want to fit in, flirt a little."

I crinkle my nose, but immediately smooth my features, remembering I'm playing a part. "Flirt?"

"Yeah," he bobs his head and wipes his hands with a towel. "I bet if you flirt with the next man who sits down, you'll get a free drink."

"And what would he expect for that drink, I wonder?"

My question catches him off guard but then he laughs. "Nothing you aren't willing to offer. If anyone gives you trouble, you let me know and I'll handle it."

I dip my head in subservient understanding. "Thank you, Señor."

"It's Shaw, remember?"

"Shaw," I smile.

An abrupt ruckus at the far end of the u-shaped bar beckons Shaw to handle the unruly customers, but before he walks away, he taps the counter in front of me twice and says, "I'll be back."

With the bartender finally out of my hair, I allow my eyes to glide across the room, hoping to catch sight of Salvador. Funny enough, I see plenty of men I recognize from the files Doña Otero had me commit to memory before burning, but they are tomorrow's problem. My focus is on Salvador and what he's doing here and who he's meeting.

Frustration begins to pool in the pit of my stomach.

I don't see him. But that doesn't mean he's not here. I've only ever seen part of his face. He could be sitting next to me, and I wouldn't know it.

A hiccup to my left draws my attention to the man occupying the barstool beside me, who is turning an unnatural shade of green. Before I can ask if he's alright, he leaps from his seat and sprints toward the front door, shoving men and women out of his pathway, barely making it outside before emptying the contents of his stomach.