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They were now moving at a quick clip. And the reason was clear.
Someone had shown up from inside the Planetarium who was none too impressed with the speed of his henchman.
The man was yelling, raising a hand, and threatening to slap one of his goons. Cora studied this figure: blonde hair, gelled back, and earrings as bright as some stars. Teeth glistening too but with a diamond grill.
The blonde man wore a white suit, and every few steps he’d pause to speak with the prettiest girl in line. Then move onto another...and another...
Most of the women appreciated his attention. Most of the men shot nasty looks but were careful only to do it when the blonde man passed by.
As he drew nearer, twenty patrons remained between her and the entrance, Cora could not help but notice the man’s height.
He was at least six-foot-six. Tall, though not particularly built, more like a string bean than a brick house. Initially, she suspected more of them would be allowed entrance into the nightclub. Once they got close to capacity, though, things would slow.
Even as she thought it, with only fifteen left in the line, Cora still at the back, things began to slow. One of the guards was checking a small palm pilot and shaking his head. Nothing apologetic in his gaze, simply math.
He shrugged. A young man at the front of the line was yelling now. “I’ve been waiting two hours! Are you joking? What do you mean there’s no room?”
The woman at his side hastily tugged at his arm, trying to calm him down. But the man didn’t want to calm down. His voice continued to lift to new octaves as he harangued the bouncer. The tall, semi-handsome blonde man was busy laughing with the girlfriend of another customer. But when he heard the yelling, he glanced back.
And that’s when Cora took the opportunity. She slipped forward, bumping “accidentally” into the tall important-looking man from behind. She didn’t knowwhohe was. Didn’t know why people seemed to treat him like the crowned prince of Big-Dealsville.
But what she did know was that when someone’s body language communicated “Pick me, I’m a target,” then it would be silly to let the chance go to waste.
As she bumped into him from behind, she only had time for one pocket.
She went right. The same pocket of the hand he kept waving about or using to graze women’s arms and fingers, touching them as he laughed or shared some joke that he found charming.
As she bumped into the man, he stumbled forward, nearly tripping over a stanchion. At the same time, two guards were moving to intercept the irate customer. Cora’s hand came away from the man’s pocket. She didn’t have a chance to glance at what she’d snared before turning—as if she was nearly falling herself—and slipping the stolen item into the thigh strap at her hip. She’d left the knife in a dumpster behind the dress shop, deciding that the last thing she needed found on her person when entering a place like this was a weapon.
The snatch and grab had gone quickly enough.
Now, as she straightened, she adopted an apologetic, desperate look. She winced, holding up a hand. “So, so sorry! Clumsy me!”
The tall, blonde man frowned as he turned, but when his eyes landed on her, he hesitated. It took him a second to decide how to react. She could watch as he settled on a choice, likely aided by nothing less than the level of attraction he felt to a strange woman. If she’d been a man, or someone he didn’t find particularly attractive, she didn’t doubt he’d start screaming.
Men like this, though, knew exactly how to get what they wanted.
Thankfully, the tactical awareness was mutual.
He adjusted the sleeves of his suit. She now realized the bright, white outfit hung across his otherwise bare chest. Apparently, the man waxed.
“Hello there,” he said, flashing a sudden smile, his lips pulling back.
Cora adjusted her dress, feeling exposed all of a sudden. At the same time, she shifted her leg to make sure whatever she’d just taken didn’t stand out against her thigh while speaking to the man.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he said softly, watching her with some amount of curiosity.
She gave a quick nod, her gaze sweeping past him to survey where the guards were. Two were busily escorting the struggling, aggressive young man to the curb—none to gentle about it.
Taking her lack of eye contact for shyness, the man reached out, his finger trailing against her chin as if to redirect her gaze. She frowned at the touch but resisted the urge to snap the finger off. Instead, she tilted her chin, allowing him to guide it.
“You look important,” she said conversationally. “You don’t happen to know the owner of the club, do you?”
He chuckled now, letting his finger linger against her cheek for a moment. He stared at her through hooded eyes as if studying a hunk of beef.
“No,” he said softly. “I can’t say that I do.” He chuckled, and a couple of men behind him hid grins as well.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, trying to keep her tone playful rather than irritated.
