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Cigarette smoke hung in the air so thickly that the stage lights occasionally showed faint billows. A man in an impeccably white suite stepped out from behind the curtain as a buxom woman wearing nothing but sequins sashayed off the stage.
Cass sat back in her chair. Her drink, untouched in front of her, was beaded with moisture in the dim of the corner she sat in. She was filling in for Agent Picton’s usual handler, who had come down with a severe allergy to cigarette smoke.Lucky him, she thought sourly. She disliked these assignments, but her presence might eventually make the difference between life and death for Picton, who was chasing down some truly nasty customers from her cover as a lounge singer. Cass hadn’t had a chance to meet with Picton before tonight, but they were supposed to meet up after close tonight, and Cass would use the evening to case the club. Picton was new, an import from Ferelden, and Cass had heard good things about her.
The man in the white suit strode through clouds of blue smoke and mopped his forehead with a cloth. Meeran, you almost make me wish I was back in vice. I would bust your ass so hard your kids would see stars. Rafe Meeran was as crooked as they came, but he wasn’t Cass’s problem tonight.
He took the microphone in his hand and grinned. “Let’s have a hand for the marvelous Lynne,” he said, and got scattered applause in response. “And now, ladies and gentleman, I have a treat for you. All the way from Val Royeaux, I give to you…Sister Nightingale!”
More applause, and Meeran adjusted the microphone and stepped offstage. Out from behind the curtain stepped a woman in a blue dress, red hair tumbled around her shoulders. Cass’s eyes widened. This was Agent Picton?
The dress was slit down to her navel, and she wore it like a second skin, her hips shifting as she stepped up to the microphone. There were a few whistles from the crowd, and more applause. She picked up the microphone and smiled behind it as if she were thinking of something sensual and secret. “Thank you,” she said, her Orlesian accent, and inclined her head towards the band. “Boys, if you would be so inclined.”
The band struck up a slow rhythm, the piano player caressing his keys. Picton took a breath, smiled at the audience, and began to sing.
“Are you feeling a little desperate
Get on your knees and confess it
Honey please don’t second-guess it
You’re desperate for love”
She strolled around the stage, her voice pouring like honey through the speakers. The lights caught the blue in her eyes, and Cass couldn’t look away. Picton leaned forward, meeting the eyes of a man sitting near the stage, purring “The kitchen faucet just drips and drips” into the microphone. Cass shifted in her seat, and picked up her drink.
Do your job, Pentaghast.
She tried to watch the crowd, but her eyes kept on returning to the woman on stage, lit up like a cool bonfire in her silky gown. She tossed back her drink, trying not to imagine what it would feel like to run her hands over that silk and the skin beneath it. She didn’t usually do this. She was a professional.
Apparently right until someone puts you in charge of protecting a redhead with that voice.
There was an instrumental section, and Picton sashayed back to the stool in the middle of the stage. Her gaze flickered over the crowd, a small smile living at the corners of her mouth. When the hook came around again, she lifted the microphone again, and once again that honeyed voice spilled out of her.
“It’s ridiculous and sublime
it’s a poem that don’t always rhyme”
She lifted her eyes to the back corner where Cass sat. She knew Picton couldn’t see her, but it felt like their eyes met, and for a moment, the space of a few measures, she was singing directly to Cass.
“But this could be your once upon a time
You’re desperate for love
You’re desperate for love.”
She smiled secretively as the piano finished with a flourish and thunderous applause broke out in the club. “Thank you,” she murmured into the microphone. “You are all too kind.” She winked at them and stepped back, behind the curtain.
Meeran came forward and said, “Put your hands together again for Sister Nightingale! Isn’t she amazing, gentlemen?” He then went on to introduce the next act, a dancer, but Cass wasn’t paying attention. There was a heavy warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach, and her hand tightened on her wet glass. Get ahold of yourself. She signaled for another drink.
This was going to be an…interesting assignment.