They’d almost arrived at the ballroom when Cora heard Finn murmur, “You get hold of Lars?” behind her back.

Her skin prickled with unease. She turned, staring at Bailey as he and Finn slowed.

Bailey shook his head. “Should we be worried?”

“Yes,” Finn said. “He should have been here by now.”

“Maybe he saw us leaving the den,” Bailey said, turning to scan the crowd. “Thought the meeting was over.”

“No.” Finn glanced at Cora, and she could see the concern in his eyes.

She stepped closer, laying a hand on his chest. “Go. Bailey will stay with me.”

“I can’t leave—” Finn began.

“I said go.” Cora intensified her gaze, willing Finn to listen to her.

It worked. That, or he was really worried about Lars. He grabbed Bailey’s arm, turning him around. “You don’t let her leave your sight.” He unclipped Bailey’s radio from his belt and thumped it into the man’s chest as he moved past. “And keep checking in.”

“Sure,” Bailey said, but Finn was already moving through the crowd. Or, more accurately, the crowd was moving around him like a river around a partly-submerged boulder.

“Come on,” Cora said, tugging at the sleeve of Bailey’s suit. “Let’s go dance.”

It was that, or stand here worrying until Finn came back. And her stomach was already queasy with wondering where the hell Lars had disappeared to.

Maybe he was in the bathroom. Bad caviar or something. The meeting had only lasted like ten minutes—

The thought cut off, eviscerated by the feel of someone’s eyes on her.

Cora spun around, searching the crowd. Everyone wore a mask, making it impossible to tell who was merely facing in her direction, and whose eyes were fixed on her.

She shrugged her shoulders, walking a little faster.

“What’s the rush?” Bailey called, grasping her wrist so she’d slow down.

“I want to dance,” she called back, knowing she sounded like a petulant child, but not caring.

It wasn’t that the gaze had been unsettling; quite the opposite. It reminded her of how she felt every time she dreamed about that man in the restaurant. The one who’d sketched her.

The—quite possibly—DEA agent.

“Hey, did you speak to your guy yet?” Cora asked, halting on the edge of the dance floor.

Music thumped around them. Bailey ducked his head, putting his mouth by her ear as he yelled, “What?”

“Your guy!” Cora let out a frustrated growl and tugged Bailey into one of the small alcoves dotting the ballroom, sliding into the faded velvet booth.

“And now?” Bailey asked, sliding in beside her.

“Your guy. The one who has connections in the DEA.” Cora gripped Bailey’s hand, squeezing it. “Did you speak to him?”

Bailey cleared his throat. “Her, actually.”

Cora blinked, her chin moving back an inch. “I thought you said it was a guy?”

“I, uh…I’m still waiting to hear back,” Bailey said.

She tilted her head. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” She searched his face, but he looked away. “Bailey?”

Instead of answering her, he took out his radio and checked in with Finn.

No sight of Lars yet.

“Bailey, it’s okay,” Cora said, trying to lighten her voice. “I don’t care if it’s a—”

“Let’s dance,” Bailey cut in. He turned to the crowd, and then grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the booth. “I think I see Ana!”

He dragged her onto the dance floor, and maneuvered through the crowd until he stepped aside and tugged Cora up alongside Ana.

The girl was oblivious; she had her arms around a man’s waist, the two of them dancing close, eyes shut and bodies glued together.

Cora watched for a few seconds, and then had to look away.

Damn, that was just what she needed. She turned to Bailey, and bumped into his chest. Laughing, she grabbed him to keep her balance, and he drew her flush against him.

The track booming through the ballroom’s impressive sound system switched to something hard and primal.

Bailey dipped his hips, gripping her tight against him, and began moving to the rhythm.

She had no idea he could dance so well. Cora grinned up at him, her hands on the back of his neck as their bodies moved fluidly against each other, matching each heavy thump of bass pounding through the speakers.

Bailey slid his hands down her back, grabbing her ass and forcing her harder against him. Then he ducked his head for a kiss.

She surfaced minutes later, when an angry warble came through on Bailey’s radio. They extracted themselves from their passionate embrace, Bailey taking a step back, and then holding up a finger to her. “Be back in a sec,” he said. “You stay with Ana.” Then he worked his way out through the crowd.

Cora watched him go. But when she turned, Ana’s blond head was moving away from her.

“Ana!” The bass vibrated through her as she took a few hurried steps after Ana. But, a few seconds later, the crowd had closed over the woman.

Even wearing stilettos, Cora wasn’t tall enough to see over the crowd.

“Shit,” she muttered, spinning back to see if Bailey was headed back yet.

A shiver broke out over her skin. It could have been her cooling sweat—the dance and Bailey’s kiss must have ratcheted up her core temperature by several degrees—but somehow she knew it wasn’t.

Eyes were on her again.

Familiar eyes.

Cora spun around, gaze darting furiously from face to face.

She shouldn’t be here. Not alone, not like this. If she moved to the outside of the frantic, dancing crowd, then she’d find Bailey and she could stick with him. Or even Ana.

Damn it, she hated being scared.

Inhaling a deep breath, she pushed back her shoulders. Then she closed her eyes, and began to dance.

She’d only just lost herself in the tribal thump-thump-thump of a new track when something brushed her bare arms.

Flinching, Cora’s eyes popped open.

No one was watching her.

She pivoted on her heels and would have toppled over as she lost her balance had it not been for the stranger standing behind her, ready to catch her.

Cora staggered, found her balance, and completely failed to pull herself free from the man who’d steadied her.

He wore a fanciful mask that covered his whole face, one half happy, the other sad. The eye slits cast deep shadows over his eyes.

She heard a noise come from him. Had he said something? It was impossible to tell; just as little of his mouth was visible under the mask.

“Did you say something?” she yelled.

He leaned closer, the cool surface of his mask brushing her cheek as he spoke into her ear.

“I said I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said.

His voice sent a tremble through her. It was rich and sonorous, arrogant almost.

She turned slightly toward him, putting her mouth by his ear. “You didn’t,” came her immediate reply.

She caught a whiff of his spicy cologne.

His hair was long, dark and shaggy.

Just like the man’s from the restaurant.

Or had his been brown?

It was too dark in here, in the ballroom. What light there was bounced around the crowd like a playful puppy, spinning and dancing on everyone’s faces when they turned to cheer on the DJ.

But when the man’s eyes returned from their slow inspection of her body, a jolt went through her.

It was him, the man who’d been haunting her dreams the past few days.

And, suddenly, those erotic memories didn’t feel as tantalizing anymore.