Veil of Night Read Online Free

not only so they’d fit in better with the guys but so they’d be taken more seriously by the disorderly element of citizenry they dealt with the most. This woman didn’t downplay anything. Neither was there anything gaudy or obvious about her, which made her even more attractive, because “class” and “Sadie’s” didn’t usually collide.
    She paused briefly in the doorway, scanning the row of tables as if looking for someone, then she strode toward the back where there were two unoccupied tables close to the restrooms. The three-inch heels she wore meant she wouldn’t be able to run, but she sure as hell had a way of walking in them that made it almost impossible for him to look away from the sway of her hips. This morning in city hall when she’d walked away he’d had the same problem looking away from her ass, but then again, a sight like that was worth savoring.
    She chose an empty table and sank into one of the chairs, positioned so that he had a view of her profile and her back was to most of the bar, which told him she either didn’t have the survivor instinct to watch the door or she didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone. When she was seated she visibly exhaled, rolling her shoulders and tilting her head from side to side to ease tense muscles, as if her purpose in being there jibed a hundred percent with that of most of the patrons.
    From where he sat at the end of the bar, Eric could easily keep her in his field of vision without turning his head. She wasn’t paying attention to any of the other patrons, had chosen her seat so she actually couldn’t without turning around in her chair. She was probably waiting for someone else to arrive. He found himself surprisingly interested in who she might be meeting in a cop bar. Was she dating a cop? Or had she and a boyfriend simply arranged to meet here for convenience, then they’d move on to their dinner date, or whatever?
    He glanced at his watch, because appointments were normally made for the hour or half-hour. It was eight-eleven. If she was waiting for someone, the odds were that she was roughly twenty minutes early. He felt that little ping of increased alertness he always felt when he noticed something that was even a little out of the ordinary. Most women would rather wait in their cars until their dates or appointments arrived, rather than sit alone in a bar. Maybe it was a sense of self-consciousness, a safety issue, or they simply didn’t want to deal with any unwanted attention. For this woman to come in alone, twenty minutes before a logical meeting time, didn’t fall within his mental parameters of most common behavior.
    He automatically assessed her physically: five-seven, between a hundred twenty-five and a hundred forty, black and blue. Her hair was true black, and even though he couldn’t see their color now, he remembered the clear blue of her eyes, the paleness of her skin: Black Irish coloring at its finest. She was tall and slim, dressed like a million bucks, and, he kept coming back to the word, classy.
    No wedding ring, either. She wore a slim gold watch, and small gold hoops in her ears. No rings at all. If he got closer, whether or not he’d see a pale circle or an indentation on her ring finger was up in the air, but from where he was sitting he couldn’t make out any telltale sign.
    One of the waitresses approached her table, slapped down a cocktail napkin, and waited with a poised pen for the order. Eric couldn’t hear what she ordered, but a few seconds later the waitress slid the order across the bar to Will and said, “Margarita on the rocks.”
    There weren’t many froufrou drinks served at Sadie’s, but Eric supposed a margarita on the rocks was kind of middle ground: not so swishy that a man wouldn’t drink it, but not in the same class with a bourbon and Coke, either. When the drink was carried across to her, he watched as she took a sip, savored the taste, and sort of relaxed deeper into her