Now that she observed without the fear of being followed, he looked different. She’d missed his desperation before. Plus, he went at his drink too hard for a LEO on the job. Cute, too, if younger than she usually found attractive. Annoyed and tired, if she had to guess.

  “Okay. Okay.” Clare inhaled a deep breath. The tables had turned, but she felt a twist in the pit of her stomach. “Tell him you can put a contact in with Clairvoyant’s agent. I’ll see if I want anything out of him. Be ready to shoo him away if I give you a signal.”

  “Signal?” Fran raised an eyebrow while he bit into a burger that had slid across the table to him. “What kind of signal?”

  “How about I punch him?”

  He shook his head. “You do that every other Friday night when someone tries to grab your ass.”

  “Right, so it won’t raise any eyebrows. Still, I haven’t hit him specifically. So that’ll be my signal, okay?”

  Fran rolled his eyes. “All right. Okay, get out of here.”

  “Shouldn’t you be the first one out so we don’t raise any eyebrows?”

  “Sure, but I don’t need you in my kitchen figuring out how to fix everything. I know what the kinks are, and I like them.”

  “But—” Clare narrowed her eyes at the double entendre.

  He grinned. “Go!”

  Clare sighed and did as she was told. Nobody needed to see her coming from the kitchen with Fran following. People would talk. Of course, they would mostly talk about how she’d only been there for a few minutes, so the speculation would be about him.

  She didn’t need tongues wagging. She dropped back onto her stool, where another drink already waited for her. It took all her willpower not to look back at the man in the corner.

  Fran stepped from the kitchen a minute later, wiping his mouth with his apron before heading directly to the fellow in question. She realized too late that she hadn’t asked his name. It didn’t matter since he’d probably given a fake one, but it would be good to know anyway.

  Fransua’s conversation with Coat Man was short and sweet, and he turned and headed back to her.

  “You’re good,” he whispered and gave her a thumbs-up.

  Not a single ounce of subtlety in the man. It was why she trusted him. For the most part. Clare rolled her eyes and pushed up from the barstool.

  “Here we go.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Up close, he didn’t look like much of a threat. He was about her age, not younger as she’d thought. He seemed hard compared to other people, though. Clare stood by her assessment that he wasn’t from anywhere around New Houston.

  She noticed he sized her up the same way she did. Clear gray eyes took in every detail and seemed to analyze it again until she felt barer than she liked in a bar.

  Metaphorically speaking, anyway.

  “You going to invite me to sit or what?” She cocked an eyebrow, and that seemed to snap him out of studying her.

  “Uh, right. Sorry.” He shook his head. “Please, take a seat. Fransua tells me you’re the one who can get me in touch with this Clairvoyant I was sent to find.”

  A pleasant voice. He was human, although something about him set her teeth on edge. Maybe it was the fact he wore that coat, although it was sweltering in the Foundry.

  Worse, he didn’t sport a single bead of sweat. She felt a few trailing down her spine, but he didn’t look at all uncomfortable. He didn’t look like a vampire, either. They were the only ones she knew who didn’t sweat.

  “Fran tells me you’re looking for the Clairvoyant for work.” Clare settled into her seat and crossed her arms. He noticed, and she immediately regretted it. Not enough to change her position. “What work are we looking at?”

  “It’s confidential. I’d need to discuss that with him in person as soon as possible.”

  “That’s a whole lot of talk without saying what the job is.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I have eyes on me, and if I make a wrong step, they’ll send people with scopes, if you take my meaning.”

  Take my meaning. Definitely not from New Houston. That explained why he looked nervous. Terrifying people existed in the world. She couldn’t blame him for getting tangled up with them, but it didn’t mean she had any intention of getting involved.

  “You can tell me what you want the Clairvoyant for.” Clare shrugged. “No details about the job, but the kind of work. You’re here representing dangerous people. Doesn’t inspire me to get anyone else involved.”

  That annoyed him, but he immediately controlled himself. “Honestly, I don’t know what the job is. I don’t know what he’s supposed to be good at. I was sent to New Houston to vet him personally, then transmit the details of the job directly. That’s all I’m here for.”

  “Being paid a good amount for it, though, right?”

  He snorted. “Not as much as you’d think. Although I do get my drinking tab comped. Always nice.”

  “Right.” Clare grinned and raised her hand to get Fran’s attention. “Over here! A bottle of cobra whiskey and two glasses. The best. On his tab.”

  He flinched at the order, but Fran laughed. The bottle and glasses were delivered quickly and with ice. She’d never been able to drink whiskey without ice, especially when it was so warm.

  “Sorry, didn’t ask you what your name was.” Clare poured her glass first, then his, and nudged it across the table to him. “People around here call me Tab.”

  He was transfixed by the bottle of cobra whiskey, which came with an actual cobra inside. He didn’t look interested in trying the drink. Yet he was an affable man, so he sipped it. He made a series of faces as he tasted the drink, and she wasn’t sure if he liked it. She supposed it took getting used to, especially if he wasn’t from around here.

  The best part was the heart of the cobra once they were done with the whiskey. That shit got her drunk fast. It wasn’t something to try on an empty stomach.

  “So, you don’t actually know what the Clairvoyant does, do you?” Clare watched him take his second sip of the whiskey. She’d timed the question for when he had his mouth full.

  “Can’t say I do.” He heaved and pressed the button to order food. The automation streamlined the process, which allowed him to place an order without talking to anyone until the food was in front of him. “I was hoping I could glean something about it from you.”

  “You take these kinds of jobs often? The sort that’ll get you in trouble if you don’t find the right person and don’t pay much?”

  He shook his head. “I guess you can say I owed someone a favor. This is the way they decided to collect. If you’re interested in the details, it had to do with a medical emergency with one of my family members. I went to the wrong people for help with the bills and ended up in their pocket.”

  “What are you here to do, nameless man?” Clare had seen situations like his daily. Seemed like loan sharks were the same the world over.

  “Nameless?”

  “Yeah, you still didn’t tell me your name.”

  “Ah. Shak.”

  She laughed. “Really? Want to try that again?”

  “It’s fake, but it’s the one on all my documents, so I’m sticking with it.” She had to admit his grin was infectious. Clean white teeth, although not as clean as the vamp’s had been. “So yes, it’s Shak. And I don’t want to try it again. It won’t be more convincing the second time around.”

  He made a good point. Clare sighed. “Right. What can you tell me about your part in this business?”

  “It’s...weird.”

  “I’ve seen weird.”

  “Sure, but people always look at me funny when I say it out loud. I have a talent for reading people. Not sure what it is, but I can pick up on details when I meet someone. So I was sent to get a bead on this character and figure out if they were as good as their reputation suggested. If they were trustworthy.”

  “And your secret client will take your word for it?”

  “Well...” He paused when Elene arrived with his food order. “Let’s say I’ll be showing up in one of the recyc dumps if I’m wrong. Needless to say, I’m highly motivated to get it right.”

  He was earnest, and she liked it. Clare tried not to let it influence her opinion of him. She’d known people who could talk their way around any trouble, who could silver-tongue through people’s fortunes and leave them smiling by the end. He might be one of those people.

  Entirely probable when she thought about it. He’d said his skill was to read people, and the best con artists could read their marks to get the most out of them for the least amount of work.

  “I haven’t convinced you to take my message back to the Clairvoyant, have I?” He sounded doubtful through a mouthful of hamburger. The origins of the meat were iffy, but the weres claimed they could smell rat meat, so it was the best burger in the area.

  “Not yet, but you’re getting there.”

  “Can you tell me what exactly the Clairvoyant does?”

  It was an honest question, and she was better equipped to answer it than anyone else, but she had to be careful. If she bragged, he would pick up on her personal pride and sniff out her real identity.

  Thankfully, she’d heard a lot of people discuss her abilities, skills, and expertise at length. She’d take the words from their mouths.

  “The Clairvoyant’s got a thing for gadgets. I’ll tell you that.” She nodded. “Got weapons all over the place, and not the sort you’d ever think of. Finds ways to turn anything into a weapon if given the opportunity. Usually works FCEs. That’s about all you get around here, anyway.”

  “FCE?”

  “Fuel combustion engines. The nuclear reactors around here are as reliable as a hooker’s STD results, but you can whip up gas for nothing flat. Got to have the generators running all over the city. That’s the bread-and-butter stuff. I figure you’d have heard about the Clairvoyant’s specialist work. Seen some of it with particle engines and electromagnets. Make things go, make things stop. Just about everything here in New Houston runs on batteries anyway. If you rig up a decent EMP, you can knock out all the electrics for a block.”

  He tilted his head. “I didn’t think that was possible without a massive explosive.”

  “For most people. For the Clairvoyant, all you need is a low-inductance capacitor bank discharged into a single-loop antenna, a microwave generator, an explosively pumped flux compression generator, and a can-do attitude. Impractical is possible, and impossible simply takes more time and money.”

  She felt like she’d gone too far there, but his eyes glazed over when her verbiage got technical. If he asked questions, she could say she was a journeyman in the craft, hoping to learn all the tricks from the best.

  The questions never came. He either believed her or doubted his ability to pick holes in what she’d said.

  “All right, I’m convinced. I think my client will be happy I found this guy so fast. Thought I’d need a few more days of searching the city.”

  His luck was great. Better than he thought. Something was off about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on what precisely.

  “We’ll have to talk figures before we talk about hiring.” She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together to show what figures she meant. “I know you don’t have any specifics, but you must have some idea. It’s not your money, right? So, what are we dealing with?”

  “Someone with a short temper and high standards for operatives.”

  An odd choice of words.

  “But if the Clairvoyant is anything like what you describe, the pay will be more than he can imagine.”

  Clare raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got to tell you that you’re dealing with a borderline mad genius. They’re known for having a big imagination.”

  “It won’t be an issue. Besides, if he doesn’t like the offer and wants to walk away and disappear into the city, no problem. It’s not like my client will find anyone half as good. The only loser here would be me. And the Clairvoyant won’t care much about that.”

  He probably had a point, although Clare didn’t like to think of herself as quite that heartless.

  Before she could say anything else, the bar doors slammed open and drew her attention. She turned and saw three goons barge in, looking like they wanted a fight. They marched toward Fran behind the bar.

  “Where the fuck is Clare?”

  She closed her eyes and sank into her seat. It wouldn’t keep her from being spotted, but at least her most recognizable feature was under her hoodie.

  “Shak” noticed. It wasn’t like he could hold a fake name against her, but they were getting along. There was no need to break any illusions yet.

  “Clare’s not here today,” Fran answered with a shrug. “She’s usually down by the Watering Hole on Wednesdays.”

  “Fuck you. I know she’s here.”

  “I need to get out of here,” Clare whispered, trying not to look conspicuous. Annoyingly, she stood out the most when she was trying not to, which made it the world’s most tenuous balancing act. “I can handle them, but not with so many innocents around.”

  Something new came across his face. He’d looked desperate, annoyed, and maybe eager a second before, but now that was all gone. Expressionless and dead, although his eyes were fixed on the reflective surface above her head with a view of the game. It showed what was happening behind him.

  She’d seen something military about him before, and she saw it now. He judged each of the goons, sizing them up, and he put his mind to figuring them out.

  Then he relaxed. A simple human watching three weres on the edge of violence. He should have been cowering, on the verge of panic, and trying to make her expose herself so he wouldn’t be anywhere near the fighting when it did go down.

  Instead, he looked more relaxed and natural than when she first met him.

  “Innocents?” he finally asked with a cocked eyebrow.

  “It’s a previous misunderstanding.” Clare nodded to the bar. “These people have no part in what happened.”

  “I’ll make you a deal. If I take care of them, will you get the Clairvoyant to talk to me?”

  “They’re weres.”

  “Right. So if my confidence turns out to be arrogance, I’ll be dead and not bothering you anymore. Deal?”

  Clare sighed, gritted her teeth, and nodded. “Fine. They’re not going to be friendly, though. You can’t talk your way out of a beating. Fran’s fine with fights, but he won’t stop them from killing you.”

  She figured he was arrogant. Still, if he managed to distract them long enough for her to sneak out, she would get him the meeting he wanted. Provided he survived.

  He smirked and winked at her before pushing from his seat. He’d finished most of his food and the full, iced glass of whiskey. Maybe that was where his confidence came from.

  Clare watched him advance on the werewolves. Three steps in, he adjusted his smooth gait to the ungainly walk of a drunk man.

  “Hey, they weren’t here first!” Shak shouted. “I ordered a drink five minutes ago, and just because they’re shouting for an éclair don’t mean they get one before I have my beer!”

  Clare winced as the werewolf spun and caught Shak across the jaw with a hard fist. Hard enough to sprawl him over the nearest table.

  “Sorry,” she whispered when he spotted her.

  “What did you say you did to these fellows again?” He worked his jaw a few times, but it was in surprisingly good shape considering the whack he’d taken.

  “I might have killed one of their buddies.”

  “What?” His roar was cut off when the same were grabbed his feet and yanked him off the table.

  Clare thought she was about to watch a beatdown, but the were in question stumbled back suddenly, blood pouring from his nose. The result of Shak’s kick from a downed position. Shak, or whatever his name was, smoothly flipped to his feet and rolled his neck.

  Maybe it would be more entertaining to watch instead of run.

  Another were jumped forward to join the fight. Shak had already twisted clear of a haymaker, using his bulky coat to obfuscate his movements. He tangled the were’s arm up as he cracked his elbow across the bastard’s cheekbone. Hard enough to split the skin and send him staggering back into the first one, who’d charged forward.

  Werewolves were strong, fast, and typically used their teeth and claws to end fights quickly. Which meant they rarely learned anything about fighting techniques or artistry.

  It also explained how Shak was able to snag his opponent’s arm and swing himself around to the werewolf’s back before they crashed into another table. He yanked the arm back with the smooth, practiced efficiency of someone who’d frequently grappled in his time.

  Of course, most human militaries taught their human soldiers how to grapple against mutant opponents. It didn’t mean they would win every time, but it gave them a fighting chance.

  Against one werewolf at a time, anyway.

  The other two geared up to join the brawl while the bar’s occupants pulled away to watch from a safe distance. Shak hadn’t noticed, engaged as he was in tearing the werewolf’s arm from his shoulder.

  She needed to get involved.

  “Son of a bitch.” She sighed and rolled her neck. “Why do I always have to clean my own shit up? Why can’t a strong, dashing man do it for me once in a while?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being taken for a ride. A fun one.

  Anselm decided against drawing any of the weapons he’d brought with him. While his clothes were designed to disguise him, the weapons would ping him as something else the moment he revealed them.

  A pity. His weapons were small and relevant to this situation. Studies told him werewolves were heavily affected by electric currents. Their hyper-nervous systems transmitted the smallest shocks across their bodies, disabling them. Those shocks also stopped them from changing into their feral sides.