“Constantly looking for an excuse to use her steel.”

And she and Morrell would be meeting with a scumbag who was hiring them to possibly kidnap someone I loved. The scimitar made a gratifyingly steely hiss as I resheathed it. “I might just enjoy being Maire Orla after all.”

I had to admit that if I saw us coming down the street, I’d give serious thought to crossing to the other side. Maire Orla wasn’t the shrinking violet type, and with all the steel I was carrying, and magic I was packing, my stride turned into a bit of a strut. I just couldn’t seem to help myself, and to tell you the truth, I didn’t want to.

Mychael was walking next to me, but we were giving each other enough room to move should the need arise, though Maire Orla would have thought of being ambushed as more of an opportunity for entertainment.

“We’re being watched,” Mychael said in mindspeak. “Though with the way your hips are moving, I don’t think they’ve noticed me.”

“Who?”

“Karl Cradock is the paranoid type. We’re two blocks from the Bare Bones. He’ll have guards posted outside, but it appears he’s posted lookouts here.” His gaze, shadowed by his hat, was on me, and a crooked grin curled his lips. “I imagine they’ll try to take our weapons before we go inside.”

I added an evil smile to my sashay. “They’re welcome to try.”

We got to the Bare Bones without bloodshed, but the place looked suspiciously like a trap from the get-go. Either that or Karl Cradock really was one seriously paranoid son of a bitch. Though considering who he was working for, both scenarios were possible.

It had been my experience that that many men didn’t casually loiter outside of a bar unless they were looking for company of the curvy kind, or waiting to instigate an encounter of the violent kind. Since there wasn’t a working girl in sight, I thought they were here for us. I’d had worse welcoming committees, but I was in no mood to play whatever games they had planned.

“Take it easy,” came Mychael’s voice in my mind. “Cradock is just being careful.”

“I don’t think he told his bully boys that.”

“Let me do the talking.”

That was fine with me; what I wanted to do didn’t involve words. I dropped my hand to one of Orla’s daggers.

Mychael was getting violent looks; I was getting looks usually reserved for dessert.

There were six that I could see; there were probably more. There always were. The burly ones stayed put; two lean men standing more or less on either side of the bar’s door started out into the street toward us. I knew the drill. The big muscle stays put and the quick muscle comes out to say hello. I knew exactly what they were going to do; I’d been on the receiving end before. The two coming toward us would ask us in their own charming way to give up our weapons. Naturally we would refuse, and while our attention was on the duo, at least two of the big bruisers would try to sneak up behind us. If they caught you, you had a choice: give up your weapons or the big boys would shake you silly until you dropped them.

I’d found that the trick to getting past all of them while remaining armed and unshaken was to make the first move and make it count.

Mychael wanted to handle it. I was curious to see what he was going to do.

Mychael stopped in the middle of the street. I stopped about three feet on his right side, leaving him plenty of room to draw the blade strapped across his back. Conveniently, I was right-handed and Mychael was a lefty. It worked out nicely; we could fight and stay out of each other’s way at the same time.

My weapons were all out in plain view, though it wasn’t like I had anywhere to hide anything. As Kester Morrell, Mychael had plenty of hidden weapons. I also knew that getting frisked wasn’t a part of his plan.

One of the men slowed but kept coming, holding his hands up, cocky grin spreading across his face at the sight of me. “We don’t want any trouble, gorgeous.”

I casually drew a dagger. The blade was in my left hand; a painful surprise was about to be in my right. “Then act like a gentleman and go open the door for me.” Orla’s voice was rich and sultry as hell with a razor’s edge. I absently wondered if I could glamour just the voice for future use. It could come in handy.

“No can do,” said the man walking toward me. “We’ve got our orders not to let you inside with all that steel. The boss can’t be too careful.”

The other guard was coming up on my right side. “We’ve been ordered to search you.” I heard the leer in his voice. “And we always obey orders.”

Both men had their hands empty, the better to grope me with. Another two steps and one of them would be close enough to slice in half. I had no doubt Orla’s scimitar was up to the task, but we’d come here to get information, not kill the bodyguards of the source of that information. I didn’t think Karl Cradock would like us killing his men, though he’d probably understand why we had to hurt them a little. Heck, for all I knew this was some kind of twisted test.

I waited until my quarry was within reach and his eyes were hungrily locked on Orla’s breasts. Dang, but these things were coming in handy. He reached out for me, and I reached out for him. With his eyes fixated on my breasts and his peripheral vision watching my dagger, he never saw my other hand dive in low for the grab.

I was really glad Maire Orla wore gloves. Some things a woman just didn’t want to latch onto bare-handed.

Thug number one squealed and sucked in air through clenched teeth. Thug number two started to come to his friend’s rescue. I say “started” because he never got there. Mychael took one step forward, grabbed the wrist of thug number two, and, with a move so fast it was a blur, put the man on his knees with his arm twisted at an impossible angle up and behind his back.

The big muscle moved in. Mychael twisted his man’s arm and got a scream; I twisted the handful of what I had and got a squeak.

Mychael’s voice was cold, mocking, and not his own. I didn’t know what Kester Morrell sounded like, but I imagine Mychael’s tone and inflection were an exact match. “Gentlemen, come any closer and I will break this man’s arm, and my partner will . . .” He glanced over at the now-ashen-faced man who stood frozen at attention next to me, and I saw his shoulders shake with silent laughter. “My partner will finish what she started. We are here to see Karl Cradock. He invited us; that makes us his guests. Now, is this any way to welcome your employer’s guests?”

“Put your weapons away,” came a raspy voice from the now-open bar door. The light from inside cast a shadow of a tall form out into the street, but I couldn’t see any details. “The gentleman is right. They are my guests, and hopefully my new business associates.”

The four big men backed off. Mychael and I made no move to release our captives.

“Now, Morrell,” Cradock chided from the doorway. “Surely my men’s actions didn’t warrant such abuse.”

“No, it didn’t,” I shot back. “It warranted more.”

“Jack, Enger, apologize to the lady immediately.”

Words weren’t coming easily to either one of them, but they managed to make some contrite noises.

“Release my men,” Cradock told us. “You can keep your weapons for the duration of our talk.”

Mychael laughed, a short bark. “And for the duration of our exit and trip back to our rooms.”

Cradock smiled with a slow baring of teeth. “Never miss a loophole, do you?”

“It’s healthier that way.”

“Agreed. Now, if you please, release my men.”

I gladly complied. There was only so long I wanted to twist the nuts of a complete stranger, wearing gloves or not.

My man groaned and dropped to his knees. Mychael’s man decided to stay on his knees and cradle his arm. Our path to the front door of the tavern was now gratifyingly clear, and Mychael and I, glamoured as a pair of human kidnappers, strolled right on in.

The place was empty. Almost.

The only other person in the room was a man standing behind the bar who obviously was not a bartender. I’d trust him to mix ingredients for explosives or whip up a tasty poison—but not to serve me anything in a glass. I also noticed that one of his hands stayed suspiciously under the counter. He was smiling at me. I really hoped his hand was playing with a crossbow trigger.

“Privacy,” Mychael noted. “I like it.”

“I thought you’d approve,” Cradock said.

Mychael pulled out a chair and made himself at home; his back to the wall and facing anything that remotely looked like it was, or could be, a door. I took up a post at his right shoulder. I didn’t even want to try sitting down in that skirt.

“Did you forget to tell your men that we’re all on the same side?” Mychael asked.

Cradock laughed. “You’re on the same side you’re always on—whatever side pays you the most.”

“That was supposed to be you. But your welcoming committee out there makes me think that you’d rather get someone else for your smash and grab.”

Cradock’s hand went over his heart. “Your lack of trust wounds me.”

“Not half as much as you’ll hurt if you try to screw us over.”

“Would I do that?”

“In a beat of your black heart,” Mychael said.

“You understand that sometimes it’s safer to talk business without unsightly weapons around.”

“You mean without us having unsightly weapons.” I negligently toyed with a throwing star near my cleavage. “And I don’t find them unsightly in the least.”

Cradock laughed, an ugly, hollow sound. “Vincent, get our guests some drinks. What will you have?” he asked Mychael.

“I’m not thirsty.”

“What about the lady?” He said “lady” with a suggestive leer. “We can be most accommodating.”

“The lady’s blade would like something hot and red.” I felt my lips slip naturally into a chilling smile. Orla must have used that one a lot. “Still willing to accommodate me?”