In some regards, a ballroom full of three hundred drunk people is the perfect place to kill a man.
Unfortunately, it’s also the perfect place to lose track of a woman.
I looked away for an instant—one f*****g instant—and she up and vanished. It’s only been fifteen or twenty seconds since that happened, but those have been the longest fifteen or twenty seconds of my life.
After subtly warning me not to interfere with that leering fucker of a congressman—which was really lucky for him, because I would have strung him by his entrails from the goddamn rafters just for touching her—she stepped back and fled.
I originally intended to give her thirty seconds to compose herself. I figured she’d go find a quiet space in a corner to breathe and reassemble her war paint.
But somehow, before I ev
