Circle left, back foot sweep,
his hands slide down my ribs to my hips dropping me in a dip and then snapping
me back to rest on his shoulder. Twist left, twist backwards and turn my
torso so that my whole body spins beneath the cover of his. He lifts me in
the air on one hand, I arch my back and swing up my
arms before dropping and catching myself by wrapping my legs around his middle.
"I think you gave me whiplash on that one." Slide down his body
like a fireman's pole and land on my feet catlike. He spins me in tight
fast circles until our faces are almost touching again.
"You're a big girl, you can take it. Now do you see him, or am I
making an ass of myself on the dance floor for nothing?" He swings
me from arm to arm before lowering me in a deep dip as the music ends.
Not that I'll say so, because god knows that his ego is mammoth enough on its
own, but he's making anything but an idiot of himself dancing. In fact
I'm currently forced to stare down a particularly voluptuous red head from across
the room that happens to be concentratedly eyeing his ass.
"Max? Did you hear me? I asked if you saw Felipe out
there." Glancing around casually he drops
his hands to my hips and steers me off the crowded dance floor to the tables
beyond. This place absolutely reeks of tequila and cigarette smoke, as
well as the obvious odors attendant on a dance floor packed with tangoers.
We flop down at one of the few empty tables at the perimeter of the bar,
running close to exhausted from all of the dancing. After three hours at
this stupid club we have yet to catch sight of our mark. I pluck
disconsolately at the hem of my black mini dress. If there was one thing
that sucked about working for the senator it was our total disagreement on what
constituted proper costume for a night of reconnaissance.
"I can't see squat, sitting in a corner like this Alec. We need to
get a better view of the place, let's go up to the balcony." Air
whoomphs out of his lungs as I grab his wrist and drag him out of the chair,
and this is the virtually indestructible super soldier, tired after a couple
hours of dancing. It's nice to know that at least in some ways he is a
typical man.
The scantily clad and odorously sweaty throngs press in on us as we climb the
narrow spiral stairs to the second floor. I look back at Alec to make
sure that he's keeping up with me and am forced to do
a double take. Before we'd left the apartment tonight I'd helped him
spray temporary black dye into his hair, even though I saw him go through the
process I haven't yet gotten used to the new color on him. A swanky
multicolored shirt, so completely unlike his usual wear, completes the
disguise.
Tricking me out proved more difficult. My black hair is completely
resistant to any kind of temporary dying, not to mention the fact that any
other color would seriously clash with my dark complexion. After much
deliberation, Alec had disappeared for two hours in the city and returned with
some white powdery substance in a plastic case. I don't have a clue what
that junk was, but my skin went from cafe au lait to a very pale tan and
despite the dancing and sweating the stuff hasn't faded. He swears that
it wasn't dangerous, but then Alec's definition of dangerous and mine differ in
some key areas.
For my hair, he'd rubbed some dark red goo into it and mussed it up on top of
my head. Then, much to my horror he produced a tube of black eyeliner and
proceeded to lather it all over my eyelids. On a whole, the look is
rather goth, punk, raver. Personally I think
that my Latino favored looks would have fit in I much better at a salsa club,
but I'd been seen by the kidnappers at the gala so Alec insisted that both of
us go incognito. All I can say is that this damn stuff better wash right
out of my hair.
The view from the balcony shows a sea of writhing and twisting bodies, an orgy
of dance. Our faces tighten imperceptibly as we focus our eyes to scan in
detail. Brilliant idea senator, send us to pick up some Latin guy in a
salsa club, just like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. I
mentally cross reference his file. If he's a ladies man then he'll
probably be dancing or standing at the bar instead of closeted at one of the
dark tables. Now I sort the remaining fifty or so men by size. This
man is short and very thin ruling out another forty or so
candidates. Three of them are too old or too young. One I
notice is hitting, not on a girl, but another man ruling him out.
"Those six." I point as subtly as I
can at the remaining suspects.
"It isn't the one all the way to the right or the third one from the left,
their arms are both exposed and neither of them has a tattoo." I
can't let him show me up. Focusing my eyes until I feel the beginnings of
a tension headache forming at behind my brows I search their faces
intently.
"It isn't the guy with the Hawaiian shirt, he's got blue eyes. The
one in green has got a nose to rival Cyrano Deborgerac so it can't be
him. I'll take the guy in the white suit if you take the one with the baseball
cap." Smirking at his expression of awe I take off back towards the
lower level before he can close his mouth.
I skinny up to the bar and in my loudest and most drunken voice demand a cosmopolitan. The bartender shakes his head at my girly choice of drinks and moves off to mix the cocktail for me. Grimacing at the rime of dirt that coats my finger as I swipe it down the length of the bar, I lean perilously far over the counter and eventually overbalance myself.
"Watch it, idiota!" The man who I've inadvertently fallen onto barks at me without turning around. Not willing to give up I lower my voice until it's a husky contralto, eerily reminiscent of my half sister.
"Sorry there handsome, let me buy you a drink to make it up to you." I tack a languishing giggle onto the end and gaze simperingly into his eyes as he slowly turns around. "Oops." I giggle again as I pretend to stumble back into his arms. Instinctually he catches me around the shoulders, and for a moment his fingers dig into my arms. The touch of his hands sets alarms off in my head as his fingers align themselves exactly with the bruises left on my shoulders the night of the gala. My would be kidnapper gazed hungrily at my face.