Night Shield by Nora Roberts Page B

over sips of wine.
    She envied that … comfort, she supposed, of having someone who could sit across the table in a crowded place and focus on her, care about what she said, or what she didn’t have to say.
    It was what her parents had—that innate rhythm and respect that added real dimension to love and attraction.
    If it was lovely to watch, she wondered, how much more lovely must it be to experience?
    Brooding over it, she listened to the laughter break out at Pete’s punch line. She placed her orders, listening absently to the chatter around her, scanning, always scanning the movements, the faces.
    She watched the hand-holding couple signal Jan, and the woman pointing to an item on the bar menu when the waitress moved to the table to take the order. Bending down, Jan waved a hand in front of her mouth, rolled her eyes and made the woman laugh.
    “The hotter the better,” the woman claimed. “We don’t have a club table until eight, so there’s plenty of time to cool down.”
    When Jan had scribbled down the order and moved off, Ally found herself smiling at the way the man brought the woman’s hand to his mouth and nipped at her knuckles.
    If it hadn’t been for that kernel of envy that kept her attention focused on them, she might have missed it. As it was, it took her several seconds to note the picture had changed.
    The woman’s bag still hung over the back of her chair but at a different angle, and the outside zipper pocket wasn’t quite closed.
    Ally came to attention, her first thought to focus on Jan. Then she saw it. The second woman sitting with her back to the first, still smiling at her companion. While under the table, smooth and unhurried, she slipped a set of keys into the purse she held on her lap.
    Bingo.
    “You gone to the moon, Ally?” Pete tapped a finger on her shoulder. “I don’t think anybody’s waiting for vodka tonics up there.”
    “No, I’m right here.”
    As the woman rose, tucked her purse under her arm, Ally lifted her tray.
    Five-four, she thought. A hundred and twenty. Brown hair, brown eyes. Late thirties with an olive complexion and strong features. And just now heading toward the ladies’ room.
    Rather than break cover, she hurried into the club, spotted Will and shoved the tray at him. “Sorry, table eight’s waiting for these. Tell Jonah I need to speak with him. I have to do something.”
    “But hey.”
    “I have to do something,” she repeated and walked briskly toward the restrooms.
    Inside, she scanned the bottom of the stalls, located the right shoes. Making a wax mold of the keys, Ally concluded and turned to one of the sinks. She ran water while she watched the shoes. It would only take a few minutes, but she’d need privacy.
    Satisfied, Ally walked out.
    “Ally? I got tables filling up here. Where’s your tray?”
    “Sorry.” She shot Beth an apologetic smile. “Little emergency. I’ll get on it.”
    She moved quickly, catching the eye of one of her team members and pausing by the table. “White female, late thirties. Brown and brown. She’ll be coming out of the ladies’ room in a minute. Navy jacket and slacks. She’s sitting in the bar area with a white male, early forties, gray and blue in a green sweater. Keep them in sight, but don’t move in. We handle it just like we outlined.”
    She walked back to the bar to pick up another tray as a prop. The man in the green sweater was paying the tab. Cash. He looked relaxed, but Ally noted he checked his watch and glanced back toward the restrooms.
    The woman came back in but, rather than taking her seat, stood between the tables and reached down for the short black cape she’d draped over the chair. For a matter of seconds, her body blocked the view, then she straightened, beamed at her companion and handed him the cape.
    Smart hands, Ally thought. Very smart hands.
    When Jonah turned the corner of the bar, she inclined her head and let her gaze slide over to the couple preparing to leave,