Hell, he’d barely been able to look his date in the eyes during the reception after he’d found himself checking out Sydney. Every time he glanced her way, he’d imagine walking his fingers along the curve of Sydney’s spine straight to that ass of hers.
“Wait, what?” Beckett blinked, forgetting where he was again. The magnetic pull of Sydney, a woman he barely knew, was damn strong if she could hijack his thoughts on a night like this. “You’re here for a school essay?” Not what he’d been expecting, not that he’d asked her for that information.
“Mmhmm. One of my professors mentioned Al Capone used to cross the border into Juárez during that time to stock up on booze. And when I heard about this tourist trap of a location as a nod to that time period . . . well,” she said, speaking almost too fast for him, “I had to come see for myself. Although, I have to admit I feel like we’re two birds in a gilded cage here. We’re in a luxurious nightclub in the middle of nowhere, but we don’t have true freedom.” Her big, blue, seemingly innocent eyes found his as she whispered, “Cartel and all.”
He shuddered at the thought of his daughter ever doing something so insane. Did this girl’s dad know her whereabouts? Would he lose his mind to learn his daughter was in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods on the continent, not far from a place nicknamed Murder Valley and controlled by narcotraffickers?
Fuck, the idea of McKenna ever doing something like that for the sake of an essay gave him more than just heartburn. He set a hand to his chest and did his best to find a deep breath.
“I think this place is really a front for money laundering or drug smuggling. Something equally as shady as what Capone used to do himself.” She pointed toward the door leading into the club, and the sounds of jazz filtered out into the night air when it swung open and closed a moment later. “I mean, the club has framed images displayed from the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre of twenty-nine. If that doesn’t say it all.”
Her two steps back gave him a chance to find that breath he’d needed.
“I heard a rumor that some billionaire has his eye on the place though,” she added. “Soooo, what was the Great Gatsby quote you used to get into the club?”
Wow, did this woman ever stop talking? He thought back to his research on the place. Along with adhering to the strict 1920s dress code, patrons could only gain admission by quoting one of the famous Great Gatsby lines. The bouncer had a list on an iPad he’d scrolled through to verify, all part of the intrigue to bring tourists there. He hardly doubted the bouncer truly gave a damn about Gatsby.
Beckett had cursed the Amazon purchases he’d made a few nights ago when he’d ordered his era-appropriate outfits in preparation for a trip Jesse had been unaware of at that point. Then he’d praised Amazon Prime delivery for getting the shipment out to their small town so quickly.
“‘Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead,’” Beckett repeated the Gatsby quote he’d provided the bouncer earlier. When he’d researched quotes, he’d latched on to that one.
Subconsciously, he knew he probably selected it because he’d been such a jerk to Jesse not too long ago, and he truly did want to make amends and be friends again. Right his wrongs with his brother-in-law.
Beckett had only fessed up the truth about the trip to Jesse an hour before crossing the Bridge of the Americas into Mexico. Of course, Jesse wasn’t an idiot, so when Beckett had casually mentioned before they’d left Alabama to bring a passport just in case . . .
Maybe in Jesse’s mind tonight would be a chance to pay Beckett back for the nightmare they’d all survived in January when both Beckett’s sister and daughter had been caught in the crossfire of Jesse’s past.
But to Beckett, Jesse didn’t owe him anything, and he was now indebted to his brother-in-law.
“I chose a quote from Daisy Buchanan, of course.” She painted on a smile. Possibly a legitimate one, but he was losing faith in his ability to read her. “‘I hope she’ll be a fool. That’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.’”
Yeah, this woman was a fool to be in a cartel-run club for the sake of a college essay, that was for damn sure.
“Will you do me a favor and dance with me? Do you know the foxtrot? I actually don’t, but we can fake it til we make it, right? The music does sound pretty dope. And we look snatched in our outfits,” she rambled. “I almost feel like we time traveled and are really in the nineteen-twenties.” She opened her palm. “Will you help me write my paper? Give me a night of a lifetime I won’t forget?”
“I’m twice your age. There won’t be any night with me.” He was tempted to remove his hat and show her his hair to reinforce that he was too old for her. Stress had done a number on him, and he now had a few silver streaks cutting through his brown hair at his temples.
“Mm.” She tipped her head with an almost curious expression, not what he’d expected. “There’s another cherry-scented-perfume-wearing woman you’d rather dance with, isn’t there?”
Sydney? The idea of anything ever happening with that woman, outside his imagination at least, was crazy. They were from two different worlds. He’d have to settle for admiring her beauty from afar if she ever came back to his small town for work. “No, but now I feel like it’s my duty to ensure you get back over the border safely.” Thanks for that. Like he needed any more responsibilities tonight when he was there with one mission in mind. To find Ivy.
“Ah. A chivalrous gentleman, even for a grump.”
Grump. Mr. Grumpy. That was his sister’s nickname for him. Maybe it was well-earned. Sometimes. Fuck. Okay. Most of the time.
“You’re why older men are preferable to guys my age. They’d take advantage of me.” She turned her open palm to the side as if a request for a handshake instead. “I’m Jennifer.”
He zeroed in on her hand. No way could he leave Jennifer in Mexico alone. He’d never sleep at night wondering if she’d gotten herself kidnapped by the cartel. “Well, Jennifer, I won’t be dancing tonight. But I’ll do my best to keep an eye on you from inside the club. And to make sure you get home after you’re done with your research.”
She closed one eye as if contemplative. “You’re a hero-type, aren’t you? My grandfather was a cop in Boston, and you’ve got that vibe.”
He almost laughed. She really was more perceptive than him tonight. Cherry perfume aside, those three weeks of no sleep had screwed him up.
“Let’s just go inside.” He ought to locate Jesse anyway. He’d been gone for too long.
Of course, Jesse could more than handle himself. After all, he was a former Army Ranger and CIA hit man.
Beckett slipped a hand to Jennifer’s back and guided her into the club. The place really was a tourist trap, drawing mostly Americans, from what Beckett could tell, to spend money on an experience. The only thing calming his nerves was the fact the place would’ve long since stopped being a tourist hot spot if Americans kept going missing afterward.
“I’ll be over there.” He pointed to the only bar in the room, and she nodded a small thanks before wandering out to the dance floor near the live band currently playing a song Beckett’s mother loved, “It Don’t Mean A Thing” by the legendary Duke Ellington.