Page 11 of Dominion's Guard
"Renata."
She stops. Just my voice, just her name, and she stops. The effect of it runs through me in a way that has nothing to do with the badge and everything to do with the part of me that has spent months across this bar thinking:not with me, you wouldn't.
"What," she says, flat and final.
"That drink's heavy on the ice."
She looks at the glass. She looks back at me. The flash of irritation that crosses her face is genuine, not performed, because she knows I'm right and she hates that I noticed.
"You want me to remake it, or do you want to keep finding things to criticize so you have an excuse to stay at my bar?"
"I'll drink it as is. But you knew that before you poured it."
Her chin lifts and she turns away to work the rest of the bar. I drink my bourbon and keep my eyes on her and think about what I know and what I want.
What I know: she's scared, she's handling it with sarcasm, and she's holding back information that could break this case open. The Rapier Strategic detail is visible if you know what to look for, two operators at separate tables, positioned to cover both exits, drinking water and scanning the room. They clocked me when I walked in.
What I want is less professional and more complicated. I want her across a negotiation table in a private room, no bar between us, no badge. Just her and me and the truth of whatever she's been hiding behind that bratty mouth. I want to find out what happens when the comebacks run out. What her breathing sounds like when she stops controlling it and lets someone else set the pace. I've spent months observing her perform for other Doms, hitting every mark and holding back the one thing that would make it real. I want to be the man who earns what she won't give anyone else.
That's not happening tonight, and probably not anytime soon. But patience is what I do, and Renata is worth the wait.
The club thins out over the next hour. Renata closes the bar with her usual ritual: bottles checked, register closed, station wiped clean. When she pulls off her apron and reaches for her bag, I stand.
She sees me coming and her spine straightens. "I'm off the clock."
"Good. So am I." I close the distance between us, stopping close enough that she has to angle her chin up and I can smell citrus from her garnish work mixed with clean soap and something underneath both that's just her, warm and sharp, settling in my chest and staying there. "I have information you need to hear. You can hear it now, or I can show up at your apartment tomorrow with a formal request for a follow-up interview. Your call."
The mention of a formal interview does what I expected. She doesn't want detectives at her door in the Irish Channel where neighbors see and talk.
"Fine. Talk." She crosses her arms and leans against the bar, settling in on her terms.
I match her posture, lean against the bar rail beside her, angled so I can see the exits and the Rapier Strategic detail across the floor.
"The parking garage cameras were remotely wiped," I tell her. "Every camera, every level. Professional-grade hack. Based on what the building manager could tell me, it looks like the wipe happened in the same window as the killing. That's not a coincidence."
Her arms tighten across her chest but her face stays controlled. "So there's no footage."
"No footage. But a remote wipe is evidence in itself. It proves premeditation and serious technical resources. And it confirms that what you saw was real, because someone went to significant trouble to make sure it couldn't be verified."
"I already know what I saw was real. I don't need a camera wipe to tell me that."
"No. But the patrol unit that wrote you off as unreliable might." I let that land. "Lawrence's family filed a missing persons report this morning. He didn't come home. Phone's off. Car's unaccounted for."
Something shifts behind her eyes. The bratty front flickers, and what's underneath is grief for a man she served drinks to for years, mixed with the cold relief of being believed.
"So what happens now?" she asks, quieter than before.
"Now I work the case. My captain gave me a deadline to produce something solid or it gets buried."
"And you're telling me this because?"
"Because you're holding back, and we both know it." I turn to face her fully, closing the angle between us. She doesn't step back, which means she's either too stubborn or too curious, and either one works for me. "You gave me the outline last night and kept the details for yourself. I don't know what you're protecting or why. But whoever killed Lawrence cleaned that scene in minutes, wiped a commercial camera system remotely, and made a body disappear without a trace. That's not someone who stops at one."
Her mouth tightens. I can see her calculating, running the math on trust versus risk. Her defenses are still up, but the intelligence behind them is fully engaged. She's weighing options, not deflecting.
"I told you what I saw."
"You told me what you were willing to share. There's a gap between those two things, and someone's life might be sitting in it." I straighten from the bar and take a step back, giving her space. "When you're ready to close that gap, you know where to find me."
