Light of Day by Allison van Diepen Page A

club. The sight of him blew me away. He was dressed GQ —pinstripe blue shirt, low-rise jeans, brown leather shoes. He was clean-shaven, and had used a touch of product in his close-cropped brown hair. I knew before I got near him that he’d smell of some sexy cologne, and God, did he ever.
    I wished that I could step right into his arms, pull his facedown to mine, and transport us back to last night’s incredible kiss. But his body language—hands in pockets, keeping his distance—told me not to. I reminded myself that this was his job. And getting involved with a minor would be against the rules.
    X took my hand and we walked up to one of the doormen. I was holding my fake ID, but the doorman didn’t bother with it. He pounded knuckles with X, lifted the velvet rope, and waved us in. I wondered if he knew that X was undercover, or if he knew him some other way.
    X took my ID from me and studied it. “Carlita Gonzalez, twenty-two. Guess I’m with an older woman tonight.” He examined the picture. “Close enough.”
    I paused. Older woman? He must mean that his cover was supposed to be younger than twenty-two. He couldn’t possibly be a cop and be twenty-one, could he?
    â€œMy friend Maria’s sister,” I explained. “She gives us all her old IDs.”
    â€œMy big brothers weren’t so generous. I had to steal theirs.”
    So he had older brothers too, not just a younger one. I wanted to ask more about his family, but I didn’t have the chance. He led me forward into the crowded darkness.
    Unlike the tourist trap that was the Space, this club was long and narrow, a maze of connecting rooms. I had the sudden memory of going into a haunted house when I wasthirteen, and freaking out as creatures emerged from all sides. The décor was black and red wine, from the velvet couches to the curtains lining alcoves. As we walked through the different rooms, I counted six bars, manned by half-naked female bartenders who looked like supermodels.
    X ushered me to a cozy corner table where a tall, tattooed guy was chilling. The guy didn’t look like a cop; most of the exposed area of his body was inked.
    â€œHey hey!” He bumped fists with X.
    â€œManny, meet Gabby.”
    â€œHola, chica.” Manny smiled appreciatively, eyes drifting over me. I pulled down the hem of my dress, which had ridden up as I sat down. Like X, I was done up for the club scene—short black dress, faux-leather jacket, big, glossy curls, and dark, chic makeup.
    â€œSo, Gabriella ,” Manny said, rolling his r and rubbing his goatee. “What are we drinking? Soda? Juice box?”
    I could see that he was playing with me. “Club soda with lime.”
    â€œFancy. I’ll go get it. Shitty table service ’round here.” He bounced out of his seat and went up to the bar.
    X spoke close to my ear. “Milo was seen here last Friday night, but Bree wasn’t with him.” The feel of his breath on my neck made me shiver. “If we see her, I’ll find a way for you to talk to her. You won’t have a lot of time. You shouldhave ready what you’re going to say.”
    I nodded. “I know Bree. She’ll talk to me.”
    I glimpsed the doubt in his eyes. “You’ll need to convince her to go somewhere with you, somewhere safe, where you can talk more. Don’t say anything about involving the police or her parents. Nothing that could faze her.”
    X could be wrong. From what I’d seen of Bree’s family, they were warm, supportive people. But I guess if Bree had been through a lot of trauma since her disappearance, the thought of her parents could overwhelm her.
    â€œOur exit route?”
    â€œThe back door of the club. Past that Exit sign.” He pointed down a dark hallway. “From there, we’d take her back to my place.”
    â€œOkay, makes sense.”
    â€œWhatever you do, don’t talk to