A couple of hours into a crazy Saturday night, Matt told himself the conversation with Eve before Eye Candy opened had netted good information and background details, but he knew already that his plan to take things slow wouldn’t hold up for long. Eve was smart, determined, ran her show like the motherfucking boss she was. No way in hell would she wait around for him like some sweet young thing. No way in hell would a woman like that give a second chance to a professional liar. At seven forty-two his partner arrived. Her blonde hair was done up in a fancy arrangement of curls and combs with butterflies on them, and her eyes were transformed by contacts that this time turned her average blue irises into the color of the Caribbean in travel ads. She wore a shimmery, barely there neon-blue dress, cracked her gum at Tom and got an apple martini and a wink in return, then disappeared into the crowd. At eight nineteen Conn McCormick walked into the bar. Wearing jeans and a loose button-down, he steadfastly ignored the frank appraisals from the women at the bar and ordered a Rolling Rock from Matt.
