"How?" Micky asked. "Oh, right. Mackenzie's men being at my apartment means they're the ones who have my wallet, so they know what I look like."
"You're just figuring that out?" Robin asked.
"More like it just hit home, I guess."
Robin patted Micky's shoulder. "At least it has. All right, given that I can't take you with me, I guess I'll hope Mackenzie's otherwise occupied tonight. If he is at the club, he's going to want to know where I've been since I wasn't at his place last night."
"What will you tell him?"
"That he doesn't own me and I went home with a guy I picked up."
"You can't!"
"I wouldn't, though it would be tempting. I'll just tell him I was sick. Food poisoning. So I spent the night at my apartment, puking my guts out."
"Okay. If Mr. Irving is there, what then?"
"I'll do like I said, tell him I met a guy who has the same tastes he does and set up a meeting with you."
"Where?"
"Hmm, Swallows. The bar where you met Darren."
"Is that safe?"
"Should be. There's no reason for anyone who knows what you look like to be there, and as I said, I'm friends with the bartender. I can set it up with him to let you and Irving use the back room undisturbed."
Micky snorted. "He'll probably think we're getting it on."
"That works," Robin replied, grinning. "At least it means no one will walk in on you."
"Jeez." Micky puffed out a breath. "We'll do this tonight?"
"If we get lucky, and if Irving's willing."
"You're good at convincing people."
"I'd better be. It's what I do for a living. And," Robin added dryly, "to stay alive."
"That's a damned frightening thought."
"It's my life, Micky."
"I hope I can be as convincing, if this works."
"You will be," Robin assured him—and for the remainder of the day he took Micky through exactly how he had to act and what he should say—and not say—when he met Irving. He also called Eldon to have him come up with ID for Micky that would pass all but the most intense scrutiny, arranging for Eldon to leave it for him with his friend at the bar.
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