The bar had more of an S&M vibe than he’d anticipated, with lots of black leather and chrome, and was about three-quarters full.

 

Not even 6:00 p.m. yet. Must be a happening joint by ten. More to the point, it had whiskey, and lots of it. He bellied up to the bar and got ready to make out with a Jack on the rocks.

 

Another man swung onto the barstool beside him. Ordered some drink called a Derby. Stone watched the bartender mix it in minor disbelief. Who the hell paired whiskey with lime juice? And Grand Marnier and vermouth? The customer, a stupidly good-looking preppie type, sipped it in appreciation.

 

Stone shook his head. “My granddaddy would take you out back and shoot you for doing that to perfectly fine sour mash whiskey.”

 

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” the guy popped off.

 

Stone’s grin widened as he assessed the newcomer. Quick on the comeback. Bit of a smartass. Had the whole Captain America thing going, though. Clean-cut, close-shaven, square-jawed, and blue-eyed… a walking milk commercial missing only the white mustache. Totally not his type.

 

Cap surprised him by ordering two more Derbies and pushing one down the mirrored bar at him. “Go ahead. I dare you. Live dangerously.”

 

Stone grunted in wry humor. Bastard had no idea how dangerously he usually lived.

 

“Don’t touch anything. Don’t move. We’ll be there in sixty seconds.”