Navarro's presence sparked a new form of uneasiness that seeped directly into the woman's bone marrow. It was a cold, invasive feeling that kicked her into immediate alertness.
Her eyes darted deeper into the club, scanning the smoky haze for anything out of place, searching for the shadow of an accomplice, but Navarro's slab was clean. It was eerily, convincingly clean, and that only made it worse.
The lack of evidence didn't justify it for her; she remained coiled on edge.
She couldn't pinpoint the source, but something was fundamentally off. Perhaps it was the fact that Navarro was too sober, too clean and fresh for someone who had supposedly come to lose themselves in the party.
She quickly narrowed him down to one of two things: a policeman in deep disguise or a gang member here to ignite trouble. Her second prediction was the more accurate of the two.
