NEXT MORNING, the bedroom light went on. “Shit, Dad, I don’t know why you—” Whose voice was that? Was it morning? Squinting into the intrusive light, she tried to get her bearings. “What the hell is this?”
Someone was standing just inside the bedroom door. Someone. Shit.
“Imogen,” she said, holding the covers to her chest as she sat up. “Uh… hi.”
“Hi?” Imogen said, propping a hand on her hip. “What the hell are you doing in my dad’s bed?”
At that, the bathroom door opened and Strat joined them. Wearing nothing but a towel.
“Shit,” she murmured.
Imogen made a sound of disgust. “Oh my God!”
“What you doing here, Immie?” Strat asked. “You okay? What happened?”
Typical that he hadn’t even given thought to what his daughter might assume about the scene.
“She’s younger than me, Dad!” Imogen said, her face scrunching in disgust. “Oh my God!”
Their visitor spun around to stalk out.
Strat just looked at her.
“Go after her!” she hollered.
“What?” he said, finally getting a clue this wasn’t good. “What the fuck did you say to her?”
“Oh my God, Strat. I didn’t say anything. She thinks we had sex!”
“What?” he asked, blinking in shock. “Why the hell does she—”
“Take a look around, Strat.”
He did and caught up fast. “Shit.” Seemed to be a lot of that sentiment going around. “Imogen!”
As he marched out of the room, she got up without a thought of showering. She just wanted to get into her clothes as fast as possible. Drama was everywhere. And this one wasn’t on her. Not exactly.
How fast could she get out of there?
Her notes were spread on the kitchen counter. They’d have to go with her. The previous night, Strat talked her through the details he remembered. Not that he remembered much. His philosophy leaned more to staying in his lane than asking questions of the trigger-happy criminals who ran the city.
Tossing her hair from her face, she rushed out of the room and ran straight into Strat’s back. He hadn’t got far. Probably because his daughter was on the opposite side of the room, gesturing wildly.
“This is disgusting,” Imogen said, throwing her arms up. “It’s wrong. Totally wrong…” She snorted. “That’s probably exactly why you want to do it. Is that what it was? The forbidden? You know she’s the cop’s sister.”
“The cop?” she said, peeking around Strat.
“My idiotic father and brother refuse to say his name,” Imogen said, then recoiled in disgust again. “Lachlan will go postal.”
“No, he won’t,” Strat said.
Imogen was still addressing her. “I’m not telling him. You’re telling him. Don’t think I’ll lie for you though. If you don’t tell him, I’ll tell him.”
“You don’t want to do that,” Strat said, his voice oddly deep. “Immie—”
“Don’t Immie me like that,” she said, gesturing between them. “This is sick.”
“Because there’s an age difference?” she asked, just curious. Strat twisted to land a glare on her and she shrugged. “I want to know.”
“Because you’re younger than me,” Imogen said. “He’s old enough to be your father.”
“He’s a better man than my father,” she said, much to the surprise of everyone in the room, including herself.
“Your father’s Police Superintendent.”
“I know who my father is,” she said, squeezing around Strat to go to the counter and gather up her notes.
“You know he’ll arrest you for something, Dad,” Imogen said. “The police superintendent. When he finds out about this, they’ll find some way to lock you up… Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Hell, even Lach will find some loophole to put you away.”
“Who says it’s anything more than sex?” she asked, scooping her things into her satchel.
“Don’t,” Strat said.
She glanced at him for a second before looking at the dumbstruck Imogen. “If it’s just sex, my father and brother don’t have to know. You think they know every guy I ever slept with? Does Strat know every detail of your sex life?”
“Just sex,” Imogen said, still sort of on pause. “It’s just sex?”
“I’m saying it could be.”
“No, it couldn’t,” Strat said. “Nothing’s going on, sweetheart.”
“Don’t baby me,” Imogen said, returning to her disgust. “Don’t remind me that your girlfriend was born after your own daughter.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Strat said. “She’s in trouble and stayed over because her place isn’t safe.”
“Oh, that’s convenient,” Imogen said, glaring at both of them. “Very convenient. So you just tripped and your dick fell into her?”
“We did not have sex,” Strat said, measuring his words.
“Don’t let her judge you,” she said, folding her arms. “Don’t let her judge us.”
“Right,” Strat said, turning her way. “‘Cept your boyfriend won’t see it that way, will he?”
The slight widening of his eyes reminded her they had to be careful of more than just Imogen jumping to conclusions. If, somehow, this got back to Connel, he might not wait to hear explanations.
“Right,” she said, her arms dropping to her sides. “We’re not having sex. Never had sex. He’s just… helping me out.”
“Great,” Imogen said. “I totally believe you.”
She totally didn’t, but Sersha picked up her satchel, tossing the strap over her head. “You two have a great day.
“Just gonna disappear on me?” Strat asked.
She shrugged. “I have to go home and… you know.”
“Call me later.”
She nodded and offered Imogen a smile before slipping away. She’d go home to shower and change, then get to the library… and maybe the archives again. The jigsaw wasn’t complete, but at least she had more pieces.
***
THE DAY HAD a horrible habit of sneaking away from her. She’d spent a big chunk of it on the phone trying to track down Clancy McDade.
Given Strat had his own problems, she wanted to take a shot at getting to the guy before involving the tracker. The fewer people who knew about her investigation before she got a chance to talk to Connel, the better.
She intended to loop him in after darkness descended and she got club ready. He hadn’t called. She hadn’t heard from him at all since his party on Monday night. Would she have to deal with that at the club? Maybe. But she couldn’t put it off forever.
Getting a cab to Stag, she figured it would go one of two ways. Either Connel wanted her to react to his sex party or he didn’t. If she didn’t bring it up, he likely wouldn’t either. Maybe letting it slide was the better option. Sex for silence was their deal. Despite Daly’s view on the matter, theirs wasn’t a monogamous relationship.
She paid the driver and got out, straightening her skirt before approaching the club. Connel would be busy or he wouldn’t. She might not get to talk to him at all.
The head security guy held up a hand. “No.”
“No?” she asked, glancing at the line of wannabe clubbers behind the rope. “You want me to line up with the others?”
Stopping just short of following with the cliché, “do you know who I am?” she was losing patience with the brutes Connel employed.
“Can if you want,” he said, looking past her. “Still won’t get in.”
“I won’t get in?”
“No,” he said and opened his overcoat to retrieve something from his inside pocket. “He’s finished.”
What the hell was going on? “He’s finished. What does that…?” The bouncer held out a flash drive. “He’s finished.” Understanding settled over her as she took the USB stick. For a second, she was just cold. Finished. Their deal was done. That meant… over. They were over. And he didn’t even have the decency to tell her himself. So much for loyalty. Standing there on the street wouldn’t accomplish anything. Swallowing, she moistened her lips. “Okay.” Forcing a smile, she didn’t want the guys to see her disappointment. “Thanks.”
Did she really say thanks? Turning to walk away from the humiliation, her defeat didn’t make sense. He was done? Because she hadn’t called him? He hadn’t called her. Maybe he’d been done since Monday. The sex party must’ve been a good one.
A car horn blared, startling her. She stumbled back, holding up a hand to block the bright lights coming right at her. Damnit, she was in the middle of the street. Waving in apology, she picked up her pace and kept on walking. She needed distance from Stag. From whatever had just happened.
Why was she so shaken? Stag had been her safety. Being barred from there was like being barred from her own escape. Now she was open, completely open, exposed, vulnerable, to anything Evander’s heart, or body, desired, if he got his way. What was she going to do? Move in with Strat? With Lachlan?
Her eyes closed for a second. Her brother. Shit. She’d have to tell him everything. The whole truth. Evander’s interest came and went through the years. Whenever she could shield her brother from it, she did. Now it was a thing again, maybe worse than ever before.
According to Strat’s contacts, Evander was still in the hospital. After what he’d said to her… Evander thought there was a contest or something going on. She didn’t blame Connel for wanting to be free of it. She wanted to be free of it too. Shame it wasn’t so easy for her to walk away.
The whole thing was ridiculous. Evander was a cocky—
A hand closed over her mouth as an arm locked round her ribcage, hauling her off her feet. She kicked and tried to scream, but there was nothing as whoever he was lugged her into shadow. She couldn’t breathe with his huge hand blocking her airway. What the hell was…? Who was…? Shit. Think. Breathe.
Slammed back against a wall, the air rushed from her lungs. Pain blasted the back of her head. Stars dazed her eyes.
A gruff voice, right in her face, fogged her with foul breath. “Talk,” he snarled. “Fucking talk.”
“What the…?”
Had he asked something? What was happening? The dark air smelled like urine and dumpster. An alley. They were in an alley.
“McDade,” he hissed. “Who’s on his payroll?”
“Who’s on his—”
Yanked forward and thrown to the ground, something hard hit her side. Searing fire shot up the inside of her arm. Screaming at the pain, she somehow ended up on her back.
“You tell me who the fuck he’s greasing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, cradling her aching arm. “I don’t know what you want to—”
“Think he’ll protect you?”
Her hips moved, her dress. Fuck. Cold, slimy hands groped her thighs, yanking fabric, jerking it up to her panties.
“Where’s the fucker now?”
“No,” she said, fighting to close her legs when a knee landed between them.
“Fucking talk or he’ll have you.”
Closing her eyes, she sucked in a breath. Concentrate. Don’t be afraid. Be smart. One guy crouched over her, dirty blond hair, blue eyes…
“Do you know who my father is?” she panted, huffing in one breath after another.
The grit of dirt dampened her skin, her dress, her hair. When someone grabbed her thigh, she kicked out with the other leg. Up and out, just like Lachlan taught her, leading with the heel. From the howl of pain, she guessed she hit the mark.
“Fucking bitch!”
“Get out of here. Now,” she said, finding her disgust in time with her rage. “You don’t want to get in any deeper.”
The dirty blond guy laughed and glanced at his colleague. “You hear that? She’s threatening us!”
Skull and crossbones tattoo behind his ear.
“I’ll fucking show her.”
Her thighs were grabbed again. She fought, using all her strength to close her legs as a shorter, stockier guy tried to get between them.
“Fuck you,” she said, kicking though she’d lost both her shoes. “No!”
“You want him to stop, you tell us,” the blond guy said. “Who’s McDade got on the council? His allies. Who’s on the Harvest deal? Tell us!”
“Fuck you,” she said, spitting at him.
Flipping over, she tried to crawl away. Someone grabbed her ankle and dragged her back. Emptying her lungs, she screamed. Someone had to hear her. Please. Anyone.
“Dumb bitch!”
“No!” she yelled, scrambling to grab for something, anything.
Trash and puddles. No weapons. No salvation. When they let go of her ankles, she struggled to her knees, desperate to get to her feet.
A fist tightened in her hair, jerking her hard, swinging her around in an arc that ended in the harsh brick of a building. Nausea. The pain was more than her body could handle. She couldn’t see anything but black. Still, she lashed out, nails first, seeking skin. Gather the evidence. Lach would need evidence.
Another something hit her gut and she doubled. Lachlan. Tears would come if they could. One hit became another, and she was on the ground again. Retching. Screaming. Trying to fight. Her brother… He’d never forgive himself. He’d never let this go. She’d be his demise.