SHE WASN’T THE ONLY one working late. Though the lights were lower at that hour, the Chronicler office was far from abandoned.
If she could put together an outline for every one of her features, she could put the bones on each article. They’d need pictures. Comment. Did she want her father to comment? She could ask and then decide, or not, whether to use his words. Might be a better idea to make them up herself and just say they came from Ronald. Only a complete moron would argue with her these days, and Ron couldn’t afford to piss off Connel any more than he already had.
Those who worked with her grandfather would have things to say. Would they be nice? Did they have to be? How much editorial control would she get? She and Steeple would need to have a discussion. Not about her social life, about what he expected these articles to achieve.
Her grandfather’s house would be a treasure trove of his past. How much time did she and Lach have to clear the place before it was sold? A conversation she’d need to have with Conn.
Across the bullpen, Steeple’s office door opened. “Sersh,” her boss got her attention. Rather than pull her into his office, he came to her station. “Something happened at the Grand Hotel, it’s on police radio.”
“The Grand Hotel, why would you…?” Oh, shit, Nicole. “What did they say? What happened?”
Lach was her next thought, though if this was Nicole related, it wouldn’t be a good idea to involve her brother. Many of her recent decisions put him in the shit. He deserved to live his own life, to make his own mistakes, rather than be tarred by hers.
“I don’t know, sounds like an invasion, or a raid or a… The hotel called in about a disruption, violence, cops sent a dozen patrol cars.”
Her pulse kicked up. “What room?”
“Don’t know exactly. Eighth floor.”
Nicole’s floor.
Steeple wouldn’t know that, so why was she his first thought?
“Why tell me?” she asked. “You came straight to me. Why?”
His somber, pale affect wasn’t encouraging. “Irish down,” he said. “The cops got there, and, on their radios, they kept saying—”
“Thank you.”
Spinning on the spot, she snagged her purse and didn’t even bother to shut down her computer. Her phone was in her hand when she joined Daly by the elevator.
“Bluebell—”
“You know about this?” she asked, selecting a contact while calling the elevator.
Daly took her phone from her hand before she could dial. “Bluebell—”
“I’ll fucking kill him if he’s got himself hurt.” Her and the trio of men entered the elevator. “This is Nicki, isn’t it? Give me my phone.”
Why had he taken it anyway? Why had she let him?
Didn’t look like the guys had been given any insight. “He won’t pick up.” Okay, so they had some insight. “We’re on a blackout tonight.”
“A blackout, what—”
“A communication blackout.”
“Why?” she asked, but the guys just looked at each other. “Tell me what the—”
“We don’t get the why, we just get the order. No communication.”
“Why would we—”
“Usually, we’re covering someone’s ass,” Hock said. “Can’t be asked to testify about something we know nothing about.”
“Doesn’t it look strange, just suddenly no calls?”
“Calls are made, just… strategically.”
“Where is he?”
That provoked a collective snicker. “We don’t know.” All three shrugged. “Think Ire McDade keeps us in his private loop? We’re not in the inner sanctum.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Being his girlfriend, his lover, she was the epitome of his inner sanctum and she’d been blindsided. What chance did these guys have of knowing the plays?
“You know what it’s like to love a man like him?” she muttered as they went to the street.
“No,” Daly said, opening her door as the other two got into their respective vehicles. “And I don’t guess he’d want you to tell us.”
With a single exhale, she put a hand on top of the door sandwiched between them. “I’ll tell you this…” Because she wasn’t really going to bitch to his men, or anyone, about their relationship. “There’s not a damn thing he could do that I wouldn’t support him in. I’m his. Forever. So why is he determined to drive me nuts?”
Though Daly’s lips thinned a little, their corners did upturn just slightly. “I’m thinking it takes some crazy to be part of this world.”
And she couldn’t argue with that. “Take me to the mansion.”
That’s where she’d last seen him. Was he likely to be there? Who knew? Drinks with Play were still an hour away. Maybe she could track her guy down before then to get some kind of explanation. Coercing him to share would be easier than doing the same to his cousin.
Irish down.
What did that mean? Nicole? If the cops knew the victim… Was there a victim? That hadn’t been made clear. And now she was scared to use her phone. Not that she had it, Daly never gave it back. Didn’t matter when she couldn’t use the thing.
At the mansion, she got out as soon as the gravel stopped crunching. Running up the stairs, she didn’t wait for security. This was about as safe as she’d ever get.
Office was empty, bedroom, closet. Damnit. Thinking Strat might have something to share, she went into his bedroom. Empty.
That set her fists on her hips. Both men were leading her a merry dance. Shit.
Going back downstairs, her guys were still loitering in the foyer.
“What’s the plan?” Hock asked.
Without answering, she went to the dining room to stick her head around the door. “Anyone who—” And she noticed Strat, right there in the middle of the damn room, no shame. “You, Patient, get your ass out here.”
Backing up, she waited there, just a few feet from the door until he came out to join her.
“You’re pissed,” Strat said, and spotted the guys somewhere in the background. “You ordered to keep her here tonight?”
She glanced back, then at her friend. “Don’t talk to—” she spun to them, “did he order you to keep me here all night?”
“No!” Daly said. Hock and Snuff weren’t so good at hiding their guilt. “Just until your drinks thing.”
“Hear about what happened at the Grand?” Strat asked.
That brought her blinking attention back to him. “You knew about this? Oh my God…” She growled at the ceiling, then grabbed her friend’s tee-shirt to drag him upstairs. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I got handed a phone to call Immie, then it was taken away. Thank you for that, by the way.”
Striding into the office, she continued into the bedroom. “Thank me by telling me what the fuck is going on.”
“Don’t know. No one knows. It’s a blackout though, so it’s something.”
“What the hell does that even—why are you out of bed anyway? I told you to rest, recuperate, you can’t get better in one day.”
“Think I never took a beating before, Scamp? No one pulled my fingernails out with pliers. This is fists and feet, standard stuff.”
So it was okay providing no weapons were used? She could argue the men who attacked her didn’t have weapons either and everyone went crazy about that. In contrast to Strat though, she’d never taken a beating before that night.
Forgetting the past, she went into the closet and flicked on a light. “Sit down.” She kicked off her shoes and untucked her top, calling out to her friend in the bedroom as she got undressed. “How are you feeling? What did the doctor say?”
“Nothing permanent. Looks worse than it is.”
“Did you calm Imogen down? She was worried today.”
“About her brother too.”
She stuck her head out. “Did you speak to him?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. Being looked after by all accounts.”
“You spoke to him?”
“Yeah.”
Huh, so her friend was allowed—obviously, that was his son. “I didn’t know Ford was involved in any of this.” Tossing her things in the hamper, she put on a robe. “How is he involved?”
She turned on the shower, then came out of the bathroom. Her friend was perched on the edge of the ottoman at the end of the bed. Feet wide apart, elbows on knees. Not the most comfortable spot.
“You can sit on the bed,” she said, and gestured to the wingback seats by the window. “Or over there.”
“If Ire McDade walks in here and I look too comfortable—”
“He won’t care,” she said, laughing. “He knows we’re friends. Only friends.”
“Don’t think it matters if we’re fucking. People aren’t supposed to hang out in the head guy’s space.”
“This is my space too, and I’m telling you he won’t care.” Her head tilted. “You did this at the loft too.”
“Think if Ire walked in here right now, you’d be more concerned with yelling at him than sticking up for me. We underlings are always the first forgotten.”
“Would you stop?” Folding her arms, she rested a shoulder on the doorframe. “Where’s Ford?”
“Stag.”
“Staying there? Why?”
He stood up. “Ask the gaffer.”
“If I could find him, I would.”
“You get ready. I’ll get dressed and come with you.”
“No, you’re hurt.”
“Ah, it’s cuts and bruises, Scamp. What good am I hanging around here? You’ve got your drinks thing, I want to check in with my boy. And you think I trust the three stooges with your life on a night like this? Hard for them to keep you in check when you ignore everything they say.”
“I hear them.”
“You rule them. They’re too scared to say no to you.”
“Daly says no.” When he didn’t know anything. She sighed. “Fine. We don’t have time to argue. Twenty minutes, in the office. If you’re not there, we’re leaving without you.”
“Think I’m likely to be the hold up here?”
She scowled at his laugh and backed up until he departed the room. Guy was right, unfortunately, all he had to do was shower and change. She had hair, makeup, nails, all things she hadn’t planned to do, but now she was there, it seemed necessary.
Conn. Where was he? There would be a contingency for this, right? For what they’d do if Nicole was discovered by someone looking to claim the contract. “Irish down” could mean Nicole, or something else entirely.
Most might think if Nicole was dead, there’d be more of an uproar in the ranks, but it wasn’t like she was the most loved McDade, not by a long shot.
As predicted, Strat was standing by the office door waiting when she emerged.
“Feel better?” he asked.
The swelling of his eye, the bruise on his jaw, the cut on his ear… Yeah, he’d cleaned up, but the injuries weren’t invisible.
“You sure you want to do this?”
“If there’s a chance of trouble, I don’t want you, or my boy, alone.”
“Okay,” she said and took his arm. “Then let’s get to it.”