Lucas
Forty-Second Floor of the Bank of Tidewater
Downtown Norfolk, Virginia
It was nine in the morning, the market hadn’t even opened yet, and already his firm was bustling with phones ringing, assistants rushing, and the low roar of hundreds of deals in motion.
Detectives giving his petite, timid secretary a hard time.
They stood out like a sore thumb in his polished, steel-and-glass tower.
The guy leaned on his secretary’s counter, toothpick tucked in the corner of his mouth, eyes sweeping the place like he was casing it. The leather jacket, five o’clock shadow, and fuck-you attitude were probably designed to intimidate criminals.
Lucas was immune to intimidation.
Next to him stood—he assumed the guy’s partner—a woman in a bold deep-purple blazer cropped at the waist over a black mesh blouse with cobalt Doc Martins laced up her black tights.
Lucas had never seen a cop with green hair and multicolored dreadlocks, but there was a first time for everything.
Lucas opened his office door.
“Mr. Brewer, I told them you had a meeting, but they’re demanding to speak with you now,” his secretary said apologetically.
Lucas gave a slow smile and gestured for them to come into his office.
“I’m Detective Roz Kelly. This is my partner, Channing Sharpe.” They both flashed their badges. “We only have a few questions, Mr. Brewer. Shouldn’t take much of your time. I’m sure it’s valuable.”
“It is, so let’s make this quick. I’m already late for a meeting.”
Sharpe was the first to move, coming in but not bothering to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk like his partner. Instead, he began prowling Lucas’s office like a lion.
Lucas narrowed his eyes as Sharpe ran his hand over the glossy conference table, then strolled toward the wet bar and lifted a crystal decanter of bourbon, tilting it toward the light.
“Top-shelf stuff,” he muttered, shaking it so the amber liquid splashed around the bottle. “Funny how half the bottles are nearly gone. Rough life as a millionaire, huh, Mr. Brewer?”
Lucas leaned back in his leather chair, unbothered, legs crossed, and steepled his fingers.
“Not rough, no. Busy, yes.”
Kelly ignored her partner’s sarcasm, as if she were used to it, and flipped open her notebook.
Her voice was calm, professional. “Mr. Brewer, we’re investigating a potential homicide. I assume you know why I’m here since we saw Thorn Blackwell leaving your office this morning.”
Lucas smiled faintly. “Ask your questions.”
“How well do you know Thorn Blackwell?”
Lucas arched a brow. “I crossed his path for the first time a couple of weeks ago.”
“What’s the nature of your relationship?”
“We don’t have a relationship.”
Yet .
“Then why was he at your office at such odd hours?”
None of your fuckin’ business.
Lucas adjusted his cufflink before answering. “The hour wasn’t odd for me, detective.”
He was sure she realized he wasn’t directly answering her questions, but she didn’t miss a beat, and her pen didn’t stop moving.
“Witnesses say there was a confrontation between you and Mr. Blackwell. What was it about?”
Lucas kept his voice smooth and measured. He’d faced hostile boardrooms, determined executives, and had bent them all to his will. These petty-ass questions were nothing.
“I didn’t have a confrontation with Mr. Blackwell. I was having a drink with a colleague when I intercepted a hostile disagreement between Mr. Blackwell and his ex. Nothing more.”
He had no doubt the police had already viewed the restaurant’s security footage, so he told the truth.
“Evan Scott.”
“If that’s his name, then yes,” Lucas answered.
Sharpe turned from the liquor shelves and leaned against the wall, smirking around his toothpick.
“‘Intercepted?’ Is that your word for posturing over Evan Scott and threatening him in the middle of a full restaurant?”
Lucas’s impassiveness didn’t falter as he cut his gaze toward Detective Sharpe. “I’m not a man who loses control in public, Detective. Mr. Blackwell asked his ex to leave, and when he didn’t, I reiterated it.”
“Threatened,” Sharpe sneered.
“ Insisted ,” Lucas shot back.
Kelly took over. “What were you and Thorn Blackwell doing here at three in the morning?”
“Minding our own business.” Lucas rose, buttoning his suit jacket.
“I really need to get to my meeting, detectives.” He reached into his drawer, produced a sleek business card, and slid it across his desk toward Kelly.
“If you need anything further, you can go through my attorney. I’ve entertained your asinine questions long enough. ”
Detective Sharpe let out an unamused chuckle. “Yeah, you’ve been real entertaining, Brewer. Typical of a mogul in an expensive suit trying to pretend he doesn’t reek of last night’s vodka and a three a.m. bad decision.”
That was enough!
Lucas’s composure didn’t crack, but his voice dropped an octave to cold steel. “Get the fuck outta my office.”
Kelly closed her notebook with a sharp snap. Sharpe grinned and flicked his toothpick into Lucas’s trash can before he followed his partner out.
The door closed behind them, and Lucas let his jaw tighten.
He checked his reflection in the fifteen-foot mirror, forced the business mask back into place, and strode toward his conference room to the meeting he was fifteen minutes late for.
But his mind wasn’t on business. It was on the so-called “bad decision” he’d made at three a.m.
Thorn.