Chapter 23 Rook
ROOK
As we crawled through traffic, Asha glared at the gold band on her finger. “Why can’t I get this damn ring off?”
“Because you don’t have the key.”
She blinked. “What key?”
“The key that loosens it enough to slip over your knuckle.”
“Bullshit. A ring like that doesn’t exist.”
“It does. I’ll show you how it works as soon as you find the Soul Collector.”
“What about my podcast? I’m working on an important case and can’t put it on hold.”
“You can continue it alongside our investigation.”
She aimed a skeptical look at me. “I can?”
“It would raise alarm bells if you stopped all of a sudden.”
That wasn’t the real reason. The truth? I couldn’t bring myself to take it from her. That podcast made Asha come alive. It gave her purpose. And if I stripped that away, she’d hate me even more. Maybe I should’ve demanded she focus solely on my case, but I couldn’t do it.
“Okay. Good,” she said as if she didn’t trust that I’d agreed to her request.
“And if you must wander dangerous streets to ask people questions, you won’t do it without me.”
She went still, and her eyes narrowed as the pieces clicked into place. “It was you. You followed me to Kensington and killed that guy, didn’t you?” One hand covered her mouth. “Oh my God.”
“You’re lucky I was there. Lorenzo Tate isn’t someone you want to meet in a dark alley.”
“Neither are you, apparently.” She shook her head. “How long have you been stalking me?”
“I found your podcast about a year ago. The rest is history.”
“Maybe to you, but this is breaking news for me. I had a tech wiz hide my identity. How’d you find me?”
“You have a hacker. I have a hacker. Guess mine’s better than yours.”
“So you follow me places? Killed Lorenzo Tate? Why?”
“Is it so bloody terrible that I don’t want you to get hurt?”
She lowered her chin. “My safety isn’t your concern.”
But it is, Wildfire. Your safety is very much my concern.
I gritted my molars and bit back my response for fear of sounding unstable. Because if anything happened to Asha, I’d feel it as profoundly as any of the others I’d lost. Whatever my fascination had started as, it’d grown teeth. It’d burrowed into my chest and rooted there, refusing to let go.
“Sierra Witkowski,” Asha said suddenly. “Do you know what happened to her?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“But you have connections on the street. Someone must know something.”
“Maybe. I don’t make it my business to ask questions about runaways.”
Neither of us spoke for a time. I checked a few emails while Asha sat deep in thought, probably questioning every decision that had landed her here, until she straightened in her seat.
“That’s what I want.”
I arched a brow.
“You owe me. For manipulating me into this job, for forcing me to marry you, for sending me to fucking jail.” She aimed that hard stare at me again. “I’ll find your Soul Collector if you help find Sierra. Promise me that, and I’ll come willingly. Refuse, and I’ll resist you every step of the way.”
I exhaled long and slow. “It’d be much easier if you’d just accept cash like every other person in this city.”
“Why do you think I wouldn’t?”
Because I know you, love. Better than you realize.
I gave her a look that dared her to challenge me.
“Fine.” Asha sighed. “I don’t want your blood money.”
I nodded. “I’ll help you find Sierra, but only because I choose to. You’re in no position to make demands of me.”
“Just the way you like it, right?”
“Aye. You’re catching on.”
Her mouth flattened into a line. She hated this, but the flicker in her eyes told me she was in. Willing or otherwise, it didn’t matter. I had Asha. Hook, line, and sinker.
“Can you have your driver detour to my building? I need my recording equipment, my laptop, my—”
I waved my hand. “It’s already taken care of.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means everything you need is waiting for you at my apartment. Clothes, personal items, those leafy houseplants you seem oddly attached to.”
Her jaw dropped. “You moved me in while I was in jail?”
“Don’t fret. I told my men to be careful and not break anything.”
Asha’s hands clenched in her lap. “I never gave permission for your ogres to go through my stuff. That’s a gross invasion of privacy.”
“We’re a little past that, don’t you think?”
She rubbed her temples. “How am I supposed to work with someone like you?”
“I’ll make it worth your while. All your expenses will be covered, and I’ll pay you twenty-five grand a week.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry, I must’ve misheard you. I could’ve sworn you just said you’ll pay me twenty-five thousand dollars a week.”
“I did. Problem?”
“Yeah.” She snorted. “I’m totally worth more.”
“Then make it fifty.”
Asha gawked. “Are you high?”
“If there’s a figure you want, spit it out.”
“How rich are you?”
“The type of rich that buys the whole store instead of checking a price tag.”
“In that case, I want a hundred grand a week.”
“Done.”
“I thought you didn’t negotiate?”
“I’m making an exception for you. I thought you didn’t want my blood money?”
“I don’t. I’ll donate it to a charity for victims of violent crime.”
I shrugged. “Your choice.”
Her gaze dropped to the ring again. “I’ve agreed to your deal. Will you take this thing off now?”
“Not a chance.” My mouth tugged down. “Will you please stop trying to tear it off your lovely finger? I hate that you’re hurting yourself like that.”
One fingertip traced the large emerald. “Is it real?”
“Of course.”
“You’re insane.”
“Do you like it?”
“Do I like it?” She jerked back. “About as much as a prisoner on house arrest likes an ankle monitor.”
I looked out the window at the city blurring past. “Will it be so awful to wear it? To live in a twenty-five-million-dollar penthouse with every luxury you can imagine? I’ll buy you anything you want.”
“It’s not the conditions I’m objecting to; it’s the company. And just so we’re clear, I don’t want you buying me things, either.”
We drove through the streets in silence. Finally, I said, “Can I ask you something?”
Asha grunted but kept her gaze pinned to the window.
“Why’d you quit journalism?”
Her gaze cut to me, green eyes flaring.
Interesting. “Captive Audience is great, but you barely make enough money to survive.”
“How do you—” Her eyes pinched shut, and her hands balled into fists. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“You were good,” I added when she didn’t answer. “Better than good. Awards, front pages, solving cases even the cops couldn’t touch. Why’d you give it all up?”
“I didn’t quit,” she said quietly. “I got fired.”
Fired? How the hell hadn’t I known that? It didn’t even make sense.
“Why? What happened?”
“Not what. Who.” Her jaw worked. She bit a nail and turned back to the glass. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just drop it, okay?”
But I couldn’t.
Asha’s words might’ve been final, but the tremor in her voice wasn’t anger. It was hurt. Old, festering, raw. Whoever had stripped her of that career had done more than cost her a job. They’d carved into her pride. Into her fire.
And I wanted a name.
She pressed her forehead to the window, shutting me out, but it only made the need worse. Because if someone had broken her, I’d break them back. Slowly. Publicly.
Asha’s secrets would be mine. Every last one of them.