Chapter 12
E verly
Perched on Connor’s bed, I tapped out a message to Genevieve, asking if she was free. She shot back a reply, pointing out that it was raining hard so the roof wasn’t the best option and could we meet downstairs?
I peeked from the bedroom door. At the kitchen counter, Connor was cleaning up from dinner, the overhead lamps casting him in bright light and shadows so every single muscle on his powerful arms stood out.
Arms that had been wrapped around me while his hands did devilish things.
I shivered, the image of his tattooed hand buried between my legs one I’d never get over. As if he could sense my spiking need, he raised his gaze, dark emotion in his eyes.
After we’d returned from the brothel, Connor had sent me in for a shower, and when I’d emerged, he pointed out two ready meals he’d microwaved. Both were plated with a salad alongside, and for some reason, that gesture struck an arrow in my heart. A simple meal, but he was feeding me.
Caring about me.
A little note propped alongside them read EAT.
I’d picked the one I thought he’d like least, a vegetable lasagne, then carried it to the table beside the big window. He devoured his at the counter with quick stabs of his fork then disappeared down the hall. I’d gone to find him, but he must’ve locked himself in the room I hadn’t been able to get into yet. So I’d lain on his bed and waited for him, but he hadn’t come.
“I need to talk to Genevieve. I want to go downstairs,” I told him.
He held his gaze on me.
“Will you come with me?” I tried again. He’d locked me in here, but I didn’t think I was a prisoner. Not truly.
Slowly, Connor inclined his head. “I have work to do this evening, which means I can’t watch over ye constantly.”
“That won’t matter if I’m with Genevieve and Cassie, will it?”
His expression dropped into a scowl. “Since when have ye been tight with them?”
A smile twitched my lips. I liked him grumpy because he didn’t know every part of my life. “You’re not going to stop me, then?”
“Pretty sure you’d find a way out regardless.”
“I’ll get ready.”
At his wardrobe, and with the bedroom door firmly closed, I gazed at the very limited amount of clothes I had. The dress Connor brought unexpectedly was my only real option when everybody else would be dressed for clubbing. I’d picked it up a couple of years ago because it reminded me of the clothes I’d loved as a teenager. Midnight blue and milkmaid-style, it was ankle-length, with little capped sleeves and a square, ruched, lowcut neckline, cut tight under the bust. The light, floaty material elevated it from daywear to evening, but it was romantic, feminine, cute , and with a big emphasis on my boobs. Until now, I’d not had the occasion, or confidence, to wear it.
I paired my makeup to the blue of the dress and coiled my hair over one shoulder, adding the spike-heeled shoes Connor had selected, then I stared at myself in his mirror.
At home, I had any number of beautiful dresses, from elegant garden party dresses to ballgowns for very formal occasions, and I wouldn’t have picked this outfit in a hundred years. It was almost like the version of me reflected back was someone else.
A more confident version of Everly Makepeace. A complete fantasy, dressed by Connor Michaels.
I grabbed my phone and made for the door, throwing it open to find him on the other side, hands in his pockets like he’d been waiting there.
Connor’s gaze travelled down me. Blocking my path, he stared at me. Under his slow perusal, I subtly shifted my posture, shoulders back, chest out, skin tingling at the attention.
Finally, he spoke, though it was a low and guttural single word. “Fuck.”
A thrill passed through me, and I slipped by him, going to the apartment’s exit. “Good to go?”
Too much, I enjoyed how he adjusted his crotch and followed. Outside, we descended in the lift to the ground floor, and I followed Connor to a room with rows of monitors showing different parts of the warehouse. A crowd danced on the floor of the nightclub. From memory, they had a student night early in the week. The strip club was equally packed with men around tables and lined up in front of the stage, though it was barely nine-thirty.
“Mick,” Connor hailed my security guard from earlier in the day. “Everly’s meeting up with Genevieve and Cassie. I have shite to get on with, so do your thing.”
I twisted to him. “I won’t leave the building. I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“Either Mick watches over ye or you’re going back upstairs. Over my shoulder if necessary.”
My jaw dropped, but fire flashed in his eyes, and my protests died on my tongue.
“Fine.”
“Good.” He walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Besides, looking like that, you’ll need all the help ye can get fighting off the rabid dogs that are going to chase ye.”
I frowned at his retreating back then shot a quick message to Genevieve to find out where she was. With help from Mick, I made my way to the VIP section of the nightclub.
Music thumped, the DJ playing a mix of ‘Closer’ by Nine Inch Nails, an anthem the crowd chanted and moshed along to.
The steps I trotted up vibrated under my feet.
Genevieve leapt from a booth and embraced me, so pretty in her long black skirt and silver cropped top which displayed a toned belly. A bejewelled choker covered her throat, sparkling in the light.
Perched on the table with her expensive heels on the leather seat, Cassie gave me a wave then hopped down.
The two of them directed me behind the bar to a staff-only cloakroom, Genevieve shutting the door on the noise, and on Mick.
Taking a seat on a bench, she regarded me. “I’m glad Shade decided to let you out.”
I laughed. “I went to work all day, too, so I guess I’ve been a good little prisoner. What are we doing in the staffroom?”
“We can have a drink and a dance in a minute, but it’s too noisy out there to hear each other, let alone concentrate.”
“Yup, and we have business to attend to.” Cassie leaned against the door. Her tiger-stripe black-and-gold dress had long sleeves and a high collar but was ultrashort, baring toned legs.
Even more, I was grateful to Connor for bringing me the less formal dress. It might not have been made for clubbing, but if I’d worn a suit dress here, I would’ve felt so out of place. I took a seat on the opposite bench to Genevieve.
Cassie lifted her chin to me. “What have ye got?”
I blinked. “Regarding the two councillors? I did some data gathering. First, can I ask why they’re on your suspects list?”
Genevieve clasped her hands together in a pose of readiness. “Councillor Slaughter was a regular customer of Cherry’s, we’re pretty certain, and he was seeing her the weekend she died. When Natasha was killed, he was here in the brothel, so that’s a watertight alibi. But, we know from Cherry that he had a friend she didn’t like.”
“He’s tight with councillor Blake. They’re always together.” I pulled a face, recalling the two of them whispering about me earlier. Then Connor’s words took over the feeling. Fuck those two men. They’d earned my dislike and disregard.
Genevieve said, “Blake also has no alibi for either killing, though to be fair we focused less on him. Which is why we need you.”
I recited the bio I’d drafted on Slaughter, with where his money came from—mostly investments, all the councillors had multiple income streams including the average salary they were paid for their government work—and more personal details. “He’s the father of three.”
Genevieve recoiled. “Wait. He’s got kids? That isn’t in his profile on the council’s website, or his own. I know because I searched specifically for that.”
“They’re by three different baby mamas, and the only reason I found out was because I heard him boasting about it to another man at my house. Then I went looking and his child support goes straight from his salary. Three ways.”
“That doesn’t sound like a man who’d kill a woman because he got her pregnant,” she muttered.
My heart sank. “Which of the women was pregnant?”
“Cherry. She was my friend, too.”
Cassie had taken out a pen and notepad, scribbling things down as we spoke. She stuck the pen behind her ear, holding back her wealth of dark curls. “Considering his alibi for Natasha, it’s appearing less and less likely that he’s involved.”
“Shame. It would be nice to bring that asshole down.”
Both women stared at me, and Cassie snickered.
“You’re a secret badass, Everly.”
My cheeks warmed. “Let’s just say he’s not my favourite person. Anyway, moving on to Blake.”
I outlined his dull life, a twenty-five-year marriage with a wife who worked as a GP, and two grown kids. “The only thing vaguely scandalous is that she’s been having a long-term affair with another doctor at her practice and he sleeps with anything that moves here.” I blew out a breath, something not quite adding up. “In both cases, they’re not nice men, but killing women is a far reach from being a dog. I think my next step would be to dig deeper and see if I can link either of them to Natasha.”
Cassie flipped her page. “I discovered something. The brothel doesn’t send a bodyguard out with the women Blake buys anymore. They always do it as a default for when women have new clients, but cease it if they feel safe. It’s the same with Slaughter. Both men have women go to their house or office and no bodyguards escort them. That says something, doesn’t it?”
I blanched. It did say something, but beyond the fact Blake and Slaughter were considered safe. There was always a guard with the women who came to my house to see my father. I’d take hot coffee out to the guy if the evening wore on. The brothel had never stepped that back.
Genevieve shook her head. “Again, how do you know that, Cassie?”
“It wasn’t hard to uncover good intel, such as Blake also likes two women at once but can’t always afford it. I’ve spent days talking to people. Doesn’t being in this place make ye want to get under its skin? I find it fascinating.”
With her fingers going to the choker at her throat, Genevieve’s expression shifted to consideration. “Not really. Is that bad? I love it, and can see myself maybe running a drop-in session for the women here once I’m qualified as a nurse, but that’s it. It’s Arran’s baby.”
Cassie sighed, some of the brightness leaving her. “Maybe it’s the fact I’m stuck searching for a purpose in life so trying on everyone else’s for size.”
There was a moment of silence, just the muffled music of the nightclub filtering through.
I broke it. “Want to talk about that?”
She shook her head once. “Not now. Let’s stick to the agenda.”
Right . I made a mental note that my new perhaps-friend had some soul-searching going on and could use a chat. “Is there anyone else you suspect?”
Genevieve said, “Our main suspect was a man named Don, a member of the Four Milers gang. But he was found dead in his burned-out car, so at most, he could only have killed Cherry because of the timing.”
“Either giving us a copycat or an accomplice.”
Genevieve pointed at me. “Exactly. And I like the use of us in that sentence.”
I wrung my fingers in my lap. “I don’t mean to crash your detective party.”
“Uh, yeah, ye should.” Cassie beamed. “Did we just become friends? I think so.”
At my blush, Genevieve continued.
“We could use your help. The actual detectives in Deadwater are useless, and Cherry was my friend. I need to know what happened so the perpetrator can get what’s coming to him.”
“We also suspected your father.”
“Cassie!” Genevieve hissed.
Cassie wrinkled her pretty nose. “Shite, sorry. That sounded more tactful in my head, because if it were me, I’d want to know. We considered a lot of other people as well. Red, the leader of the Four Milers, Alisha, who works here, Moniqua, girlfriend to Genevieve’s brother.” Her lips twisted in dislike over the last woman’s name. “Arran even put forward one of the cops, Chief Constable Kenney. He protects the councillors and could’ve done the same to act against Natasha after she mouthed off about the club and the city.”
I knew Kenney—he came to visit my father often, and I was kind of hooked on the idea of them all sitting around in the group and coming up with this list. But I couldn’t get over that first listed person.
“Why my father?”
She examined her nails. “Sure ye want me to say?”
“Please.”
“Okay, but please don’t hate me. He’s a known user of sex workers, and he left here an hour before Natasha’s death. We invented the motive that he might want to protect the reputation of his councillors, in the case of Cherry. Though I’m not sure that stacks up anymore. Regarding Natasha, we’ve no idea. Does her name ring a bell as someone he might’ve known?”
I swallowed around a lump in my throat, horrified by the realisation that I wasn’t that shocked. My father hid his violence well, but it existed. His temper was short, and he dwelled on imagined slights. When I was little, he’d slap me to keep me in line.
He’d hit Connor, too.
Coupled with the fact he viewed women as disposable sex objects, it wasn’t the furthest I could stretch to. Yet I couldn’t share that. Not for the sake of loyalty, but if he ever heard I’d spoken about him in that way, he’d be incandescent with anger.
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
The two women swapped a look, then Genevieve stood. “Who’s up for a drink now? God knows I need one.”
Opening the door revealed a grumpy Mick, but he waved off my apology, and we returned to a booth with the black-and-pink skull logo of the club on the table. Without being summoned, a waiter brought over a tray of three cocktail glasses with a dark concoction inside. The drinks had a creamy top and coffee beans for decoration, studded around the shape of a skull added by a dusting of powder.
“What’s this?” I took a sip. God, that was delicious.
“Espresso martini.” Genevieve raised her glass in a cheers that we all chinked to.
I didn’t usually drink on a work night, but this was cause for an exception. My mind was swimming so much from the conversation, I almost missed Cassie’s words.
“I said tell us more about ye,” she repeated. “I want an Everly bio.”
“Oh, um, I studied Public Administration for my degree, but part-time because I was working for my father. He was a councillor before running for mayor, and his campaigns were my life.”
“How about outside of work?” she asked.
I drew a blank. My personal interests had fallen away one by one when my workload ramped up. “Honestly, not much.”
“Okay,” she drawled. “Brothers and sisters?”
“None that I know of.” It was a joke, but an unfunny one. My humour had fled the building.
Then again, I actually did know the answer to that. My father didn’t conceal his habits from me. I’d know if he paid maintenance for another child he’d fathered, as Slaughter did. It couldn’t have escaped me. At least in that, I’d never felt concerned.
My breathing came a little easier. My father wasn’t a killer. It was laughable to even consider it. He wasn’t the kindest or easiest of men but he carried out a very busy public-facing role. Stress was part and parcel of the job. The weight of Cassie’s gaze brought me back to the present.
The young Scotswoman watched me, her head at an angle with her black curls forming a wedge. “Do ye like what ye do?”
“I’m good at it.”
“That’s no answer. Is it fun?”
I gave a short laugh. “Not really? I’ve never thought about it like that, but work is work. I’m happy to do a good job.”
My statement met a challenge I’d been dwelling on—I’d been content with my life when I knew Connor was living his, unaffected by my family. Now I suspected he wasn’t, all the busy schedules, endless meeting planning, and rushing around with no thanks weren’t fun at all.
I turned to Genevieve who’d been listening in with an expression of sympathy. “Did you find out anything about my father and Connor?”
She took a drink of the martini. “I asked Arran. He confirmed there is a deal in place but, and I quote, ‘If Everly wants details, she should ask Shade herself.’ He seemed to think he’d tell you.”
“He won’t. He really does hate me, I wasn’t joking about that.”
Genevieve’s soft smile faded. “That’s rough, I’m sorry.”
“I made it that way, so I have no one to blame.” A gutting statement, but true.
It took a back seat to a more prominent emotion.
The deal existed. I was right.
The minute I got Connor alone, I was going to get to the bottom of it for good.
Shouting sounded over the pulsing music, and Genevieve leaned to look over the silver railing to the dance floor below.
“It’s starting,” she said.
“What is?” I asked.
Cassie and I shuffled along the curved bench to peer down. Connor came into sight below, forcing his way through the crowd with Arran beside him, the two of them wrestling another man. Their prisoner had bruises that were visible even in the low light, and he staggered, favouring one leg like the other couldn’t bear his weight.
“Is that Convict? I never met him,” Cassie asked.
Genevieve nodded, her gaze locked on the action and her hand covering her mouth. “I knew this was going to happen, but it’s horrible to witness.”
Abruptly, the music stopped, and a hush sounded over the huge nightclub, the lights still swirling and Arran’s voice loud in the room.
“Listen up. Convict is no longer welcome on this property.” He tossed the man to the floor, the nearest clubgoers scuttling away with expressions of fear.
“Please, Arran,” the man on the floor spoke, his voice thick.
Connor stood over his prone body. “This is what happens when you’re a faithless fuck, and when ye betray people who trusted ye.”
“I didn’t betray anyone, I never would,” the man pleaded. “My whole life is here. Please don’t do this.”
But Connor was unrepentant. “We saw ye with our own eyes, so don’t give me that shite. This is your doing. Get out while ye still can, and if I see your face here again, know that I’ll personally remove it from your body.”
The apparently rejected gang member pulled himself upright with difficulty. He limped to the door, head down, and his distress plain. Arran and Connor watched on, a solid wall of dark clothes and gang law.
My heart thumped. “Isn’t anyone going to help him?”
Genevieve shook her head, sorrow plain. “This is necessary.”
“He’s injured. He can barely walk.”
Convict reached the doors of the club, the bouncers stepping aside so he could pass. Once he was out of sight, Connor and Arran followed, presumably to check he’d gone.
Genevieve’s shoulders sank, and she snatched up her glass and downed her drink.
“That was rougher than I was expecting,” Cassie said.
“How were you expecting anything?” Genevieve asked. “Actually, I don’t know why I’m asking. You’ve turned into a regular spy.”
Cassie extended a casual arm. “Spy, detective, stalker, the CEO of all things feral and chaotic. I’ll get business cards made.”
On the table in front of Genevieve, her phone lit, and she read a message while the DJ started up the music again. The crowd rushed to fill the space the men had left, getting back to their partying like nothing had happened.
She lifted her gaze to me, her expression odd. “My brother’s here. He wants to see you. Do you know him?”
Cassie choked on her cocktail, recovering to run her fingers through her hair, her cheeks reddening.
“Your brother? I’ve no idea who he is,” I replied. “Why does he want to see me?”
“I’ve no idea, but he said it’s important and wants to come up. It’ll have to be quick, though. He got locked up in Shade’s apartment last time he came here.”
I goggled at her. “God. Is he dangerous?”
“Not at all. He’s the best. He was only protecting me.”
What was one more person to add to the drama of the night? I shrugged, losing myself in my thoughts until a man jogged up the stairs to the VIP area and approached our booth. He was tall and muscular, with tattooed arms and his brown hair long on top. He appeared a few years older than Genevieve and bore only a passing resemblance to her.
He reminded me of someone else. I couldn’t think who.
I did recognise him, though from somewhere long ago and obscured in my mind. His focus stuck on me, and he passed his hand across his face, temporarily obscuring the lower half, like Connor did when he wore his bandanna.
Adrenaline pumped through me, riding the connection I’d just made.
“What’s your brother’s name?” I asked Genevieve.
“Riordan.”
He was the man who’d broken into my house. Who’d tried to warn me. But right as I was putting the pieces together, Mick launched at him, a fist raised and his expression livid.