22. Rachel
RACHEL
“Rachel,” David Foundry crooned in my ear.
I grimaced. “David, what a pleasure. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
That was a lie.
I’d expected to hear from the Attorney General sooner rather than later, but preferably not today.
After a morning spent in court, then a ninety-minute traffic jam, I had a to-do list a mile long. Parker was sulking with me for not calling to dish out the gossip sooner, and Hunter had sent me mounds of information that I had to sort through before I contacted Dead To Me.
Today was not the day for this conversation, but it didn’t seem like I was getting much choice anyway.
From the back of my car, around thirty minutes from home, I rubbed my forehead as he tutted, “I expected a ‘thank you’ by now. Currau Valentini is free, and already I’ve had some attorneys knocking on my door, trying to get their clients the same treatment…”
Thoughts racing a mile a minute, I realized that I hadn’t thanked him.
Not once.
Holy shit.
Aurora had texted me that Currau was free, and amid the maelstrom that was my life right now, it had slipped my mind.
“I’m sorry, David. Truly.” My voice oozed genuine apology because I felt it. I felt like shit, in fact. I didn’t forget things like that. Ever. “Shall we meet up for lunch at Paginatis?”
His laughter was a hell of a lot more intimate than I’d have liked, but a meal on me at a three-star Michelin restaurant by way of an apology wasn’t exactly small fry.
“I’d love that, but another time. You mentioned a certain someone would owe me a favor if circumstances were to pass where Currau Valentini was freed?”
“Yes,” I said warily, and my wariness only grew as he detailed his ‘requirements.’
After fifteen minutes of trying to butter the AG up, I ended the call with him and started another with Luciu.
I wanted nothing more than to dive into my house, to climb into bed, and sleep, but that wasn’t in the cards for me today.
"Everything okay?" Luciu asked before I could utter a word.
As I started scanning the emails Hunter had sent me, multi-tasking so this interminable day would finally end, I muttered, "When I got your uncle out, I had to pull in a massive favor with the Attorney General."
"He’s called it in now? So early?"
I hummed.
"What does he want?" he asked.
"Do you still have that cabin in Nevada?" I queried.
"Yes." If a man could sound wary with a one-word answer, then Luciu did.
Nerves high, anxiety well and truly amped up, I told him, "He wants that."
"Fucking corrupt bastard."
I grunted. "Like you didn’t already know that. And let’s be grateful that he is."
"You know what that cabin is?" he countered.
"A shelter made of wood? What’s the problem? Go and build another one," I scoffed as I continued reading.
According to some of my ears on the ground, Eamonn Keegan’s standing in jail was high enough that he had most of the screws (prison guards) in his pay—they danced to the drum he beat.
Luciu broke into my concentration by explaining, "It’s a high-class resort for businessmen with certain proclivities."
For a second, I froze. Unsure if I’d heard that right.
"It’s a brothel?” I hated that my voice was pretty much a squeak, but fuck. A brothel?
"Yes. It is. If he even knows about it, that means he has those kinks."
"You’re into sex trafficking?" I growled, temper surging.
"These women aren’t trafficked," he jeered. "Jesus, they’re there because they make half a million a year.
"Plus, it’s Nevada. That’s not illegal there. The only illegal shit going down in that place is tax evasion because I highly doubt those ladies are paying the IRS all their dues."
I hoped for his sake his goddamn brothel was in one of the ten counties out of sixteen in Nevada where it was legal or he was screwed.
Which would be pretty damn fitting.
"Half a million?" I questioned dubiously. "What are they doing to earn that?"
"Keeping secrets, mostly," was his dry retort. "People wouldn’t like knowing that their senator enjoys taking bright pink, ten-inch dildos up their ass while wearing a minidress and high heels."
"Christ. You know I have to work with the Attorney General, don’t you? I’ll never unsee that."
Hovering around David was bad enough as it stood, thinking of him like that was enough to make me puke, mostly because I could imagine him being into that scene.
I didn’t kink shame, but the guy was slimier than a slug. Throw in his kinks, calling him a slug gave them a bad rep.
"You shouldn’t have asked then," he drawled, but he quickly conceded, "He might not be into that, but only a select number of men are even aware of that goddamn cabin. They don’t let the news out to just anyone."
"I’ll bet," I grumbled. "Anyway, are you going to hand it over to him?"
"He can have it."
"I’ll let him know."
I cut the call, but I felt skeevy as hell as I emailed David with the confirmation that his favor was about to be paid in full. Of course, I used loftier phrasing than that.
On edge that Luciu had a brothel in the first place, I knew I was being a hypocrite that that was my hard limit considering all the other shit he, as well as the Sinners, got involved in.
With a huff, I decided that diving into work would be my solace, and I unpacked most of the information Hunter had sent to me by the time we finally made it into West Orange.
Deciding to get this over with, I set my phone on speaker and hit Dead To Me’s number.
Was it absurd that the sight of the name on the Caller ID had me sniggering to myself?
Dead To Me.
Like that was a name.
Jesus.
This really was my life now.
Rubbing my eyes, feeling like I’d aged a year since yesterday, I waited for the call to connect.
There were a couple beeps that reminded me of twenty years ago when a phone call went through an exchange to hit overseas, and then Dead To Me’s smooth tones sounded in my ear.
“Rachel Laker, I didn’t expect to hear from you this soon.”
“I work fast. Especially when my friend’s safety is on the line.”
“What news do you have for me?”
“Do you want the long or the short story?”
“I want everything.”
“I need reassurances that Hunter is safe.”
“He’s yet to leave his house. Plus, though this is no reassurance in today’s modern world, I’m out of the country. He’s safe for now.”
That was as much of a warning as anything else.
Not feeling particularly reassured, I murmured, “I contacted the State Department, but they were useless—”
“Of course they were,” she drawled.
“Three different connections, each one with an answer of their own. Only one got it right. Eamonn Keegan was released from jail in the new year.”
“Gold star to them.”
“Hunter was more useful in finding the information you required, but I have another source… He isn’t much of one anymore, because he died in December. But according to this source, Eamonn Keegan’s last attack in London was against the New World Sparrows.”
Dead To Me hummed. “Intriguing.”
“Apparently, the meeting was a conference between New World, Old World, and Eastern Sparrows.”
“Three different varieties? I’d heard about the New and the Old World, but not the Eastern.”
“Yes, they were new to me too.”
“Keegan was against them?”
“According to this source, he worked actively against the Sparrows for a while before his arrest.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But I do know that when Keegan was in prison, his sister was murdered.”
“By whom?”
“ECD.”
Did I mention the rest of Bear’s note? That he believed an ‘underling’ was behind the killing? Or was I borrowing trouble? She’d want a name, and when she asked for more info, I’d have no means of giving her that…
Before I could worry overlong, she told me, “Not good enough. I want more information than that.”
My nostrils flared in outrage. “You only wanted to know if he was still in jail!”
“And if you thought that would be enough to appease me, you’re not as smart as everyone says you are.”
Jaw working, I muttered, “I’ll get back to you.”
“Lodestar might have that information. I’d hit her up first.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Then I’d owe her. Not you.”
Impatiently, I snapped, “Am I going to become your Ask Jeeves?”
“God, it’s years since I heard that name. We’re both showing our age,” Dead To Me jibed. “Where is Keegan now?”
“He entered the country in January. Officially, he’s no longer in the States, but who knows if that’s true.”
“Find out. Lodestar will know.”
Exasperated, I rubbed my brow. “Anything else?”
“The First Lady… Is she a Sparrow? I’d like confirmation.”
I thought about the web of truths in Bear’s room and was comfortable saying, “No. But she’s in the ECD. Those Irish zealots—”
“I know who they are, and I know what they do.” Dead To Me hissed under her breath. “You don’t need to research this?”
“No.”
“Fuck.” A shaky breath soughed down the line. “Hunter’s safe until I get back in two weeks. I’ll be in touch regarding the murder of Keegan’s sister. Don’t call me; I’ll call you.”
A click sounded in my ear, and I knew she’d ended the conversation.
Oddly nervous, but equally relieved that that was over with, I exhaled. The way she’d sounded shaken about my certainty regarding the First Lady’s ties to the ECD left me on edge.
Hell, who was I kidding? Everything about this situation set me on edge.
My water bottle beeped to tell me to rehydrate just as Emile pulled into the driveway. Relieved to be home, I dismissed him then, with a sigh, registered that neither Rain’s car nor Rex’s hog were there.
Grumpy because of that, I set my bag and coat in the hall, dumping them there for later, then trudged into the kitchen.
“I have a proposition for you.”
God, I just couldn’t catch a break today.
Seeing Giulia sitting at the table, I groused, “There’d better be no ice cream missing from my stash, Giulia Fontaine.”
She grinned. “You can’t deny the pregnant lady—”
Slipping out of my shoes and leaving them by the door, I quipped, “Say that to someone who isn’t also pregnant.”
“Shit. I lost my ability to barter with you, didn’t I?”