Chapter 4
Dash sighed with relief once the attorney headed out to the elevator bank. After scrubbing his face with both hands, he pulled out his cell phone.
His ex-partner at the Black Guard, Jackson Powell, answered on the third ring. “Dashiell Keller! What’s up, man? How are you?”
“Been better. How ‘bout you?”
“Can’t complain. Would be nice to have you back here instead of these bozos they’ve got me working with now, but what can you do?”
“The offer stands. You could come work for me.”
Silence fell for a couple of seconds, and Dash closed his eyes. Jackson wouldn’t come. Dash didn’t really want him to, either. They both knew it and pretended all was well because what else could they do?
“Who knows? If things get much worse around here, I might take you up on it.” He sighed. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, man?”
“Someone’s been snooping around my time there at the Guard. He wanted to know the reason I retired. Have you heard anything about someone sniffing?”
“No one’s reached out directly, and you know I’d call if I’d heard rumblings.”
“I appreciate that,” Dash said. “Anyone you can ask? Discretely?”
“I can do a little investigating to see who’s digging in your backyard.”
“I already know who. I need to know how much he’s found and if he could find more. I’ll be looking to see if he’s got anything in his past I can use to stop him, as well, so if you stumble on anything, a head’s up would be nice.”
“What’s the name?” Jackson asked.
“Felix Crenshaw. Piece of shit attorney here in Fort Seattle. He’s using what little he knows to coerce me into doing an investigation for one of his clients. He says he’ll stop if I play ball b—”
“But we both know he won’t,” Jackson slipped in for him.
“Exactly,” Dash said. “I agreed to take the case simply to give myself time to learn all I can about him.”
“I’ll do what I can here and let you know what I find. Hopefully, he’s got nothing.”
“He knows something happened.” Dash cringed. “In the showers.” He paused, almost sure he could hear Jackson’s tension through the phone line. “Outside of that, I don’t think it’s anything else.”
A few seconds ticked by. Awkward silence filled the line.
“He shouldn’t have gotten that much,” Jackson said, deadly anger in his tone. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you. Men like him always have pressure points. If you can’t find them, I will.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Dash murmured.
Silence hung on the phone again.
“Otherwise—you’re good?” Jackson asked, his tone still tense but forcibly lightened.
“Yeah. You?”
“Surviving.” Jackson sighed. “We’ll talk soon, okay?”
Dash ended the call, missing his friend. They’d been recruited together and worked alongside one another for nine years. It still felt strange to work a case and not have Jackson at his side.
He slipped his cell back into his pocket and collected the file and his notepad. On the way to his office, he handed Eliott the check. “Can you deposit this today? I don’t want it lingering around too long.”
Eliott took it, glanced, and did a double take. Wide-eyed, he lifted his gaze to Dash. “You weren’t in there long enough to blow him for this many zeros.”
“No blowing required. I just need to do another rich man’s bidding,” Dash muttered. He lifted the file. “I’ve got a little light reading to do. Hold my calls unless it’s Davis or an emergency, please.”
“You got it, Boss.”
“Glad you’re admitting who really runs this place,” Dash whispered with a grin.
“Just buttering you up for that raise,” Eliott whispered back, his grin wider.
“I’d love a cup of coffee while I read,” Dash said.
“Me, too. Grab me one while you’re at it, hon,” Eliott said.
Dash sighed.
Eliott rose from his office chair. “You’re only getting this because there’s a coat I’ve been eyeing in the window at Marino’s that would look amazing on me. You can afford to give me a bonus with all these zeros.”
“It’s so expensive that you’d need a bonus to buy it?” Dash asked as he walked into his office.
“Haute couture has a price, darling,” Eliott yelled from the kitchenette.
As he neared Dash’s office, he swung his hips wide, back and forth, before placing the coffee on the desk.
“You don’t know the pains I go through to look this amazing.
” He padded his long, flowing platinum locks. “Though you never notice that effort.”
Dash lifted a brow. “You look… nice. Always do. There. Happy now?”
Eliott blushed, batting his eyelashes and hugging himself. “You almost gave me the warm fuzzies, Dashiell Keller. I’m so proud of you.” He walked closer and lightly punched Dash on the shoulder. “I knew you had it in you.”
Dash opened the file and waved Eliott away. “I have homework.”
“And then you go and ruin it all with a flick of your wrist. My gods, Keller, pick a lane.” Eliott wandered out, swishing his ass just as hard as he swished it on the way in. “I feel you looking.”
“At you making a fool of yourself,” Dash yelled back, turning his focus back to the file.
An hour later, he was ready to pull his hair out reading through the previous P.I.
’s tediously boring notes on every single movement Jaye Lachlin made—or rather didn’t.
When he got to the mention of a ten-minute long ball scratch, he closed the file and eyed the keys lying beside the file.
Everything in him wanted to not go there just to piss Crenshaw off, but he needed a break.
Dash drove into the Victoria Highlands, the richest neighborhood in the province, and pulled into a space outside Jaye’s luxury townhouse.
Once inside, he realized it dwarfed his reasonably sized single-family home.
It hadn’t appeared so large from the outside.
According to the file, Jaye lived alone.
It was too much house for one man, especially one who hadn’t earned it.
He ran a finger over the chair railing in the foyer and didn’t find a bit of dust—surely cleaned by paid professionals.
When had they last been there—and had they destroyed anything of note without realizing it?
Hopefully not. Wandering room to room, there was no trash in any of the baskets, leading him to believe someone had cleaned between Jaye’s last moments there and his arrival.
The house itself gave him little besides what he’d already expected.
Neon beer signs graced most of the living room walls, except the one with a dartboard and a myriad of pinholes in the drywall around it.
The formal dining room had been transformed into an arcade with multiple stand-up machines and a few pinball games.
The den was one massive sectional facing a wall with every imaginable video game console or entertainment system.
Another wall stored a well-stocked bar and more neon beer signs.
The second floor housed a massive bedroom suite and two guest rooms—along with a theater room with blacked out windows and rows of recliners.
He searched the other rooms, leaving Jaye’s bedroom for last. Dash combed every inch, looking for anything out of place.
For an entitled brat, he was too organized.
It almost felt as if the place had been wiped clean, covering some unknown sin.
When he was seconds from giving up, he noticed a tiny white triangle peeking out of a floorboard under the bed.
Dash slid the bed over before prying the floorboard loose.
Inside, he found a few cigar boxes, what appeared to be a porn stash, and a pile of dildos. After slipping on a pair of disposable gloves he pulled from his pants pocket, he pulled everything out, examining each piece for anything that might be useful.
The cigar boxes were full of illicit drugs and paraphernalia—a little weed, some speed, and some cocaine. No surprise there. The magazines were a little more illuminating. He’d expected the usual omega smut but opened the first one to find two alphas sucking one another down to the knot.
Dash closed the magazine, but the damage had already been done. His cock came to life, thickening painfully against his zipper. He sorted through the covers and saw much the same. Was Jaye Lachlin alpha-attracted?
Considering his grandpapa had been a Lachlin, maybe it was something wrong with their DNA and that’s where he’d gotten his proclivities from. Might as well blame someone. He’d blamed himself enough over the years.
Dash tucked everything back inside the hiding spot, frustrated he’d found nothing.
Until he lifted the board to replace it, that was.
Underneath, there was a white cocktail napkin with a telephone number scribbled across it.
It was stuck to the underside of the board, and the corner was likely the small, white triangle he’d noticed.
He peeled it off the wood and slid it into a plastic storage bag he also had in his pocket.
After he replaced the floorboard, disposed of the gloves, and washed his hands twice for added measure, he headed for his car.
He pulled a burner from his glove box and dialed the number on the napkin.
We’re sorry—but the number you have dialed is no longer in service… Please check the number and dial again…
Dash eyed the screen and confirmed he’d dialed the correct number.
He might be able to do some digging at the office, but if it was also a burner, it could be a dead-end.
Glancing on the other side of the napkin, he noticed an ornate, golden dragon printed on the opposite side.
Not just gold, but bright jewel tones in jade, red, and blue shone along with black.
It was high-end printing, something he could possibly find the source of.
He’d never seen the symbol before but got the feeling it belonged to a nightclub, restaurant, or bar—it had the remnant of a round wet ring from a drink resting on it.
If there was a place it belonged to, Jaye Lachlin might’ve been there on his way to wherever.