Chapter 17
Ace
I clench my jaw tight as I wake. Every muscle hurts. My joints feel as if they seized a year ago and I'm just now getting any range of motion back.
As the aches and pains aren't bad enough, I'm waking up beside a second woman I don't know in less than a week. I hate to think I'm forming some sort of habit with this shit.
This couch, as elegant as it looks standing across the room, isn't meant for crashing on. I blame my age and my inability to really sleep well ever these days, but then a feminine whine comes from beside me as Cora shifts.
"Shit," she mutters as she pushes herself into a sitting position. "Today is going to suck."
My lips puff out when I push a harsh breath past them. "I detect no lies."
She chuckles, her hand going immediately to her forehead when she stands.
My head is screaming, and I imagine hers is too.
"Breakfast?"
"No," I grunt, needing to get my bearings so I can get the hell out of here.
As if I hadn't spoken, she goes to the phone and orders two breakfasts, extra greasy and lots of carbs.
My stomach turns with the thought of eating .
I didn't get blasted last night, but there's something different about getting tipsy on champagne that makes for a really shitty morning after.
I feel like complete shit, and with the way her face contorts when she stood, I can see she isn't in a much better place.
Standing, she looks no less appealing than she did last night. Hell, if anything, the rumpled look is an improvement. All of her harsh edges seem smudged a little, making her more human and less robotic, but it didn't take her passing out on the couch for me to see that. I saw it last night in her quick, genuine smiles and in the way her nose scrunched when I said something distasteful. She held on to every word I said and didn't hesitate to ask questions, as if we were just longtime friends catching up.
I can't recall the last time I was able to just unwind and have a conversation with someone.
"I'm going to get a shower," she says without looking back as she leaves the room.
I stand, my knee popping the way it always does in the morning, and I don't realize just how much of a mess I am until I stand to look out the massive window overlooking the park.
My clothes are wrinkled, my hair is all over the damn place, and I can only imagine what my breath smells like. I cringe when I lift my hand to my mouth and sniff my exhale.
"Fuck my life," I grumble as I make my way across the room and grab one of the bottles of water from the mini-fridge. I swish with the water but know it's no real supplement for a good scrubbing.
Instead of worrying about my appearance, I pull out my phone and call Max. He's been working for years as tech support for Cerberus, and he just so happens to also be in a triad relationship with Tug, one of the Cerberus team members, and Kincaid's niece, Jasmine.
"Hey there," Max says when he answers the phone despite the early hour.
"Hate to bother you so early," I mutter, squeezing my eyes closed and pinching the bridge of my nose.
"No big deal," he says. "The guys left out early for Guatemala, so I was up. Whatcha got?"
"Any chance you're near your computer?"
"I'm always near a computer."
"I was informed that the Preston family has an account at Daydreamer's Spa. Any chance you can dig around and find out who set that up?"
Before I can get the question out fully, I hear his fingers working over a keyboard.
"We've done a lot of digging into that family, but the older brother has been very protective over their stuff, especially in the last five years since Senator Preston died," he says as he works.
"You think that has to do with him covering his tracks or trying to keep things locked down because Sadie Preston has caused so many problems?"
"A combination of both, I imagine. Everyone is keeping their stuff much closer to their chest these days. Technology makes it nearly impossible, but they just try harder. When this manifest or link between these types of facilities was brought to my attention, I tried finding a connection, but it's just not there. It makes me wonder if every one of these places isn't owned and operated by the same organization."
"How did Anthony Wiedman get on the list if you don't have access to it?"
"I planted some Easter eggs along some different paths on the internet and hoped their system would pick it up. Thankfully, it worked. How was your cuddling session?"
I scoff, smiling when he chuckles. "That was Snatch's idea."
"Of course, it was," I mutter .
Snatch and his husband, Itchy, or Jax and Rob to those outside of the club, were just as big a part of my life as Noah was back when I joined Cerberus. We were all young, dumb, and full of cum, ready to party at the drop of a hat, but then those two fell in love, which was great for all who wanted to fall in love and live happily ever after, but for me it was the beginning of the end of my time with the club. The club is great. It just wasn’t the same one I joined.
"I've got nothing. It's buried, man. Whoever is running this place is not only a tech genius to keep it all locked down, they've gone to some lengths to make sure it's impenetrable."
"That's disappointing."
"Kincaid did say that it would be okay to call Blackbridge in if we hit a brick wall. Want me to give Wren a call?"
"I don't know if we're ready for that yet but I'll give Kincaid a call and see what he wants to do."
"Sounds good. Call me back if you need me."
"Thanks, man," I tell him before hanging up.
I completely understand how frustrated Cora is about all of this. I'm accustomed to going days and days during an investigation with no leads or answers, and I'm annoyed as hell that there seems to be nothing viable pointing to the whereabouts of her sister.
"Hey," I say when my next call connects.
"That tone tells me you haven't found anything," Kincaid says.
"Nothing," I say, feeling a little guilty that I spent the night drinking champagne and talking to Cora rather than working. "Max suggested getting Blackbridge involved, but I don't know if that's such a great idea."
There's a beat of silence, and it makes me wonder how Kincaid is trying to formulate his response so it leads me in the direction he wants me to go without insisting on it. The man has always been very persuasive .
"I know for a fact he doesn't always operate within legal means for obtaining his information."
"He's very good at what he does," Kincaid interjects.
"If we got information that leads somewhere and then it'scalled into question during trial—"
"You've got to stop thinking like ICE and worrying about court cases," he says. "Our goal is to bring people home. We can't go into a case worrying about what happens a year after. Cerberus has always focused on the person needing our help not the indictment of the bad guy."
I know exactly what he's saying. I also know it isn't my call to allow anyone to be sacrificed in order for us to get a horrible person off the streets, but trying to make a good case while also rescuing those that need help is just as important so further victims aren't created.
"This isn't South America," I argue. "We don't get to just do a raid on a property and kill everyone involved. We have to answer to someone. That's why this branch of Cerberus had to be different if we are going to stay in operation."
"I like your use of we," he says. "You've always been Cerberus, Eddie."
"Slip of the tongue," I mutter.
"Breakfast hasn't gotten here yet?"
I lift my eyes as Cora walks into the room.
"Who's that?" Kincaid asks, and like someone doing something wrong, I get nervous.
"No one. I'll call you later."
I hang up the phone but not before his chuckle makes it through the line.
I can only imagine what the man thinks is going on here, and it wouldn't lean toward the innocuous night Cora and I had last night.
I don't know why I opted to hang up rather than explain what happened last night, but I know without a doubt, he'll give me shit about it the next time we speak.
"I've got to go," I tell her, sitting back on the sofa and pulling on my shoes.
"Breakfast is on the way," she argues.
"This wasn't a social call," I remind her. "I've already wasted enough time."
I feel like a complete asshole when I look up at her and watch her face fall before she schools it back into something that would pass the scrutiny of the press. The woman is a pro at not letting her emotions show, and I can't help but wonder what that toll takes on her mind.
But her issues aren't my issues with the exception of the case I'm working in connection to Sadie Preston.
"I need you to promise me that you'll stay away from Daydreamer's Spa," I say as I stand.
"I'm not leaving town," she counters.
"I'm not asking you to leave town," I say, doing my best to ignore the zing of current that runs through me with knowing she'll be close. "But you can't run around town trying to insert yourself into the investigation either. I can't focus on finding Sadie if I have to worry about you."
"I want updates," she argues, and it isn't lost on me that she hasn't agreed to anything.
"I'll call you."
"I'll text you from my new number."
"Very good," I say before turning and walking toward the door.
"This feels like a morning-after brush-off, and we didn't even have sex."
Her words stop me in my tracks.
"I don't even have your number, so how can I text you mine?"
For some reason, instead of reminding her that Kincaid is her direct contact, I pull my phone from my pocket and hand it to her, waiting for her to put her number in before handing it back to me .
"Thank you," she says just as I reach out to grab the doorknob. "For what you're doing to find Sadie."
I walk out the door rather than remind her that this is just a job for me, because all it took was one night of talking with her to make me question whether or not that's actually a lie.