NINE
IF CONN WASN’T at Stag, there were other places to check. Optimism could be a cruel miser. Losing everything while trying to stay positive and—no, she couldn’t go there. Just like she couldn’t think about her father.
She’d figured it out, just a couple of streets away from the club. The reason she hadn’t cared much about making a concrete plan for her father’s future. If Conn was gone, if her father had killed him, she’d murder Ronald herself. What future did she have without the man she loved? None. In that case, it was only right the murderer should face the same punishment.
Strat pulled up to the curb at the end of the block. “I’m leaving it here,” he said, killing the engine.
They were far enough away from the door that anyone special pulling out wouldn’t be hindered. Going in the back way would take too long and God knew if they’d get in there anyway. At least at the front, the open door gave them an aim.
Witnessing life carrying on as normal chilled her. Ever reliable, Strat took her hand to help her out of the car.
Wannabe clubbers lined up behind rope, music beat from inside, men guarded the doors. Business as usual.
Strat kept his fingers laced through hers, providing support while letting her lead the way. She could queue. Considered it even. That would stretch the time between her getting from here to there, to finding him or not. But she couldn’t draw out the torture like that. She also needed to know. Conn said she’d never be turned away from Stag again. Never.
Fifteen feet from the car, she stopped. Strat stayed with her.
Closing her eyes, she breathed. If she stopped overthinking and just felt the moment, it could almost be okay. The sounds, the scent, Stag delivered her to a time without fear, one that included Conn in his office in that building. Her man. Her place. Her home.
Strat kissed the top of her head.
She exhaled, raising her eyes to his. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m here for whatever you need.”
And the only way she’d identify that was by going inside.
On the approach, the guys on the door weren’t familiar. Not all of Conn’s guys were, there were so many that it wasn’t possible to know every single one.
Strat’s hold on her hand tightened as her breathing slowed. Up ahead, ten paces away, the guys didn’t move. Five, four—they moved. Oh, shit, she nearly screamed. The guards each took a sideways step away from each other, opening up a clear route inside.
Always really did mean always.
Over the threshold, the heat of the club beckoned, but she stopped. “I’m going upstairs.”
“Want me to check down?”
She nodded. “If the guys are there and you get the story, come up.” Because if the guys were present, she still held some position. “If you don’t…”
“I’ll check here or get you at the car.”
If Conn wasn’t upstairs, if he wasn’t in that building, she wasn’t stopping there. Hopefully, someone would point her to him, give her an address, a clue, a next step.
With a single nod, she walked away. Strat stayed behind. The why was obvious, she still had to get upstairs. Men stood there too. Once upon a long time ago, she’d refused to ascend those stairs and been compelled to go up against her will.
What she wouldn’t give to go back and do it all over again.
These men didn’t move. Not at first. She held her ground. They glanced at each other, said nothing, then shifted out of the way.
Were they unsure of her identity or afraid what she might see? Death? Carnage? Heartache? Whatever it was, she’d have to face it sometime.
The stairs were clear. Not a good or bad sign. Could go either way. At the top, she lingered a second before opening the door to go inside.
She stopped short.
There were people there. Two, to be exact, a male and a female. She immediately recognized the first.
“Play,” she said.
Having spent a lot of time looking at pictures of Doran “Play” McDade and his relatives, it wasn’t hard to pick him out as another of Conn’s cousins, younger brother of Score, Raze, and Biz.
“Bluebell,” he said, a half smirk on his face.
Oh, she was interrupting. She’d been in that place. Up against the man propped on the table, nestled in the vee of his thighs, his hands on her hips. Different McDade, day, and woman, but it piqued her longing.
“I’m pleased to meet you.” This not from Play, but from the tall, gorgeous woman he’d been entertaining, or about to entertain on Conn’s desk. “You’re an intriguing woman.”
She continued a few steps. “I’m an intriguing woman?”
“Yes,” the beauty said and offered a hand. “Madison Byrne.”
Yeah, she’d known that, just hadn’t wanted to get too hung up on it.
“Happy to meet you too.”
Though happy was the wrong word for the unexpected encounter.
Madison slid a possessive hand up Play’s thick upper arm. “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss McLeod.”
“My loss?” she asked, unsure if her heart stopped or leaped out of her chest. “My loss?”
“Yes,” Madison said, drawing her eyes away from her fawning. “Didn’t you lose your grandfather recently?”
Oh, relief came out in a sharp exhale. “Yes, my…” She almost smiled. “I lost my grandfather.”
Minor heart attack averted, her eyes cut to Play’s. They’d never met. Didn’t know each other. Though not introducing himself sort of implied to Madison they had. Family secrets stayed close. She couldn’t blurt out her questions or beg for answers while the Byrne woman stood there bearing witness.
“Play, do you… have a minute?”
“Don’t need one.” He swept Madison’s hair from her shoulder. “You know what to do, Bluebell.”
Knew what to do? Not descriptive, but as much as she’d get.
“I’ll…” She gestured toward the curtain. “Leave you alone.”
She hurried through the heavy drape and up the stairs into an empty apartment. No one. Maybe the bedroom? No, that was empty too. No people and so many questions.
The closet was still full of their things. Hers and Conn’s. Catching a sleeve, she pressed it to her nose, inhaling his sent. A sharp pain between her eyes preceded tingling grief. Everything would be okay. If she could be with him, lie with him…
She didn’t know Play. Would he understand her desperation? Would he come up to see her? Not if they wanted to keep their poker face in place. Everything normal. Everything was just the way it should be.
She searched. Everywhere she could think that might hold a hint as to what happened. She came up with nothing. Not a damn stitch out of place.
No, she wouldn’t be dissuaded.
The night wasn’t over yet.
Grabbing Conn’s suit jacket, she tossed it around her shoulders and slid her arms into the sleeves. Her evolving plan needed one tool she could get there for sure. Running down the stairs, she pushed through the curtain and headed for the desk, ignoring that Madison was now the one seated on it with Play between her thighs, dress pulled high.
“Condoms are in the third drawer,” she said, scooping up the cigar box, then swinging around for the door. “Play safe!”
“Like I never heard that before,” his charmed voice followed her as the door closed and she was descending again.
The last thing they needed was a McDade-Byrne baby, though God knew what plan had been conjured up since she left.
Strat waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. “Anything?”
She shook her head and linked their hands again. “Play’s up there, with Madison Byrne.”
“Yeah.” They went back out into the night. “Dasha and Darla are downstairs.” She caught a quick glance. “They don’t know anything. Only about a dozen guys down there, none of them know a thing.”
“Something’s going on,” she said.
Strat opened the car door for her and went around to get in himself. That was when she opened the box and took out the heavy weapon.
“Wow, okay. What do we need that for?”
“Plan D,” she said, carefully tucking the box under her seat before checking the chamber.
“Plan D? That’s good. Do we have a plan B through C?”
“Yep.” She put the gun in Conn’s pocket, keeping its reassuring weight in her grip. “Go to my grandfather’s.”
She’d been avoiding it. Sort of. The notion of going was far less appealing than the club, but they’d struck out there. Strat already struck out at the loft, though that would be next on the agenda.
“What do you think we’ll find there?”
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
“The amount of blood, the direction, pooling. Unless someone has cleaned up,” because who would? “If they haven’t, there should be evidence of medical intervention too.”
“They didn’t call nine-one-one.”
“No. But if their doctor is decent and Conn was that bad, wouldn’t the doctor have come to him with supplies?”
“Isn’t the plan to find Ire first? He’ll tell us all that.”
What was her thinking? That was his unasked question.
“It’s also the last place I know Conn was alive. Just like we did with your search, took it step by step, we have to do it with this too. If Conn was hurt and they needed to take him into hiding, he might have left something, a note or an address, anything that would point me to the right place.”
“The last he saw you, Ronald was dragging you off, don’t forget.”
How could she? “One of us would always have to find the other. Something has to give.”
Something. Yes. But what? And what did Play mean? She knew what to do?
“Okay, your grandfather’s it is,” he said, already driving that way, “will you get in?”
“We can go in the back way. I know where the tunnel is now.”
“Tunnel?”
“Yeah, apparently Henry’s house is like a secret location for Indiana Jones or something. It’s the way my dad got in.”
Not that he’d been explicit about that.
“You have a key?”
“I have you,” she said, widening her smile when he glanced her way. “You’re my lock pick.”
“Nothing shady about that,” he said, “us sneaking into a dark, shadowy place to start picking locks.”
“You know, getting arrested wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
“For who?”
“At least then Conn would know where I was.”
Just like Strat said, the superintendent’s daughter being arrested was newsworthy. What better beacon was there than the cops? They had, inadvertently, outed their relationship after all. Law enforcement had its uses.
“Let’s call that plan E… or Z.”
She inhaled and repeated his words. “One step at a time. One step.”
The truth would find her eventually. The only concern was whether she was ready to accept it.