TWENTY-THREE
STRAT WAS ONE THING. She had no idea where Ford would be. With Tulip at her side in the car, calling Conn for an update wasn’t possible. Almost as quick as they left, they returned to their Chronicler floor.
Imogen was pacing in Steeple’s office. Back and forth, worrying her hands.
“What’s going on?” Tulip asked. “Need any help?”
“You have a story to write.” Maybe that was a little blunt, but she didn’t have time for tact. Going into Steeple’s office, from which he was absent, she retrieved her phone from her purse. “Imogen?”
“Oh my God, where is he?”
“Your dad was at Hustle last night.”
Gasping, both Imogen’s hands leaped to her mouth. “I knew it! I knew it. I said it to Jagg and—which hospital is he at?”
Probably not a good idea to tell Imogen about the whole kidnap and torture thing.
“Not one you’ll find on any map,” she said and dialed. “I’ll tell you everything, just give me a second.”
“What for—”
“Macushla?”
“Baby, do we know where Ford is? Strat’s boy?”
“Aye.”
Okay, good, she waited for a location. Waited… and waited… “Mo Grá?”
“He’s safe, unharmed. Working with us.”
“Oh…” And Imogen’s eagerness came ever closer, so she backed away a few steps. “Somewhere I can tell his sister who’s standing right in front of me?”
“No.”
Hmm, this would be an interesting dance. “What about Jagg?”
“He’s downstairs in the car,” Imogen said.
Sersha hadn’t been asking the woman, and her guy got that.
“Was left behind to guard the daughter,” Conn said. “If she needs more protection, Daly can divert some of the guys from the club.”
“Imogen’s just worried. Can I take her to…?”
“No.” Clarifying, and awkward, given the woman was right there. “Tell anyone you care about to stay off the streets tonight.”
Chilled, the awkwardness gave way to concern. “Mo Grá?”
“It’s under control. And I’m proud of you.”
Uh… “For what?”
“Your work with that reporter, playing by McDade rules. You’re getting it, Cushla Machree. Exercise those muscles.”
“The CI was—”
“I know who the CI was.”
Her jaw loosened. “Why didn’t you—”
“I know things.” Something she should make a habit of remembering. “Told you it was handled.”
“And we’re just okay with—”
“We’ll talk about it later. You’re a good girl, Macushla.”
And the line went quiet.
She exhaled. “Your dad is fine, your brother is fine.”
“How do I know that?” Imogen asked. “Can I see them?”
“No, I’ll ask your dad to call you. I don’t have access to Ford, but he’s working with us, he’s fine.”
“Working with you? As in working with the McDades?”
“Aye.”
Every time she used that word, she shivered in a private place only accessible to Conn. Shit, just the thought of him…
“Jagg doesn’t—he knows everything Ford’s into,” Imogen said. “He doesn’t know anything about this.”
“You and Jagg should look after each other. We’ll take care of your dad and Ford.”
Her reassurance didn’t do its job.
Imogen couldn’t shake whatever was putting the concern on her face. “After all we’ve been through, you don’t trust me?”
“There’s nothing to worry about. With technology these days, we get used to being connected, in constant communication, but it’s not needed. You have my word they’re good.”
Because she trusted Conn’s word.
“Dad’s been off the radar this week, him and Lach,” Imogen said. “I get they don’t like that I’m with Jagg…”
“That’s not what—no, that’s not it. Don’t read into this. Your dad, Ford, and Lach are completely…”
Except she couldn’t finish that sentence because she didn’t have an accurate answer on the last guy. Just where was Lach exactly? Maybe she should take a page from Imogen’s book and check her own backyard.
“Sersha?” Imogen asked.
Steeple came in. “Shit, you two are trying to kill me.” He set her in his sights. “You got Tulip sucking Ire’s cock too?”
That jarred her back to the moment, that and Imogen’s accompanying shocked inhale.
“I missed that threesome.” Wit was her only weapon, if she went for the other one—named Daly—someone would end up in jail… or hospital. “You know what it’s like screwing bad boys. One orgy becomes like the next… they all run together.”
“You can’t say that to her,” Imogen said, doing the offense thing.
“She wouldn’t set the McDades on me for my idiot mouth.”
Though when her boss’s eyes met hers, they maybe weren’t so sure about that. And, yeah, perhaps she let a sly smile slink upward, leaving him wondering.
“I don’t mean because of that.” Imogen got in front of her to challenge Steeple. “You think if you said that about me and Jagg, he’d be okay with it?”
Why would Steeple say that about Tulip? It wasn’t an actual question, he was making a point, she got that. Still, it came from something.
“Because of the new story?” she asked her boss. “It’s a good story.”
“Yeah, and a good redirect from the whole contract killing thing.”
“Contract killing?” Imogen asked, whirling around to take them both in. “Who are we killing?”
“You want someone dead?” she asked, sauntering over to prop herself on the windowsill. “What’s your price range?”
Steeple stuck his fingers in his ears. “Ah! La, la, la, no back-alley handshakes in my presence.”
“We should both be offended,” she said as Imogen folded her arms. “What are you implying, Mr. Steeple?”
“Maybe that we have nowhere else to do these deals.”
“Or he’s dumb enough to think we have to do it ourselves when our men take care of these matters for us.”
The quirk of Imogen’s lips betrayed their tease.
Steeple’s every muscle loosened. “How the hell did you two end up on my books?” he asked, rounding the desk to sit down. “How you doing, Sersh? Just checking in, not rushing you. Grief’s got its own timeline. However many days you’ve got to take, weeks, whatever you want.”
“Has Ire been with you?” Imogen asked, sitting at the guest side of the desk. “He hasn’t been seen around much.”
“At all.” Not that Conn had a habit of being a man about town. “He’s fine. Better than fine. Taking good care of me.”
“You sticking with your grandfather’s feature?”
She nodded at her boss. “I want to get down into it, really spend some time with the words.”
Which was her way of saying concentrate on it at all. Despite doing almost nothing except write that week, she had nada for her editor. The promised range of features currently numbered zero, and that didn’t print well on paper.
Steeple and Imogen looked at each other before laying her under their scrutiny.
“And the obit?”
“Oh, I get it,” she said, mouth wide as she inhaled. “You’re double-teaming me. Were you even worried about your dad at all, Im?”
“I was worried—I am worried.”
“We’re worried about you too,” Steeple said. “Something’s going on, tensions are growing, everyone’s…”
“Everyone’s what?” Had colleagues complained about her absence? “Who is everyone?”
“Uh, everyone we’ve interacted with,” Imogen said. “There are rumblings, underground whispers…”
So this wasn’t about her sabbatical or her colleagues’ judgment, they wanted the inside scoop of what might happen in the city.
“Even before your relationship with Ire, you were our girl for the organized crime stories.”
“Manzani stories,” she stated.
“You shadowed Ire for a while too.”
Deadpan, she couldn’t believe they’d make her say it. “I was fucking him.”
“Even when you—”
“Yeah, basically the whole time,” she said because why hide now?
“You know there are rumors circulating. Score’s heading to town, Ire’s been in the shadows while Play runs things at the club.”
“Right, and we’re just wondering…” The two stole another glance. “What’s coming down the turnpike? What’s the McDades plan? How will this happen?”
“Exactly as my man wants it to.” She pushed off the windowsill. “Get out your recorders and I’ll give you every detail.” One beat. Two. Rolling her eyes would be a step too far. “You seriously think I’d tell you what my boyfriend and I talk about in private?” She opened a hand at Imogen. “Let’s talk about you and Jagg first. What do you talk about in the dark? Have you discussed the future? Marriage? Kids? How many cars is he working on this week? What does he think of all his clients? He can’t be a best friend to all of them. Bet he’s confided in you, told you things he trusted you’d keep secret. Spill! Come on, it’s just us girls. Who cares if it ends up in print tomorrow?”
“Okay, we get it.”
“This is the city, Sersh.”
She settled against the windowsill again. “A city Conn loves. The McDades have put up with a lot of speculation, whispers behind their backs, two-faced everyone’s who claim to be an ally but fail to follow through. Is this about the scoop or a genuine fear for the city?”
‘Cause she’d had about her fill of righteous people claiming to love the streets they walked. The city had a lot to answer for if it granted license to anyone wishing to work under its name.
Before anyone was forced to reply, her phone rang. Damn thing had been going all day. This had to be what it was like to be Conn’s phone. No, actually, it wasn’t even close.
“Yeah?” she barked at the unknown number flashing.
“Bluebell…” The drawl was pleased, almost smug, with a smattering of charm. “We’ve gotta talk.”
A happy voice. An unknown voice. Who’d called her?
Intrigued, she listened closer. “About what?”
“About what we can do for each other.” Hmm, still intrigued? Yes. Wary Conn could never hear this? Definitely. “Let’s have drinks.”
Oh, wow, talk about balls. “Excuse me?”
“Drinks, at the club tonight.”
The club? Their club. Stag.
Ah! Fuck. This wasn’t some random letch, this was a McDade letch. Doran “Play” McDade, Razer’s younger brother.
“Your cousin might take issue with us dating.”
He laughed. “If I meant it that way my cousin would take my head off. Rightfully so. This is strategic. Trust me. Tonight, eleven thirty.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Play was actually laughing when he hung up. Not like a full belly laugh, but more than anyone would get from Conn, even on a good day.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” she said, her phone dropping to her side when her arm loosened. “I am going to get some work done.” Boosting herself onto her feet to wander toward the door, she turned to go backwards, keeping her colleagues in sight. “Steeple, I will have something for you before midnight. And, Im, someone will put a cell in your father’s hand.” She pointed, phone in her grip. “No more distractions, either of you. As far as you’re both concerned, I have no love life, no family, no knowledge on any subject, not until after I get into this. Thank you, goodnight.”