Chapter thirty #2
A woman stands in the center wearing an evening gown; it skims her figure but cuts low at her breasts, exposing lashings of flesh.
She sings into a microphone on a stand, and the sound of classical music plays in the background. “She’s amazing.”
“Yes, she’s very good,” I agree. “Do you want to go over and watch?” Emma nods, and I begin to guide her toward the stage. Harrison makes his excuses and leaves, no doubt to do some networking of his own.
When we reach the front, I pluck two glasses of champagne from the next passing tray and hand one to her. She drinks down deep. “Steady, I don’t want to be carrying you home. I have plans for us later.”
“Tell me once more what we hope to accomplish by drinking champagne and listening to beautiful music,” she asks, turning wide, bright questioning eyes on me.
“You know why; to cause some discomfort. Hopefully push them to make a mistake. If they think we’re closer to taking them down, they may change course or rush something.”
“And who is we? And who are they, Chief Constable McKinney?” a gruff, recognizable voice says from behind my shoulder. My stomach sinks, knowing I will have difficulty explaining my presence here. After taking a deep breath, I turn and look directly at my boss, the commissioner.
“Good evening, sir,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “It’s nice to see you out, although it’s unusual to see you at engagements such as this.”
“I’m here representing Her Majesty’s Police Officers,” he replies bluntly. “I’m more interested in the company you are keeping, Chief Constable.” He narrows his eyes, willing me to give up some information. Emma stands to my side silently.
“Please, let me introduce, my…” I trail off, considering what to say and signal to my companion.
“Commissioner, I am delighted to introduce you to Emma Becker, my guest for this evening.”
My gaze flits to Emma; her mouth has thinned and there is a painful expression in her eyes.
She doesn’t look at me but keeps her focus on my boss.
“Lovely to meet you, Emma,” he says, offering her a hand. After some polite small talk, he leaves but not before telling me to be in his office in the morning.
“McKinney, my office, six a.m. I want to know why you are appearing in public with Hunter Devane and his associates. I think we have a lot to discuss.”
“Fuck,” I mutter as he walks away. This pushes my timeline forward; I’ll need to make a decision sooner rather than later on my career. This can’t continue. My relationships with men known to not abide fully by the law are too open and public. I can only dodge bullets for so long before being hit.
“Guest,” Emma says sadly as my attention returns to her. I swallow, and she drops her eyes from mine. “I thought we were partners.”
“We are,” I contend under my breath. “That was my boss. I don’t want to discuss my personal relationships with him and certainly not here.”
Brenton and Moreno are still nowhere to be seen. My friends circulate the room, buying drinks and making conversation. Emma stands by my side for the next hour as I move from person to person but says very little.
Just then, Roger Brenton and Samson Moreno walk onto the stage together. Brenton taps the microphone—it echoes around the room, and everyone’s attention focuses to him. My friends appear from the shadows, surrounding us.
“Well, if we wanted proof they were connected,” Connor says. “They’ve certainly provided it tonight, standing up there.”
“True,” Russell agrees. “Shall we cause a little chaos?”
Before any of us can stop him, he strolls over to a brunette woman, around fifty, sitting at the bar.
She is dressed in a skin-tight, red sequined dress and sips lazily at a champagne flute.
Dark bobbed hair sits perfectly as she turns in Russell’s direction.
Her red lips widen as he speaks to her, and she places her hand on his arm.
“Who is that?” Greyson asks.
“Brenton’s wife,” Hunter responds. “And Roger Brenton has a reputation for being jealous.”
As all our eyes return to the stage, Moreno is speaking about his excitement for the restaurant and its future.
Brenton, however, has a furious gaze focused on Russell blatantly chatting up his wife.
I chuckle under my breath; the bastard always knows how to make a scene.
Emma stands beside me, completely still.
She stares at Moreno as he speaks, her expression somewhere between fury and terror.
He continues to speak, but then pauses as he becomes aware of her.
His lips twist into a crooked smile, and Emma shivers under my touch.
“Why are we here again?” she whispers, her voice strained.
“To cause them discomfort,” I tell her.
“The only person uncomfortable here, Damon,” she says, “is me.”
“Once we take them out, it will all be over,” I tell her, leaning into her ear.
“And are we talking about handing them over to the authorities? Or is this your own kind of justice?”
“Not the time or place for this, Spitfire,” I reply, annoyed by her questioning. “You know things are complex.”
“You say complex, I say unnecessarily risky.” She places her hands on her hips then narrows her eyes. “What do you plan to do?”
“Nothing. Stop going all lawyer on me.” Harrison laughs behind us. “I’m not the only one here not abiding by the law one hundred percent of the time.”
“Yeah, but it’s you I’m fucking,” she snaps. “And I like to know who I’m in bed with.” I grab her elbow and squeeze hard. She yelps, and guilt stabs in my chest.
“You’re in bed with the fucking devil, Emma. Don’t pretend not to know that I was not squeaky clean. I’m here to get justice.”
“For who?” she continues, picking at the open wound. My friends retreat and space opens up around us.
“For my wife,” I hiss, “who else?” She looks me dead in the eye and takes a deep breath.
“Perhaps for me too. Your guest,” she whispers, then turns and walks away. At a loss, I watch her head in the direction of the bathroom and signal to Greyson; he moves on my gesture. When I turn back, Roger Brenton is standing there smiling at me.
“Chief Constable,” he says, grabbing my hand to shake it. “Wonderful to see you here. Do tell me, how is Connie?”