Something About You
Page 48
Silas made a big show of trying not to look nervous, but Grant could see it in his eyes. No balls. Frankly, he was an embarrassment to his office. He doubted it took much for Martino to buy him off.
“That investigation is being kept confidential,” Silas said.
“Glad to hear it. Now cut the crap and tell me what Pallas knows.”
Grant saw beads of sweat forming on Silas’s forehead.
“I told you, it’s confidential. Even I’m not in the loop.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” Grant asked. “I’d hate to have to leak it to the press that Chicago’s U.S. attorney has been accepting bribes from one of the country’s biggest crime lords.”
More sweat. A rivulet trickled down Silas’s hairline.
Grant cocked his head. This was getting interesting. “What’s with the hesitation?”
Silas cleared his throat. “There’s a witness.”
Grant’s self-preservation instincts immediately kicked in and the cold blue flame of anger was back.
A witness.
He grabbed Silas by the collar and was satisfied when he saw the look of surprise and fear in his eyes.
“What does this witness know?” he nearly spat in his face.
“I don’t know. That’s the truth,” Silas stammered. “Pallas is protecting her. That’s all I know. I swear.”
Her. So it was a woman. Another f**king woman.
Grant curled his fingers tighter around Silas’s collar. “What’s her name?”
When Silas continued to stall, Grant gave him another shake for good measure. “Answer me.”
Silas swallowed.
“Cameron Lynde.”
Fifteen
AS SOON AS they arrived at Manor House, thanks to the reservation Cameron had made several weeks prior (and, possibly, also thanks to a flash of Jack’s trusty FBI badge) their entire party was shuffled inside and promptly escorted to the VIP room.
Jack walked by Cameron’s side along the candelabra-lit hallway, taking in their surroundings.
“Interesting place,” he said.
Indeed it was. Manor House fit true to its name. The club had several rooms on each of its three floors, and every room continued the turn-of-the-century theme in the original style of the mansion. There was a library, a study, and even a billiard room. Kind of like the board game Clue, Cameron had joked to Collin, after dropping by to check the place out for the bachelorette party.
As she knew from the tour she’d been given when she made the reservation, the VIP room—the “master suite”—was upstairs. Their party climbed up the wide oak staircase, with Wilkins in the lead and Jack and Cameron bringing up the rear. When they got to the top and stepped into the VIP room, she saw a glimmer of amusement in Jack’s eyes.
“Very interesting.” He focused on the ornate wood canopied king-sized bed—yes, a bed—in the corner of the room.
Cameron watched as Amy and the other girls headed over, settled themselves on the bed, and got down to the serious business of drink orders. The cousins started hollering for Buttery Nipple shots.
“I give the place a year before the novelty wears off,” she told Jack.
Amy strode over and stuck out her hand. “Look what Jolene just gave me.” She held out a beaded necklace with little plastic penises and condom packets taped to it.
“Oh, look—it’s just what you always wanted. A penis necklace. Maybe that can be your something new for the wedding,” Cameron suggested.
“Get rid of it,” Amy said. “And make sure there aren’t any others.”
“I’ll get right on it.” Both Cameron and Jack watched as Amy hurried back to the bed and demanded that all the girls open their purses for inspection.
“She seems a little . . . intense about all this,” Jack said.
Cameron stuck the penis necklace into her purse. “It’s a phase. Thankfully one that will be over in a week, after the wedding. She’s actually a very sweet person.” Not that she was going to bring this up right then, but after her father had died, Amy had been a godsend. Being the only child of parents who had divorced years ago, all the responsibility for her father’s funeral arrangements had fallen on Cameron. In her emotional state, she’d been overwhelmed by the task, to say the least. Without saying a word, Amy had shown up on her doorstep with a suitcase, moved in for two weeks, and had taken care of everything Cameron couldn’t handle on her own. In exchange, Cameron figured she could deal with the bridezilla routine.
Wilkins came over to them, carrying what Cameron guessed was a club soda. “I never made it to the VIP room the last time I was here.” He stared at the waitress who passed by with a bottle of vodka lit up with sparklers. “No one told me that they’ve got waitresses dressed up like turn-of-the-century maids. Ooh—with sparkly things.”
Cameron tilted her head in concession at Jack. “Maybe two years before the novelty wears off.”
“NOW THIS IS what I call an assignment.”
Jack gestured to the bartender for another club soda. “Soak it in while you can,” he said to Wilkins. “Because they’re not all like this.”
“Really, this is better than Nebraska?” Wilkins joked.
Jack caught sight of Cameron, sitting on the bed across the room. She was laughing with Amy and two of the other girls while telling a story. As she gestured, the neck of her belted sweater slipped down, once again exposing her shoulder and the thin strap of her camisole. He watched as she reached forward to put her hand on Amy’s arm and her camisole dipped lower, revealing a hint of what appeared to be a lacy black bra. “It’s not all bad, I suppose,” he found himself murmuring.
“That investigation is being kept confidential,” Silas said.
“Glad to hear it. Now cut the crap and tell me what Pallas knows.”
Grant saw beads of sweat forming on Silas’s forehead.
“I told you, it’s confidential. Even I’m not in the loop.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” Grant asked. “I’d hate to have to leak it to the press that Chicago’s U.S. attorney has been accepting bribes from one of the country’s biggest crime lords.”
More sweat. A rivulet trickled down Silas’s hairline.
Grant cocked his head. This was getting interesting. “What’s with the hesitation?”
Silas cleared his throat. “There’s a witness.”
Grant’s self-preservation instincts immediately kicked in and the cold blue flame of anger was back.
A witness.
He grabbed Silas by the collar and was satisfied when he saw the look of surprise and fear in his eyes.
“What does this witness know?” he nearly spat in his face.
“I don’t know. That’s the truth,” Silas stammered. “Pallas is protecting her. That’s all I know. I swear.”
Her. So it was a woman. Another f**king woman.
Grant curled his fingers tighter around Silas’s collar. “What’s her name?”
When Silas continued to stall, Grant gave him another shake for good measure. “Answer me.”
Silas swallowed.
“Cameron Lynde.”
Fifteen
AS SOON AS they arrived at Manor House, thanks to the reservation Cameron had made several weeks prior (and, possibly, also thanks to a flash of Jack’s trusty FBI badge) their entire party was shuffled inside and promptly escorted to the VIP room.
Jack walked by Cameron’s side along the candelabra-lit hallway, taking in their surroundings.
“Interesting place,” he said.
Indeed it was. Manor House fit true to its name. The club had several rooms on each of its three floors, and every room continued the turn-of-the-century theme in the original style of the mansion. There was a library, a study, and even a billiard room. Kind of like the board game Clue, Cameron had joked to Collin, after dropping by to check the place out for the bachelorette party.
As she knew from the tour she’d been given when she made the reservation, the VIP room—the “master suite”—was upstairs. Their party climbed up the wide oak staircase, with Wilkins in the lead and Jack and Cameron bringing up the rear. When they got to the top and stepped into the VIP room, she saw a glimmer of amusement in Jack’s eyes.
“Very interesting.” He focused on the ornate wood canopied king-sized bed—yes, a bed—in the corner of the room.
Cameron watched as Amy and the other girls headed over, settled themselves on the bed, and got down to the serious business of drink orders. The cousins started hollering for Buttery Nipple shots.
“I give the place a year before the novelty wears off,” she told Jack.
Amy strode over and stuck out her hand. “Look what Jolene just gave me.” She held out a beaded necklace with little plastic penises and condom packets taped to it.
“Oh, look—it’s just what you always wanted. A penis necklace. Maybe that can be your something new for the wedding,” Cameron suggested.
“Get rid of it,” Amy said. “And make sure there aren’t any others.”
“I’ll get right on it.” Both Cameron and Jack watched as Amy hurried back to the bed and demanded that all the girls open their purses for inspection.
“She seems a little . . . intense about all this,” Jack said.
Cameron stuck the penis necklace into her purse. “It’s a phase. Thankfully one that will be over in a week, after the wedding. She’s actually a very sweet person.” Not that she was going to bring this up right then, but after her father had died, Amy had been a godsend. Being the only child of parents who had divorced years ago, all the responsibility for her father’s funeral arrangements had fallen on Cameron. In her emotional state, she’d been overwhelmed by the task, to say the least. Without saying a word, Amy had shown up on her doorstep with a suitcase, moved in for two weeks, and had taken care of everything Cameron couldn’t handle on her own. In exchange, Cameron figured she could deal with the bridezilla routine.
Wilkins came over to them, carrying what Cameron guessed was a club soda. “I never made it to the VIP room the last time I was here.” He stared at the waitress who passed by with a bottle of vodka lit up with sparklers. “No one told me that they’ve got waitresses dressed up like turn-of-the-century maids. Ooh—with sparkly things.”
Cameron tilted her head in concession at Jack. “Maybe two years before the novelty wears off.”
“NOW THIS IS what I call an assignment.”
Jack gestured to the bartender for another club soda. “Soak it in while you can,” he said to Wilkins. “Because they’re not all like this.”
“Really, this is better than Nebraska?” Wilkins joked.
Jack caught sight of Cameron, sitting on the bed across the room. She was laughing with Amy and two of the other girls while telling a story. As she gestured, the neck of her belted sweater slipped down, once again exposing her shoulder and the thin strap of her camisole. He watched as she reached forward to put her hand on Amy’s arm and her camisole dipped lower, revealing a hint of what appeared to be a lacy black bra. “It’s not all bad, I suppose,” he found himself murmuring.
