Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“What kind of deliveries?”
“She never said. Maybe she didn’t know.”
“Can you bring me the diary?”
The corner of her mouth lifts and she gives her head a subtle shake. “No. It’s not for your eyes.”
“I could tell the police…”
Her eyes narrow, her pupils doing something strange, like they’re constricting and dilating in a rhythm. “You won’t.”
“And why is that?”
“Because then you’ll lose me as an ally. And you need all the allies you can get in this business.”
I mull that over. I can’t do anything illegal but I could tell Coleman who will then get a warrant out for Lena’s arrest if she doesn’t turn over the diary as evidence.
Still, I don’t like how she’s trying to take control here. That pretty face is too used to getting what she wants.
“Your allegiance means nothing to me,” I tell her.
A brow raises. “Is that so? I may not know a lot of things, but I know men, Callahan.”
“And?”
“And I know men will hang on to that allegiance as long as it leads them to what they really want.”
“Which is?”
She sips her coffee, staring up at me through her long lashes. “A good fuck.”
Her language takes me by surprise, a hot flush spreading at the back of my neck, my cock twitching in my pants. My god, I could hear her say that phrase on repeat.
“To be more specific,” she goes on in her honeyed voice, “a good fuck with me.”
I clear my throat. No point pretending I don’t want exactly that.
“So then what? I just let you hold onto key evidence in the hopes that you’ll suck my dick one day?”
She laughs, rich and throaty, a gorgeous sound that turns heads. “Oh, I’ll do so much more than that.” Then she composes herself. “Doesn’t it feel good to be honest, Callahan?”
“It does. Why don’t you try it for a change?”
Her expression darkens. “I’ll be honest with you if you’re honest with me. I promise you that. Whatever you need from that diary I’ll tell you, but I’m not giving it up.” She reaches forward and puts her slender fingers on my arm. It causes the hair to rise. “Do you understand?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s trying to hypnotize me.
And yet I find myself nodding. “Agreed. So start by telling me what you know. Anything unusual she might have written down.”
She stares at me for a moment, then removes her hand. My skin feels cold without her.
“Well, she kept mentioning the foreigners who were doing business with Cohen,” she says. “Said she saw a man strapped down in a warehouse. She didn’t know if it was like a hit job or a sex thing. Oh, and she saw strange sigils, symbols at this warehouse. She drew them in the book.”
Rituals…warehouse…
“Did she mention any specific names?”
“No. She was vague when she mentioned people. But she recorded addresses, dates of deliveries, her feelings. That sort of thing.”
“Do you know where any of those addresses are?” I ask.
She presses her lips together.
Before I can press further, her attention is taken by a well-dressed man entering the restaurant and speaking to the server. He looks familiar, though I can’t place him.
“You know him?” I ask her.
She quickly turns her head toward me, fear flashing in her eyes for the first time.
The man now notices her and strides toward us. I tense, my hand going for my gun at my side, hidden by the table.
“Well, well, well,” the man says, stopping in front of us with a wry expression on his face. Up close I see the scar running over one cheek, notice the unkemptness of his fingernails as he toys with his car keys. Despite the well-fitted suit, this man didn’t come from money. It’s like putting lipstick on a pig. Some criminals are hard to hide. “Lena Reid. Didn’t expect to see you here. And at this hour.”
The man then looks at me. “Who might you be, pal? Because you don’t look like Marco to me.”
The name catches my attention. Marco. Likely Marco Russo, one of Cohen’s enforcers, known for his quick temper and quicker fists. I’ve seen his name in police reports too often for coincidence.
“Just a family friend from Oregon,” I tell him. “Sent on behalf of her father, making sure she’s okay with all the murders going on.”
“I see,” the man says. Then he smiles at Lena, a gold tooth shining in the corner. “Then I suppose Marco will have to understand that.”
The maître d whistles from the stand, holding out a phone, and the man nods before heading back. “I’ll let him know. That’s probably him now.”
He leaves and I look at Lena for an explanation. Her expression is carefully neutral, though she swallows hard. “I need to go.”
She gathers her purse and I reach across the table, putting my hand on her arm. A current runs from her body to mine and I have to blink it away.