Nero grins and swings his legs over the arm of the chair instead, sitting sideways.
It’s strange. I never had a problem with Nero—I like all Dante’s siblings. But I find myself not wanting to leave him here with Riona. I tell myself it’s because I’m supposed to be watching her, keeping her safe. That’s my job. But if I’m totally honest, I look at Nero with his outrageous good looks and his air of menace that I know appeals to women in a very specific way, and I feel something just a little too close to jealousy.
Which is idiotic. Dante already told me that Nero is head over heels for some girl named Camille, and Riona is likewise taken by somebody else. So there’s nothing to be jealous about here. Not even a little bit.
Still, I leave the office in a strange kind of mood.
Once we’re back in the elevator, Dante says, “How’s it going with Riona?”
“Good.” I nod.
“Actually good?” Dante asks.
“Yeah. I mean, we’ve got our differences . . . ”
Dante chuckles. “I bet. She’s great, though. Once you get below the prickly surface.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s what I’m finding,”
I’m not planning to tell Dante about my fight with Riona. I’m definitely not going to tell him about the kiss. That was pure stupidity. I won’t do that again.
Instead I say, “You want me to drive? I got a pretty sick ride.”
Dante chuckles. “You better. Nero brought me over in some crazy old car that felt like it was gonna fall apart trying to carry me around. I don’t think they built cars for people my size back in the 50s.”
“I don’t think they had people your size.”
“Exactly. You ever seen a bodybuilder from the 50s? They were like 178 pounds soaking wet.”
“You could have a real career in the circus if we could get you a time machine, take you back to the old-timey days.”
“Thanks,” Dante snorts. “Nobody delivers a compliment like you, Long Shot.”
Dante has the address for Luke Barker, the guy Oran fired after he apparently tried to get touchy with Riona at the company Christmas party.
It’s been almost a year since then, so it seems unlikely to me that the guy’s still holding a grudge. Worth running down every lead, though.
Dante and I drive out to his house in the Loop. It’s a pretty Tudor-style place on a tree-lined street. Looks nice enough from the exterior.
“You sure he’s home?” I ask Dante. “In the middle of the day?”
“Yeah,” Dante says. “I called him earlier.”
Despite that, it takes quite a while for Barker to answer the door after we knock. I hear the sound of something being knocked over in the hallway, and an irritated curse. Then he pulls the door open, still dressed in a bathrobe and looking bleary-eyed and unshaven.
“What?” he says. Then, on spotting Dante, “Oh, right. Come in.”
The inside of the house is a lot less well-maintained than the outside. It smells musty and stale, and half-eaten take out boxes litter the counters in the kitchen. A yappy little Yorkie runs around barking at our ankles. Barker says, “Shut up, ya little fucker!” which the dog completely ignores.
The Yorkie is wearing a sparkling pink rhinestone collar. That, and the throw pillows on the couch that say “Live, Laugh, Wine” and “Cuddle Time” lead me to believe that a woman used to live here not too long ago. Probably not now, however—when Barker opens his fridge, the only thing inside is a pizza box, a dozen bottles of Budweiser, and a bunch of condiment bottles.
“You want a drink?” Barker says, taking a beer out for himself.
I’m guessing it’s not his first of the day.
“Sure,” Dante says. He’s probably trying to seem friendly.
Barker pops the caps off the beers and slides one over to Dante.
“I’m good,” I say.
Barker takes a long pull off his beer. He eyes us with narrowed, bloodshot eyes.
“What’s this all about?” he says. “You know I don’t work for Griffin, Briar, Weiss anymore.”
“Yeah,” Dante says. “I know that. I was wondering if you could tell me why they let you go?”
“You know why,” Barker says.
“No,” Dante replies calmly. “I don’t.”
“Because of that bitch,” Barker says, taking a swig of his beer.
The venom in his tone makes my heart rate spike.
“Are you talking about Riona Griffin?” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.
“Yeah. She was flirting with me all the time . . . couldn’t keep her eyes off me. Then at the party, we both have a couple drinks. One thing leads to another . . . and then she goes crying to her uncle.”
I can’t imagine Riona “going crying” to anybody. And I also can’t imagine her flirting with this sloppy sack of shit. He’s at least ten years older than her. And even if he were shaved and showered and dressed in a nice suit, he’d still have that smug look on his face that I know would rub her the wrong way.
“What do you mean by ‘one thing led to another?’ ” I say, through gritted teeth.
Dante glances over at me. He can tell I’m getting pissed.
Barker doesn’t seem to notice. He takes another swig of his beer.
“You know,” he says. “We’re talking, having drinks . . . she’s wearing this low-cut dress. Every time she moves, I can see the top of her tits, and she knows I can see it. She acts all uptight, but you know what redheads are like . . . they’re all fuckin’ animals in the sack. So she’s all like, ‘Excuse me,’ and walks over to the bathrooms, and I can see the way she’s walking, shakin’ her ass, she definitely wants me to follow her. So I do, and I shove her in the bathroom and pull up her skirt and—“
I don’t know at what point in the story I snap, but the next thing I know, my hands are around Barker’s throat and I’ve flung him up against the refrigerator. I’m choking the fucking life out of him and he’s gagging and sputtering and trying to pry my fingers off his neck.
The fact that this arrogant piece of shit thought that Riona was interested in him, the fact that he followed her into the bathroom and put his hands on her . . . it makes me want to murder him. Just snuff him out of this world.
Dante’s pulling me off Barker, shouting, “Long Shot, take it easy!”
I release my grip on Barker’s throat just a little—enough that he can talk.
“Did you hire somebody to come after her?” I snarl. “Were you trying to get even, because she got you fired?”
“She didn’t just get me fired!” Barker spits, still trying to pry my hands off his neck. “My wife left me, too! She’s divorcing me! She cleared out the bank account and took my car and left me with this fuckin’ dog!”
“Did you hire someone to kill Riona?” I roar in his face.
“What? No!” Barker sputters. “Are you insane?”
I squeeze his throat a little harder, lifting his feet up off the kitchen tile.
“Why not?” I snarl. “She ruined your life, right?”
“Even if I wanted to, I don’t have any fuckin’ money!” Barker chokes, his face turning puce. “Plus the Griffins . . . ”