“You’re pale, too.”
“I’m always pale.” British skin.
“Take off the glasses.”
“Tell me why you smell like a whiskey distillery,” Chloe returned.
“Because when I found out that some piece of shit had torched my club and that people had died, I grabbed the whiskey intending to get my ass drunk. But I took one swallow and realized that shit wasn’t going to help. I threw the whiskey against the wall. The glass shattered. When I was cleaning it all up, the stuff got on me.”
“When you throw things, they shatter.” Her gaze darted to his right hand. A thick, white bandage had been secured around his hand. “Is that how you got the cut?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“Chloe…” He grabbed her hand and hauled her inside. He slammed the door behind her. “Why are you doing this to me? I hired you, remember? You are supposed to be on my side. You’re not supposed to grill me and—”
“I was there last night. When the bombs went off.”
His lips parted. It took him a few moments to rasp, “What?”
“I was there. Joel was there.”
“You…aren’t hurt?”
“No. And, by the way, you owe Wedge some sort of serious promotion. The man is being utterly wasted as a bouncer. When the rest of your guards were running for the doors, he was running back inside.”
A muscle flexed along his jaw. “I will take care of him—and the others.”
“I thought you would. But then…you already have taken care of some, haven’t you? That’s why you smell this way. Who did you go after? The manager? The fellow in charge of the VIP rooms? What was his name—Bruce? Boyd?”
“You damn well know it was Boyd Miller.”
“Right.” She did know. “You had a talk with him, hmmm?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because someone attacked your place. Because Boyd was in charge. Because Boyd ran his ass out of there and I’m betting Wedge told you this already. So you—being the kind of man who would want to know why his place was bombed—you went to Boyd. You found him drinking while your place still smoldered. You fought him.” She slanted a glance down at his hand. “I’m sure that is a cut from a broken bottle, but probably one you got when he came at you, fighting, and not a cut you got from throwing a bottle against a wall and then picking up the broken pieces.”
“Broken pieces. Story of my life.”
“I can relate to that.”
He squinted at her. “I can never read you. Are you shitting me right now? It is not the time to shit me.”
“Why haven’t you gone to the FBI?”
“Fuck. Not that again.” He whirled away from her.
“You cut ties, didn’t you? Why?”
“Look, I told you before that I’m not an active FBI agent.”
“No, but you were an agent. In another life. And at first, that life spilled over in New Orleans. They helped to put you in power—”
He spun back toward her. “I got my own power. I don’t owe it to anyone or anything.”
“You…were in organized crime.”
His eyes glittered at her. “Don’t touch it, Chloe. You—of all people—should know that the bad guys hide everywhere.”
Yes, she knew that.
“They will completely disavow me. Just as I would them. I’m on my own. And that means if I can’t prove my innocence on this…my ass will be locked away.”
“Well, if you’re trying to look innocent, beating up the manager of your club doesn’t look the best.”
Kingston shrugged. “So I was pissed. I thought Boyd might need to understand my level of anger. I also wanted to see if he’d been involved.”
She didn’t let her expression alter. “Because you think this was an inside job?”
He gave her a slow smile. “Ah, Chloe…don’t you, love? Isn’t that why you’re here? Didn’t you come…first, to see if I was guilty? To see if I’d set my own place to blow and if I’d killed those people?”
“No.”
He blinked. Seemed caught off guard as his confidence faltered. “Excuse me?”
“No, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I promised my brother that I wouldn’t investigate alone. You’re my new partner for the day.”
“What. The. Hell?”
“New partner,” she enunciated clearly. “Did you hit your head in the fight with Boyd?”
“You already have a partner. A jealous, possessive prick who usually trails you like a looming shadow.” His head cocked. “Where is the doc, by the way?” Then his eyes widened. “Was he…did something happen to him last night?”
“Joel was not seriously injured in the events that took place last night.”
He closed the distance between them. His hand flew up and snagged her glasses. He whipped them off. “Weird that you kept them on inside, don’t you think?” His gaze hardened. “Want to tell me why your eyes look that way?”
She retrieved her glasses. “I’m assuming you are referring to the redness and puffiness of my eyes? In case you forgot, I was in a building that contained a great deal of smoke and debris last night.”
“Didn’t forget. Also don’t think that is the reason.”
She twirled the glasses in her hand. “Joel is no longer working with me. Because of the nature of this case, I assured my brother that I would not investigate alone today. Though, obviously, I am more than capable of handling things on my own.”
“Obviously.”
“Since you have a vested interest in finding out who put the bombs in your club, I thought you would like to accompany me. If I am mistaken, I can just get right out of your way. I won’t waste more of your time.”
“We both know you’re not mistaken. We also both know I’m the number one suspect for the cops.”
Agreed. “And that’s why you came to your mother’s old house. Because you didn’t think anyone knew about it and you could lay low while you figured out which one of your enemies did this.”
“Apparently, it wasn’t low enough.”
She inclined her head at the accurate truth. “I don’t think it was one of your enemies.”
“What?” Surprise flashed on his face, only to be quickly smoothed away. “Uh, yeah, it was. Nothing says ‘personal attack’ like someone bombing your club. Your VIP rooms. Your security room.”
“I believe it was one of my enemies.” If he was going to be working with her, he should know what he was up against.
Silence.
She waited. More time passed. He still remained silent. Her left foot began to tap against the floor. “Did you hear me? Should I repeat—”
“Your enemies tend to be twisted fucks.”
“Yes.” A brief pause. “Will that be a problem?”
“Not for me.”
She’d hoped for that response.
“Let’s go,” he added. “The sooner I can make the fool pay, the better—”