Sticky clumps of blood matted her hair. It wasn’t a ton of blood, but her white-blond hair made the deep crimson that much more obvious.
The sight turned my stomach inside out. What terrified me the most was how perfectly still she lay. Time froze as thoroughly as the body at my feet. The wind didn’t blow. The birds didn’t chirp. All but my thundering heart had stopped—it pounded as though trying to jump-start the world around me, but it was no good. Nothing moved. Not even me.
I stood paralyzed and helpless, unable to move or cry for help, though my mind screamed from behind its iron bars to do something. The only thing I managed was to peer down in shock at my open hands, palms up and covered in blood.
My stomach revolted, panic burning its way up my throat.
The girl had hardly bled—where had it all come from? My hands were coated in sticky crimson. My clothes were splattered and smeared. I was covered from head to toe.
Agonizing terror refused to be contained any longer, bursting from my lungs in the form of a horrific wail. The sound caught in my ears as I lurched upward in bed, a hand slapping over my mouth as I raced for the bathroom.
I made it to the toilet in time to spew an acidic cocktail of bile and dinner remnants. Tears poured down my cheeks, which was almost as unsettling as the nightmare. I didn’t cry. Hadn’t since I was a child. Yet rivulets of salty sadness streaked down my face.
It was just a dream, Ro.
You know it was more than that.
No. It was a dream.
I might have felt concerned about whoever had been crying, but that didn’t change the fact that what I’d just seen was a dream. I wouldn’t let my subconscious color my waking thoughts.
So you’re going to let it go?
I didn’t say that. I only meant that I won’t go off half-cocked.
I splashed my face with water and took several deep breaths.
Then what are you going to do?
I need more information.
And where will you find it? You couldn’t come up with anything on Google, and Dad wasn’t any help. If you go to the authorities, anything they find could end up hurting Dad.
It was true. Dad and Lawrence Wellington had been friends for too long to avoid a controversy. Any questioning I did would need to be behind the scenes. Maybe a private investigator? That might work, but who? And did they have an obligation to report crimes to the authorities?
I couldn’t let this touch my father, but I also didn’t think I could ignore the crying woman. Something deep in my bones told me Stetson’s father was bad news. I just needed proof.
What will you do once you get that proof?
I’ll tell Dad, and he can handle it privately.
And Stetson?
I bent at the hips and lowered my head between my arm, my hands propping me against the bathroom vanity. Everything was so confusing where Stetson was concerned. How would his father’s actions impact my view of him? Should I tell him about my suspicions? If so, when? How would he respond?
I hated uncertainty. I liked plans and order and knowing exactly what to expect.
An echo of the woman’s cry drifted through my mind like a chilling gust of wind. She needed me, and when it came down to it, that was all that mattered.
Okay, Wonder Woman, how do you plan to accomplish this great rescue?
I rolled my eyes and plodded back to my bedroom.
Don’t be dramatic. All I want right now is more information.
Who can get that to you without raising any red flags?
Someone good with technology. Someone who didn’t mind bending the rules and who was used to getting information on people. I didn’t know anyone like that personally, but a pair of turbulent ocean eyes flashed in my mind.
Keir Byrne had managed to break into the governor’s home and offered dirt on the mayor for blackmail purposes. He was exactly the sort of man who could dig up information on Lawrence Wellington.
A seductive tendril of excitement, the same as I’d felt in my parents’ kitchen, coiled tight in my belly. I couldn’t deny that I wanted to see him again. Was I letting my intrigue cloud my judgment? Possibly. Keir didn’t strike me as the type to play nice. If he found a skeleton in Wellington’s closet, would he use it against my father? He wanted something from Dad, and Wellington’s indiscretions could be used as leverage against my father.
But wouldn’t it be better to deal with whatever was happening behind closed doors than have the press blast the information on every news channel? Whatever we uncovered could be a ticking time bomb.
Or it could be absolutely nothing.
And if that’s the case, no harm, no foul.
What a clusterfuck. I plopped back onto my bed and stared at the ceiling.
How about this? What if we just go talk to him and see how it goes?
I raised my hands, half expecting to see red crusted beneath my fingernails.
She needs you.
I know.
That meant there was only one option.
Tomorrow, I go to the Moxy.
I was aware of each agonizing second that ticked by as I sat through my classes the following day. The anticipation was a never-ending electrical current running through my veins. I considered skipping class since my thoughts were too distracted to listen to a lecture, but I refused to give in to the pull. Logic controlled my actions, not my curiosity or libido.
And there was a significant chance Keir didn’t even work until later in the day. I’d looked up the Moxy and discovered it was the sort of establishment that did most of its business at night. A strip club buried in the middle of the Garment District. Not the best place to be at night, but if I went in the late afternoon, I had a decent chance of catching Keir and still getting home before it got too late. I preferred not to be wandering that area well after dark.
I had no idea where else I might find the Irishman, so it would have to do.
I arrived just after four o’clock. The area was relatively quiet at that hour. While the late September sun had already hidden itself behind a wall of city buildings, the bustling chaos of night hadn’t quite kicked into gear.
The painted black exterior of the building boasted no windows, effectively communicating the explicit nature of the club within. However, the paint was kept fresh, and the decently new awning was lit from within by green neon lights. The effect was sharp and even a little enticing.
I’d never been inside a strip club, though I’d looked up the place online to have some idea of what to expect. The images showed leather booths for private pole dances and classy chandeliers lighting rich wood paneling on the walls. It was a mix of between a sports bar and a gentlemen’s club. When I walked inside, I was relieved to see the photos had been an accurate depiction. I didn’t have to frequent strip clubs to know they could be a lot seedier than the Moxy.
Girls danced, even at this early hour, and sensual music pulsed in the air. A dozen patrons were sprinkled throughout the place, along with cocktail servers in skimpy dresses and several intimidating men dressed all in black like the one stationed at the front door. His face was striking, save for the scowl carved into his lips.
“If you’re lookin’ for Jolly, he’s not here,” the man said as though giving me the time of day had physically pained him.
“Jolly? Uh, no. I was looking for Keir.”
The man’s dagger-like stare narrowed as he looked me up and down. “What do you want with him?”
“He came by my place a couple of nights ago asking some questions. I wanted to follow up with him.” Somewhat true yet sufficiently vague to muster scrutiny. Hopefully. I used every ounce of my unearned privilege to sound confident enough to overcome any remaining doubts. It seemed to work.
“How about you give me your number, and I’ll have him call you.” It wasn’t a question.
Before I could decide if it was best to argue or tuck and run, a gorgeous server with blond curls approached.
“Tor, you givin’ this sweet thing a hard time?” She had a Southern drawl that made her instantly likable. I wasn’t sure I understood the effect, but it was the same with puppies. Only sociopaths could look at a puppy and not get a hit of dopamine straight to the bloodstream.
The man she’d called Tor grimaced.
Okaaay. So … sociopath?
Probably.
“Doesn’t involve you, Stormy,” he grumbled.
“I was just here to talk to Keir,” I blurted, hoping Stormy, as he’d called her, might be more helpful.
She flashed a brilliant smile. “Well, that’s easy enough.” She shifted and peered over her shoulder. “He’s right back there.”
“Fuck, Storm. Maybe she didn’t need to know that.” The man groused at her.
Stormy was totally unfazed. She winked at me, then flitted away, giving me the impression these two quipped like that on the regular. I probably would have laughed if my nerves didn’t have my entire body in a stranglehold.
I stepped around Tor and spotted Keir sitting with his back to me at a table, watching a woman dance on a small raised platform. I took her in as I approached. She was lean and toned, but her movements were too exaggerated for my taste. Too intentionally erotic. She wasn’t capitalizing on the seductive possibilities of the music playing. Considering the purpose and her audience, that might have been best, but it seemed a shame.
There you go again, analyzing everything.
Yeah, well. What else am I supposed to do?
The voices quieted the second Keir’s piercing stare met mine.
There it was again. Exhilaration, like epinephrine straight to the heart. How did the sight of him tangle my thoughts while unraveling my insides? I wasn’t scared of him. If it wasn’t fear bubbling up inside me, then what? I couldn’t deny the answer blaring in my head as I closed the distance between us.
Attraction—a primal, magnetic pull that hooked me at the molecular level. And it wasn’t just his rugged good looks that drew me in; it was the effortless way he emanated power, as if born with an abundance of self-possessed confidence so natural to him that boasting was unnecessary. Keir Byrne knew his strengths and saw no need to flaunt them. The mere scent of such surety was intoxicating.
“If it isn’t Little Miss Alexander. You’ve managed to surprise me—not an easy feat.” Somehow, he knew exactly how loud to speak so that he could be heard above the music, but just barely. It forced me to give every ounce of my attention to each word he spoke.
“Glad I could add a little amusement to your day, though it looks like you’re plenty entertained.” My eyes cut over to the woman who continued to gyrate on the private stage.
“You’ve mistaken concentration for entertainment. I’m working,” he said dryly. “Madison here is auditioning, so if you don’t mind…” He reached for the bottle of water on the table and returned his gaze to the stage. Had I irritated him? I had a feeling he’d gone from amused to insulted, and I needed to fix things quickly.
“I just need a minute to talk with you, Keir. Please, just one minute.”
Hell if my entire body didn’t warm every time his eyes touched me.
“I told you, I’m auditioning right now, so unless you want to dance, leave,” he ordered in an arctic tone wrought with challenge. If he thought throwing down the gauntlet would send me running, he was mistaken.
I walked right up to him, flung my purse at his chest, and slipped off my shoes, not allowing my stare to waiver for a second. Rowan Alexander didn’t cower for anyone. No matter the outcome, what I was about to do would be worth the spark of fascinated surprise that flashed behind those tropical eyes of his. He never moved or spoke, but I could see it there in the Caribbean depths. I had his attention.
“I dance, then you listen. Agreed?”
He stared at me for ten solid seconds before his chin dipped.
Seizing my moment, I stepped on stage. The current occupant looked from me to Keir, then reluctantly backed away.
Don’t worry, honey, I’m not after your job.
I tried to clear my head and allow the music to filter into my body. I wasn’t familiar with the song, but it had a sultry beat and grinding bass making movement come easily. What Keir hadn’t known was that I was at home on the stage probably more than anywhere else. Dance was my therapy. My one true love.
I no longer took lessons, but I tried to find time to dance most days. I did it for myself. Performing for others wasn’t my favorite, so I tuned out the flashing television screens and other dancers. I ignored the covetous stares of the men around me and let the music take hold.
The jeans I’d worn had enough stretch to allow movement—not ideal, but sufficient. And my short sweater with a scooped neckline was perfect to add a tease of skin. I wasn’t about to get naked, but I wanted to make sure Keir knew I wasn’t embarrassed to be seen, and more importantly, that his attempt at intimidation had failed.
I began to sway and arch and roll my body in perfect harmony with the music. Up on that stage with the seductive pull of an electric guitar filling the air, it was easy to summon my sexiest moves. I simply imagined that Keir was the only other person in the room. That I was dancing for him alone—to tease him to the brink of madness.
My hands trailed over my body as I moved, as though I was deep in a session of pleasuring myself, delighting in the feel of my own touch. I bit my bottom lip like I might if I was straining to keep myself quiet, and I moved seamlessly from one inviting position to the next, a symphony of carnal seduction.
When I finally permitted myself to peek at my adversary, my veins flooded with elation. Keir’s entire body had gone rigid with tension, an enormous bulge tenting his pants.
I’d gotten to him. The unflappable Keir Byrne was on edge. I’d pushed him to the limits of his perfectly honed control, and I wanted more.
I wanted to see him snap.
Already on my knees, I arched my back until the top of my head gently met the floor. I pressed my chest upward, allowing my sweater to fully expose my bra, and brought my hands to my breasts, then slowly trailed down my front toward the apex of my thighs.
Two other men edged closer to the stage on the opposite side where Keir was sitting. I could feel their eyes on me, but they were inconsequential compared to the blazing touch of Keir’s stare. He branded me with those ocean eyes of his.
“Enough.” The savage growl ripped through the air, halting my movements.
Keir was on his feet. I lifted upright, though still on my knees, and watched him grab my purse and charge toward me. My eyes rounded as he grabbed my wrist and hauled me from the stage toward a dark hallway.
“What is it you want from me, Miss Alexander?” he bit out.
“Rowan,” I shot back. “My name is Rowan.” I wasn’t sure why I cared what he called me, but I did. I wanted to hear the guttural purr of my name on his lips.
“I know your name,” he said dismissively. “Tell me why the fuck you’re here.”
Stubborn asshole. Fine. I’d get to the point. “I have a job for you.”
The tension surrounding him slowly melted as a devious smile teased at his lips. “This gets more interesting by the minute. Go on.”
“I want someone investigated without the information going public.”
“Seems like something your father should be capable of doing.”
My spine stiffened. “I brought up the matter with him. He declined.”
“And I was the next person who came to mind?” he asked condescendingly.
“Hardly. But it’s a delicate matter. I need someone to get me answers discreetly. I’ll pay you.”
He studied me, growing more intrigued by the second. Good. I’d use whatever I could to my advantage. “Who is it you want to look into?”
“Lawrence Wellington.”
His eyes narrowed. “The shipping mogul?”
I nodded.
Keir’s head fell back as a rumble of masculine laughter filled the air. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I got the sense this man didn’t laugh often, and the effect was mesmerizing. Even though it came at my expense, I could see myself doing terrible things to hear that sound again.
Once he regained himself, he stalked closer, a sharp edge returning to his features. “That man practically owns the entire Red Hook shipping terminal. Why the fuck are you wanting to look into Lawrence Wellington?” His words were harsh, but his tone was somehow still calm and steady. His ability to stay composed was impressive.
“My reasons have no bearing on an investigation.”
“They do when I’m the one investigating.”
Shit. I hadn’t considered him asking me why. It was a reckless oversight, but I didn’t let it thwart me. “His son is my boyfriend. Before going any further into the relationship, I’d like to make sure his father won’t be a detriment to my father’s career.”
Well done, Ro! He can hardly argue with that logic.
“Seems like something your father would be happy to do to protect you both.”
“They’re longtime friends. Dad wouldn’t even entertain the notion.” Please, stop asking questions!
Keir continued to study me. “Yet, for some reason, you feel compelled enough to seek me out.”
“Why not? You had no problem breaking into my parents’ house. Surely digging into someone’s background is hardly an imposition, especially if you’re being paid.”
“I want to know why,” he persisted.
“Why what?”
“Why you even suspect something’s off.”
I resisted the urge to grind my teeth in frustration and smiled instead. “I told you, I’m just being cautious.”
He shrugged. “Then the answer is no.” He turned to walk away.
My mouth fell open. “What? Why?” I hurried after him.
“Because I said so.”
“I told you, I’ll pay you.”
He turned and spread his arms wide. “As if I need your money, Miss Alexander.” He stared at me, a glint of smug satisfaction in his eyes.
I stretched my spine as tall as possible, bristling against what I was about to do. “Please.”
He took a step closer. “As much as I love seeing your pretty lips beg, it’s not enough, so unless you give me a reason”—he moved close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him—“to motivate me, then the answer … is still … no.” The menacing vibrations of his voice feathered across my skin.
I inhaled, breathing him in. Intentionally intoxicating myself with his scent.
I need him to help me.
No, you want his help. You could do this on your own.
Shut up.
“I think he hurt someone. A woman.” The rushed words hung between us, dangling precariously on a knife’s edge.
Keir’s nostrils flared despite the preternatural calm that settled back in place like a well-worn coat.
“Explain.”
“I was at his house with my boyfriend. I heard a woman crying—not just crying. The sounds were … soul-crushing. When I asked Stetson who else was there, he said his father was the only other person in the house. And before you say I was just hearing things or it was a television or a neighbor, it wasn’t. I know what I heard.”
Keir pulled away from me. “I don’t like it.”
“Don’t like what?” I balked.
“Any of it. That man is immensely powerful. You need to leave it the fuck alone.”
I gaped at him. “Just leave it? Forget that some poor woman may be chained in that man’s house?”
“You don’t honestly believe that’s what’s happening,” he challenged.
I paused, unsure what to say. It was an egregious accusation. If I’d felt certain about it, I would have gone to the authorities. “It’s just a little digging into his background,” I pleaded one last time.
He shook his head. “You’re in over your head. Walk away, Miss Alexander.”
A woman’s angry voice carried over the music in the club behind him. We both turned to see a bouncer approach a man and give a menacing warning, inches from his face. The unruly customer seemed to back down, palms up placatingly, but spat at the bouncer’s feet as soon as he turned his back. The music was loud enough that the large man in black couldn’t hear it, but I saw it, and so did Keir.
He sighed. “Your time is up,” he shot over his shoulder before weaving his way around tables to where the man sat back down.
I watched in fascination as Keir calmly spoke to the man, his head motioning for the door. He was kicking him out. The man grew irritated, eventually grabbing his glass and swinging as though to hit Keir over the head with it, but the Irishman was too fast. Displaying speed I wouldn’t have thought someone so large could possess, he blocked the man’s strike, pinned the arm behind him, then gripped the back of his neck to slam the man’s head into the solid wood table three times in quick succession with such force, I cringed.
When he straightened, hardly a hair was out of place. More than that, it was as if the violent outburst had never happened. His adversary, if he could be called that, crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap. Keir was unmoved, walking over to the woman who’d first caught our attention with her cry.
They exchanged a few words before he nodded once and turned back to me. His now empty stare collided with mine before he shot a look at the bouncer nearby. The next thing I knew, I was escorted outside, my shoes dropped at my feet, and the door slammed behind me.
