would have theirs if the tables were turned.
Nick knew there was a battle brewing, just as he knew that they would be right in the middle of it through no fault of their own. Reasons didn’t matter to Nick; that sort of understanding-and-cooperation bull was for Rome. For him, it was what it was. If their parents had botched up something in their lifetime and it was now time for their children to deal with the repercussions, so be it. It was past time they dealt with this situation anyway.
As for Rome and his crusade, Nick supported him and would do whatever he could to protect Rome when the time came. Sometimes blood didn’t have to be thicker than water.
Josef Bingham’s law firm had been started forty years ago by old money and today was still thriving, making even more money. By normal standards Bingham should have retired about ten years back, but Rome had to admit that at seventy-six years old the man was still as feisty as ever.
Next to Baxter and Henrique Delgado, Nick’s father, Bingham was the closest thing his father had to a friend. At least, that’s what Baxter had told him. Trust didn’t come easy for shifters, and came even harder when a shifter gave his trust to a human, but Bingham must have won his father over for the man to have some personal effect of Vance Reynolds’s.
Rome found Bingham near the bar, exactly where he suspected he’d find him, drink already in hand.
“Mr. Bingham?” he said, clapping a hand on the man’s shoulder before giving the bartender a nod to bring him a drink.
“Ah, Roman, my boy. Wasn’t sure you’d show up tonight,” he said, giving way to a cough that seemed to rattle the extra skin at his neck and probably most of his insides.
“I was invited,” Rome replied. “And I rarely turn down invitations like this.”
“Yes, I believe tonight promises to be a special night.”
Over Bingham’s shoulder Rome saw a young blonde with breasts that seemed hard-pressed to stay inside the bodice of her dress rubbing long-nailed fingers over the old man’s shoulder. She could easily be Bingham’s daughter, but Rome wasn’t naive enough to believe that for a minute. “Really? Why is that?”
“Ralph’s making his announcement, you know. People on the Hill might not like it. Gonna stir things up on the political scene, that one is.”
Rome couldn’t deny the truth of those words. But the kind of stirring-up he suspected Kensington was going to do wasn’t what Bingham was referring to.
“I agree.” Rome took a sip of his drink, let the warmth of the alcohol slide down his throat. What was Kensington up to really, and how did it involve the Rogues? Numerous questions mingled in his mind but it wasn’t a problem. Rome knew how to multitask. “Did you bring it?”
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” Bingham chuckled then gulped down the remaining contents of his glass. Lifting a blue-veined hand, he wiggled his fingers to signal for another drink.
Rome caught the bartender’s eye just in time to mouth the word no. With a shrug the bartender moved on, and Rome looked at Bingham.
“You said you had something for me, something I needed to see.”
Bingham nodded. “Right. I do.” Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a disk. “Your father had a safe- deposit box.”
“I thought all the safe-deposit boxes had been cleaned out after their deaths,” Rome said looking at the disk, not yet willing to take it into his hands. Baxter, his parents’ butler and the man who’d taken care of Rome after their deaths, had gone through all his parents’ things. He’d told Rome he’d given him all their possessions. Now thoughts of what could possibly be stored on this disk ran through his mind, causing his heart to pound with both anticipation and dread. This might put him one step closer, one clue nearer to finding their killers.
“This one was in my name. I’d forgotten all about it until my assistant retired and the new girl they hired brought this invoice to me. I went there myself and cleaned it out.”
“And that was the only thing in there?”
Bingham nodded. “And a note that I should make sure this got to you should anything happen to Vance.”
And something had definitely happened to him. He’d been brutally murdered by one of his own kind. Rome only hoped this disk would tell him why.
This was insane, she thought for the billionth time tonight. Attending this function was dangerous for too many reasons. For one, Kalina deduced as she pulled her car to a stop, thumping her fingers on the steering wheel, she could blow her cover. Greer Culverson, the chief of police, would surely be here. His connections in the political arena were no secret; there were already whispers of him putting in a bid for mayor next term. Not to mention any number of suspects she may have come across, because despite what most thought, drugs and drug dealers existed even in the tallest office buildings and highest-priced houses in DC. The epidemic wasn’t limited to the streets or what was called the lower class. Over the years she’d investigated and even arrested her share of businessmen and political wannabes for their roles in the drug game.
In addition, what if Roman saw her? What would she say? What would be her reason for attending this function? The decision to come here had been made quickly, just as the one to slip the tracking device onto the collar of his tuxedo had been, and the one to follow him to his house last night. She couldn’t pass up the opportunity, she’d decided that when Mel invited her to lunch. The secretary had casually mentioned she’d have to pick Roman’s tuxedo up from the dry cleaners and this plan was hatched. Hurrying back to her desk Kalina had called Ferrell, telling him what she wanted to do. Within the hour she was going down to the parking lot to meet Ferrell, who handed her the equipment.
“We’ll work on getting you tickets to the event tomorrow. I want you to watch everybody he talks to and make note. He might be going to this thing for more than political reasons. It could be a transaction going down, and I don’t want to miss it.”
And yet he’d known nothing about Rome even attending tonight’s ball until she told him. He’d been talking fast, his dark lips chapped from smoking too much. He wore a wool hat over his balding head but his eyes were astute, watching her like she was the one under investigation.
“Don’t mess this up, Harper.”
She snatched the plastic bag with the receiver in it from his hand. “I know how to do my job.”
“Yeah, well, you’re taking your own sweet time doing it.”
She had wanted to punch him. Never before had there been a co-worker or commanding officer whom Kalina disliked as much as Ferrell. There was just something about his personality that made her want to puke, then wipe her mouth and kick his ass for making her go to all the trouble.
“I’ll get the information. Just get me into that party.”
“Right,” he said, turning away from her as if she were the one who disgusted him.
Over chicken quesadillas and diet Cokes she and Mel had talked about Mel’s family, her time at the firm, and how the woman enjoyed working for Rome. Kalina had been careful not to ask too many questions about the man. She didn’t want to give Mel the wrong idea, even though she thought it was probably too late for that. While she didn’t want Mel to think she was trying to snag the boss, she certainly didn’t want her to know she was investigating him.
As soon as the device was activated, she’d switched on the transmitter and hidden it behind the monitor on her desk until the workday was over. When he’d been there as she’d packed up to leave at five, she’d almost been afraid he’d found out. Being busted by Rome again was going to wreak holy hell on her confidence as a cop.
But as he’d stood there staring at her as if he could literally eat her up on the spot, she suspected he’d stopped by for another reason entirely. Walking her to her car had been a shock. She hadn’t pegged Reynolds for the chivalrous type, and yet the kind gesture seemed to suit him. The dominant aura that pushed his hard body against hers had also seemed like second nature to him. Roman Reynolds was definitely a man who got what he wanted. Kalina just had to make sure that what he really wanted wasn’t her.
Even though she’d pulled out of the garage before him, she’d waited until his car had come out, then followed him to what she assumed was his home. It was a large estate in one of the district’s high-end neighborhoods near the Virginia state line. She only knew the neighborhood from glimpses in the society pages but now figured the newspapers didn’t do the palatial estates in this area justice. The house itself was huge, the grounds seeming to go on forever, with the plushest, greenest grass she’d ever seen. He’d stopped at a black iron
