“You’re not the only one who can attract a pretty young lady,” Ridley snapped back.
Did he mean Kyla? Had O’Shaughnessy’s intern been right?
“And yet here you are alone.”
“You always were an arrogant son of a bitch.”
Black merely smirked. “Yet here I am with a beautiful woman and a football jersey.”
“Fuck you.”
Gee, that was original. The man certainly had a temper on him, didn’t he? Black and I watched as Ridley turned on his heel and stomped back into the banquet hall, no doubt ready to inflict his foul mood onto the next victim.
“You know,” Black said, his gaze heating as he looked down at me, “for once, I might actually take his advice.”
CHAPTER 20 - ALARIC
“WELL, THIS OUGHTA set the cat among the pigeons,” Alaric said.
Black worked fast, he had to give the man credit for that. The full forensic report had come in not long before midnight, and by the time Alaric’s morning coffee was cool enough to drink, the results were already spreading online, thanks in no small part to O’Shaughnessy’s campaign. Beth leaned over Alaric’s shoulder and turned up the volume on a local news piece.
“Following Aidan O’Shaughnessy’s dramatic fall from grace during Monday’s senatorial debate in Frankfort, Kentucky, there appears to be a twist in the tale. Fingerprints belonging to Eric Ridley, a member of Kyla Devane’s security team, have reportedly been found on a bag that held the Democratic candidate’s laptop, the same laptop that was confiscated by police after it was found to contain underage pornography. Bruce Goddard, campaign manager for Mr. O’Shaughnessy, has confirmed to KSBC News that there is no reason why any member of Devane’s staff should have handled the bag in question.”
“Do you think that’ll lose her enough votes?” Beth asked.
“Who knows? Give it an hour, and I expect the Devane campaign’ll come out with a rebuttal. Dispute the evidence, say O’Shaughnessy’s lying because he’s desperate, that sort of thing.”
The fingerprint evidence would be enough to cast doubt in a criminal case, but in a trial by media? Voters were unpredictable. Really, they needed something more to tip the balance. Dan had gone to interview Piper Simms’s grandmother with the dog riding shotgun—rather them than Alaric—and there was also Ridley’s civilian atrocity to dig into. Alaric planned to call some of his contacts while Beth helped Harriet for an hour, but the bulk of his network was in Western Europe and North America, not the Middle East. Ditto for Judd, and Naz dealt with Eastern Europe. There were definite gaps in Sirius’s coverage, but the firm didn’t have the capital to facilitate a Blackwood rate of expansion. Only Judd was minted, and most of his money was tied up in family trusts. Growth at the moment was slow but steady.
Which was why he had to ask Beth to help out with the investigative work as well as organising accommodation for the next week since it looked as if they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.
“I’ll send the owner of this place an email right away,” she said when he mentioned it. “Hopefully it’ll be free for a while longer. If not, I’ll find something similar.”
“I’m sorry you can’t stay with the horses all day today.”
“Don’t apologise—this is my job.”
“But still…”
The guilt was strong, and with it came the realisation that Alaric didn’t want Beth to make his travel arrangements and type his reports. He wanted her to play with horses all day, smile at him over dinner, scream his name as he fucked her, then curl against him while they slept. Even though deep down, he’d known the just-a-job story was bullshit, it was the first time he’d allowed himself to admit it, and the revelation hit him like a cannonball to the chest.
Fuck.
Could his feelings have reared their ugly heads at a worse time? Probably not. Not only were they in the middle of this Hydra of a case, but Beth had also distanced herself in the last couple of days. She’d clearly decided her role, and it was executive assistant rather than wannabe girlfriend. Since that night on the couch, she’d been the consummate professional, and Alaric had to afford her the same courtesy.
“Of course, yes, it is your job. A similar property will be fine. We’re all used to packing up and moving around.”
Beth’s cheeks turned pink, and Alaric realised he’d put his foot in it yet again. She’d unpacked, hadn’t she? Made herself at home. He kind of envied that optimism—even after her life got flipped on its head, she tried to put down roots, albeit shallow ones.
Alaric still put his toothbrush back in his suitcase after every use.
Predictably, the memo about professionalism hadn’t reached every member of the Sirius team. At first, Alaric had been happy to see Judd sitting in his kitchen when he video-called him from the living room at Lone Oak Farm, but that joy soon faded when he heard a baby cry.
“I thought Hevrin got discharged from the hospital last night?”
That’s what Judd’s latest email had said.
“Yeah, she did.”
“So you took her home, right?”
“Mate, she’s got a broken arm and a baby. I couldn’t just drop her off in some shitty part of town and leave her to fend for herself. She needs help.”
The words made sense, but not when it was Judd speaking them. His bedside manner consisted of flushing the condom and closing the door quietly on his way out.
“And you thought you’d be the best person to assist?”
“Nah, Gemma offered. Nada didn’t even want to come, but Gem talked her round.”
Gem? Nada? What, was he starting a bloody harem?
“Don’t you mean Hevrin?”
“I guess I got used to calling her Nada in the hospital, and that’s what her new passport says. She answers to either.”
“She’s not a fucking dog, Judd. And what do you mean, new passport?”
“The admin lady at the hospital wanted to
