“Is it too late to go back to London?”
I hadn’t signed up for a battle, and although Black had been perfectly polite, he still scared me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you out of the crossfire. Trust me?”
I might not have known Alaric for long, but yes, I did.
“I trust you. But don’t forget I’ll need to be in England in the middle of next month for my sister’s wedding. Actually, maybe getting caught in the crossfire wouldn’t be so bad—if I were dead, I’d have a valid excuse for declining the invite.”
“You can’t miss your sister’s wedding.”
“Just wishful thinking, I guess. Honestly, I could do without another dose of Piers, and he’s bound to be there.”
“Need a date?”
Was Alaric offering? Last time he’d volunteered as my plus-one, things had got rather…heated. Our relationship, such as it was, had changed completely since then, but my insides still clenched from thinking about it.
“Is that a good idea?”
His voice got lower. Huskier. Be dry my soaking knickers. “I promise I’ll keep my fingers to myself this time.”
I swallowed hard and nearly told him not to bother, then quickly remembered Gemma’s revelation. Alaric liked men. He also happened to be an outrageous flirt who sometimes got carried away, but on balance, I’d rather deal with Alaric and my raging libido than horny groomsmen or that weird friend of my sister’s fiancé who kept stroking my arm.
“In that case, I’ll take you up on the offer. But if—when—Piers does show his face, you’ll get bonus points for keeping your hand on my bottom.”
I heard the smile in Alaric’s voice. “I think I can manage that. Should we practise first?”
Oh, what had I done?
“No, we’ve got work to get on with. Shoo. Go ask your questions.”
Yes, the job was boring, but I was smiling as I trekked up the next driveway. Alaric was fun, a genuinely nice guy. After a decade of walking on eggshells trying to please Piers, being around a man with a sense of humour was a refreshing change. Why were the good ones always gay?
I reached the house, a tiny cottage that had seen better days, and knocked on the wood siding next to the screen door. A grey-haired lady soon shuffled towards me.
“Hi, I’m—”
“The private detective? Marcy Belmont called to say you might come by. I don’t know anything about the Simms girl, but I just baked cookies.” She waved me inside. “Would you like coffee?”
CHAPTER 22 - ALARIC
TWO DAYS, THEY’D spent canvassing, and they were no farther forward. Nobody heard anything. Nobody saw anything. Kyla had spent the afternoon cementing her reputation as a media darling by doing a meet-and-greet with veterans, notably with Ridley hovering in the background like a malevolent spirit. Rumour said that O’Shaughnessy had been scheduled to visit a school, but the principal cancelled at the last moment. So O’Shaughnessy went to an animal shelter instead. Cute puppies, y’all.
Did Alaric sound cynical? That’s because he was.
“There.” Black walked into the kitchen and tossed his phone onto the table. “It’s done. Tomorrow, the media should put two and two together and realise that Devane’s fuck buddy and the sick bastard accused of murdering an Afghan family and then burning their home to hide the evidence are one and the same man. Damn, I hate politics. What’s for dinner?”
“How’s the evidence of that coming along?” Alaric asked, and Black shot him a dirty look.
“Nothing concrete. That’s the problem when he shoots all the witnesses.”
“Playing devil’s advocate, do we know he did it?”
“Firstly, there’s circumstantial evidence. The weapons used, the method, and we know his crew was in the area. Secondly, it doesn’t matter whether he did it or not. Our job is to muddy the waters around Devane. Taking down Ridley would merely be a bonus.”
That. That second point was the difference between Blackwood and Sirius in a nutshell. Black would play dirty and do a hatchet job on a person’s reputation if it suited his cause. That wasn’t to say he had no principles whatsoever—Alaric couldn’t imagine him taking money to, say, bump off somebody’s business rival—but he didn’t mind collateral damage in the pursuit of a higher goal. In this case, Alaric happened to agree that Eric Ridley was a problem, but he liked to think his moral compass pointed in the right direction most of the time. That was why he’d left the CIA, after all—it had become clear that their ultimate destinations were on different bearings.
At Sirius, they’d vowed to seek out the truth, then let the chips fall where they may.
Emmy didn’t seem bothered by her husband’s ethics. She was sitting on the floor petting the dog, who lay on its back with its legs waving in the air.
“I ordered takeout,” she told Black. “Sushi and salad for you, pizza for all the regular people.”
“What about dessert?” Dan asked.
“Cookie dough ice cream.”
“I love you.”
Beth had been rummaging in the fridge, but when she came back with a bottle of Coke, Emmy waved her away. Emmy’s diet had always amused Alaric. She refused to touch soda, but she’d live on cheeseburgers if she could, and on a night out, she’d quite happily pour shot after vile shot down her throat.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Beth asked as she topped off Alaric’s glass.
“We’ve got a dozen houses left to cover, mostly people who were out the first time we called. Then I’ll defer to Dan.”
Dan rubbed the black circles under her eyes. “Honestly? I’m not sure where to go next. If Piper’s disappearance was more recent, I’d suggest hiking with a cadaver dog, but so much
