“It’s not like he’s my first boyfriend,” Cade said defensively. “I’ve been happy.”
Lem shrugged. “You enjoy stuff,” he said. “But happy? I don’t know.”
“Don’t you have any other work to do?” Cade asked.
“Lunch,” Lem said. He checked the time on his phone. “For another two minutes. So you’re my brother, not my boss. Seriously, call the man. Beforehegets a better offer.”
Cade shook his head and pulled the contract back up. “Go eat a sandwich,” he told Lem. “Stay out of my private life. We’ll both be happier.”
He finalized the wording of the contract and sent it on to the legal department to process and send. There were three other non-urgent but time-sensitive emails in his inbox to answer and an invitation to attend a dinner party at The Reserve from one of the board members. Cade grimaced. That had always been Justin’s role to play. It always put Cade’s back up, because no matter how nice his suit or how impeccable his manners, he was there as the hired help. It didn’t bother Justin. He’d smile as they talked down to him—and take their money as an apology.
Unfortunately, Justin wasn’t on deck anymore, and after the bad press around Haley’s murder, someone needed to go to keep them onside. Since Lem would probably sleep with a board member’s wife, or son, to get out of ever having to do it again, that left Cade.
He supposed he could ask Marlow. It wasn’t an unpleasant idea—although Marlow probably wouldn’t turn up in full Night Shift gear… despite Cade’s brief fantasy of exactly that—and it wasn’t a bad one either. People respected the Night Shift.
If he hadn’t changed his mind.The snide voice of his inferiority complex wormed through Cade’s brain.You would have by now, it pointed out,if you’d asked him out and he left you hanging.
His inferiority complex had a point. And it was a smug bastard.
Cade reached for his phone again. This time he hesitated, fingers just above the case, as he tried to convince himself it would be better to ghost Marlow now than risk being rejected. If Marlow chased him, then he’d get what he wanted without having to admit he wanted it.
Or he’d not get anything.
Cade grimaced to himself at that old craven impulse. He wasn’t the school reject anymore. If Marlow turned him down, he’d survive. And he was successful now, so he could find someone new easily enough—someone better.
There was something satisfying in the bitterness of that. It lingered on Cade’s tongue like sour candy, even though he couldn’tquitecome up with any idea of who would be better.
He grabbed the phone. It buzzed to life the minute he touched it, and he thought, for a second, that Marlow had caved first. Which would still mean Cade won. The screen claimed it was an Unknown Number. He didn’t get cold calls, so that didn’t leave a lot of options.
There was only one way to find out.
He answered the call.
“You wanted to talk to me,” a man said. “So talk.”
Ned Piper had been born and raised in Phelan, California. He’d not kept that accent. In the various bits and pieces of footage that Cade had found—news interviews, a single appeal for witnesses, a feature on his work breaking the local packs, and one ironic PSA where he told kids to stay indoors and trust the Night Shift—Piper had acquired a convincing coastal drawl. Not perfect, but most people would have believed he came from La Jolla or even up past LA.
Five years in New Mexico had worn the edges off that. He sounded like he came from nowhere now. But he still sounded like someone who could talk you into doing anything without asking any questions until it was too late.
“How’s Rilkes?”
“Dead,” he lied.
“If you want anything from me, I need to trust you.”
Cade stood in front of the long glass windows and stared out over the marina and the flat gray strip of ocean.
“You’re a convict, a crooked cop, and you called me on a contraband phone to ask about the man you paid to do your dirty work while you were locked up,” he said. “I don’t think I’m the one whose character is in doubt.”
Piper snorted. “You don’t get to be where you are without breaking some rules, Mr. Deacon,” he said. “How far would I have to dig to find the bodies?”
“See, that’s the difference,” Cade said. “In my line of work, the bodies go on my CV. Not in shallow graves.”
“They weren’t that shallow,” Piper said. “And don’t bother with the bleeding heart routine. I might have made money from it, but no one I… dealt with… was innocent.”
“Even Marlow?”
It was a genuine question. Cade guessed he hadn’t dismissed those initial doubts about how deep Marlow’s involvement in Piper’s gang had gone.
