“No, it’s not,” said Cardin.
“He assaulted me, but I’m not pressing charges,” Dakota said. “He was drunk.”
“His body was pulled from the Potomac this morning,” said Officer Braden.
Fuck, no.“Oh, Jesus. What happened? Drunk driving accident?”
“He was bound with rope and tied to a mooring outside the Sequoia restaurant in Georgetown.”
Dakota’s stomach dropped.
Officer Braden looked around. “Isn’t this a kink club?”
Dakota slid his gaze to Providence. The color had drained from her cheeks. Because of that damn video, Dakota was a person of interest.
If the police started investigating him, no telling what they’d find. He wasn’t just exposing his secret, he was putting his vigilante team at risk. Not to mention the hit Goode-Luck could take.
But Dakota had not offed Matt, so he’d answer their questions, then send them on their way so they could chase down the real killer. “We were having something to eat. How ‘bout some coffee?”
As the officers sat at a table, Providence retreated behind the bar. She returned with four mugs and a small pitcher of cream. To his relief, the color had returned to her face. She offered the police a pleasant smile as she eased down beside Dakota.
“We saw the video,” said Braden. “What happened?”
When Dakota finished recounting the events, Cardin asked if he and Mr. Hastings had a history of altercations.
“No,” Dakota replied.
“Where did you go following your banquet?” asked the officer.
“I came here.”
“What time did you go home?”
“I didn’t. I’ve been here all night.”
The officers exchanged glances. “Were you alone?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck me.He glanced at Providence. He did not want to involve her, but he wasn’t gonna lie. A lie could backfire.
“I’ve been here with Dakota,” Providence said, steeling her spine.
“Are you a member?”
“I’m the general manager.”
“What time did the club close?” asked the officer.
“Two,” Providence replied. “The owner, Stryker Truman, closed up. I was in a meeting with Mr. Luck.”
Again, the officers exchanged looks. He should have been worried, but he wasn’t. He had an airtight alibi.
“How did you know where to find me?” Dakota asked.
“Your brother, Sinclair Develin,” replied Braden.
Reacting on impulse, Dakota patted his pants pocket, but his phone wasn’t there. He must have left it upstairs in Greed.
“So, ma’am,” Cardin said to Providence, “you’ve been here with Mr. Luck since the club closed?”
