Page 48 of Miss Typed

She was already shaking her head. “I’m plenty rested since you put me in first class. And if you’re going to the address of Donald the non-duck, then I’m going, too. This is my debt to pay.”

My jaw clenched at her stubbornness while my lips involuntarily twitched at her nickname for the loan shark. “We aren’t paying him a visit yet. We need to do some research, see where he falls in the chain of command. If he’s low level, we need to find his supply chain and boss.”

“I believe he’s low level. My brother isn’t the brightest crayon in the box, nor has he ever been considered reliable. My guess is a higher level wouldn’t have given him the money.”

Made sense. “What is the address where we can find him?”

She bit her lip, making me take a sharp breath. My sexual attraction to her was out of control. I needed to leave. And soon.

“If I give you the address, you cannot go there without me. Promise.”

The lie rolled off of my tongue. “Promise.”

She went over to the hotel notepad, took out her phone, and wrote down the missing piece. At least I hoped so. Holding it up, she eyed me warily. “What will you do with this?”

“Run it so we can identify Donald’s real name.”

She frowned but handed me the note.

I turned to go.

“You’re leaving?”

Not a moment too soon, considering she’d just taken a seat on the bed. A bed on which I’d love to see her naked in. “Yes. I’ve gotta go. Let me see what I can do, okay? I will let you know what we find, once we do more research.”

She surveyed the room. “Would it be all right if I go to see my mom and sisters?”

“Unfortunately, you can’t. I don’t want to take a chance Donald finds out you’re here yet.” She hadn’t seen her family in months, so it made me feel like a dick to tell her no.

“Okay. Guess you know where to find me.”

Yes. Yes, I did.

* * *

The local private investigator I’d hired got back to us with the pertinent information two hours after I’d left Chloe in the hotel room. I received the news while waiting in Chance’s penthouse suite. She’d been correct about Timothy Donald Smith, aka Donald the non-duck. He was a low-level loan shark. Small-time, local, bottom feeder. It was easy for Chance to make some phone calls and find out where Donald was getting his money.

“Cake walk,” Chance exclaimed after calling the money source, someone he knew in New York. We had everything I needed. “Are you wiring the money, or is she?”

“I will.” She wouldn’t like it, but it would be one less thing for her to deal with.

“Fine. After they receive the money, the deed to the family home will be transferred back to Chloe’s family. You want to send the PI over to inform Donald, or would you rather go?”

“I’m going.” I needed to see this through personally and make it clear to Donald that he wasn’t to extend any more credit to Chloe’s brother. Or ever contact her or her family again.

“You taking the girl?”

“No.”

Chance’s mouth tipped up in a smirk. “She going to be pissed?”

“Yeah, but she’ll get over it.” She had to understand there was no way I’d put her in danger.

He took a sip of his bourbon, not caring it was before noon. Chance marched to the beat of his own drum. “She the same girl from the auction?”

My jaw clenched, but since he’d made it possible for me to make a bid and circumvent the auction, I wouldn’t lie to him. “Yeah. Same girl.”

“You’re together, I take it.”