Page 30 of Recovering Ivy

I stood, ending the conversation with Linc. Not only would I rather poke my own eyeballs out with an icepick than continue to talk to my brother about Ivy, but the sooner Forester was nailed the sooner we could all get on with our lives.

Only now, I had the small issue of seeing the feisty woman every day. My crazy fixation on her would wane, it had to.

* * *

Two hours into Amy Lawson’s, better known as Destiny, interrogation we weren’t any closer to answers. I was ready to shake the woman; she was protecting Forester. The question was why. Money was always an option, but even facing jail time she still wouldn’t budge.

“You wanna give her a go?” Goldsborough asked when he entered the small room where we’d been watching behind the mirrored glass.

I looked at the woman sitting at the metal table. She didn’t look like a junkie. She was very attractive, well-kept, healthy complexion and weight. No, she wasn’t a drug user.

Forester had something on her.

“Sure.” Declan handed me a file on Joanna Long and everything we had on Forester and I entered the room.

Amy looked at me and her eyes flared just as I hoped they would. She found me attractive. It wasn’t beneath me to use whatever I could to make her talk.

I sat across from her and pretended to be reading over the file. It was unnecessary; I had the damn thing memorized, but I wanted her nervous. The longer the silence went on, the more she’d have the need to fill it.

“I already said everything I’m going to say,” she started. I let the silence stretch. “I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“Tell me about Forester Grant. He’s a regular, right?”

She shifted in her seat.

“Nothing to say. He’s a good tipper.”

“He ever get rough with you? Make you do things you don’t want?”

Slow blink and more shifting.

“Nope.”

“He’s just an average John. Straightforward missionary sex? Gets his rocks off and rolls off?”

Shame washed over her pretty face.

Interesting.

“Sure,” she mumbled.

“Walk me through how this works. I’ve never had to pay to get laid. He calls you up, makes an appointment, you meet, he fucks you, and what? Leaves money on the table and walks out?” Amy narrowed her stare before she looked down at her lap. “Or does he get some after sex cuddling, too? What exactly does he get for his money? A blowjob included in the price or is that an add-on? Is there a list of ala carte items he can choose from?” She continued to look at her hands. “Tell me something, Amy, does he make it good for you, too, or do you have to fake it? With all the whores he hires I bet he’s great in the sack. Does he make you scream?”

“I’m not a whore,” she whispered.

“You’re not? You fuck for money. Forester sees you at least once a week and fucks you. Is he so good you fuck him for free? Out of the goodness of your heart you spread your legs for him? Explain to me, Amy, why you aren’t a whore?”

I hated this part. I was a dick in general, but I didn’t take any pleasure in badgering the woman. She looked like she was ready to cry. There was an easier way; she could tell me the information I needed and I wouldn’t have to sit across from her and make her feel like shit.

“Why aren’t you a whore?” I repeated harsher this time and pounded my fist on the table. She jumped at my outburst.

“I don’t fuck him!” she yelled.

“Damn. Either you give great fucking head or you suck as a prostitute.”

“I don’t suck him off. I don’t touch him.”

Her temper had gotten the better of her, just as I’d hoped.