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“No, I know, but… We’re watching his club. ‘Cept we just found out he’s not here. If he wants to be there while the women are coming in—”
“You want to know where he is,” she whispered, glancing toward the bedroom.
“Like I said, with your weird fetish—you’ve done a lot of research on the family. And although you won’t reveal them, you have sources who might know…”
Licking her lips, she needed more time. Except if the cops descended when Connel was there…
She squeezed her eyes closed. “He’s at the Grand… Platinum Suite.”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Why not?”
“You’re my brother.”
“Oh, God, Ser, please don’t tell me you’re …”
“There? No,” she said. “But you better be quick if you don’t want to test that.”
“Shit,” he said. “Okay. We are not done talking about this.”
He hung up. Damnit. What had she just done?
Pouncing off the couch, she ran back to the office. The blondes. Right.
“You want to go downstairs?” she asked them, aiming for breezy.
“Da!” Darla exclaimed. “I need to dance!”
“You should,” she said, smiling. “You totally should. Both of you.”
“Really?” Dasha asked, hesitant although she stood. “Ire said we should stay with you.”
“I’m fine. Go. Have fun.”
Darla grabbed Dasha and, ignoring the latter’s reluctance, ran from the room.
The second they were gone, Strat was on his feet. “What’s going on?”
Her cheer cleared in a panicked instant. “Have you got Connel’s number?”
“No, Niall’s.”
“Good,” she said, struck by relief. “The cops are on their way to the hotel.”
“Shit,” he said, scrambling for his phone. “What did you do?”
Good question. Who the hell knew? “Should we leave?”
“Don’t think we want to fight our way out,” he said, dialing and raising the phone to his ear.
He turned his back as he spoke.
Connel may never speak to her ever again. If he did, she would get his number. Having information and no way to get it to him was too terrifying an experience to repeat.
Strat turned to her, his expression stony.
