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Every. Fucking. Time.
“Yep, yep, got it.” There were the sounds of machine-gun fire in the background. “Listen, I’m kind of busy . . .”
“Stop playing your stupid game and listen to me.”
“It’s not a stupid game. And why should I listen to you?”
“Because I pay you to be on call for me. Everything you have is because of me, and I can take it away as easily as I gave it to you. Oh, and I’m all that stands between you and lifetime imprisonment, remember that?”
“Oh yeah . . . hey, no need to be so grouchy. What can I do for you?”
“You scrubbed all the cameras that might have recorded us at Michelle’s last night?”
“Yep. Yep. I always put Michelle’s cameras on a time loop when it’s poker night, and they hadn’t come back on yet. Also any camera feeds from surrounding businesses have been erased. Which wasn’t fucking easy.”
Calling Nighthawk to take care of the cameras was the first thing he’d done after leaving Cat in his house.
Shit. He needed to stop thinking about her. He could deal with her once he had the rest of this shit sorted.
“Really? It was a challenge for you? Perhaps you’re losing your touch.”
“What? No! It was pretty easy for me. Challenging for anyone else.”
Uh-huh.
“Listen, I need you to do something else for me. I need you to look into a girl. Her name is Catherine Smithson. I’m going to send you what information I have on her.”
“What do you want to know?” Nighthawk asked with a yawn.
“Everything.”
“You got it, Boss. Fuck. Shit. Uh, listen, I’ve got to go. Bad sushi.”
Fucking hell.
Alejandro sighed and ended the call. He texted The Scot and Cairn to meet him in the basement before leaving his office. Mikey, who’d been standing guard outside the door, fell in behind him.
“I saw the way you looked at Cat last night, Mikey,” he said in a soft-pitched voice. He heard the younger man swallow. “Don’t look at her again. Got me?”
“Yes, Boss.”
They reached the basement. Mikey nodded to Cairn and The Scot who were waiting for him. The younger man stayed behind while the three of them got into the car.
His phone rang as they drove out of the basement. He frowned as he saw it was Nighthawk. Had he found the information on Cat so easily?
“Yeah?”
“Boss, there’s a gas leak at Michelle’s. They’ve had to clear the place.”
“Got it. Thanks.” He ended the call. Fuck. Gas leak was code for the cops turning up.
“We need to arrange an alternative meeting place.”
“What? Why?” The Scot asked.
“There are cops at Michelle’s.” He’d have to wait and find out what they wanted. But right now, he needed to make sure that no one turned up there.
Fuck. There were only twenty minutes until the meeting.
“Where do you want to move it to?” Cairn asked.
“Better make it tomorrow night, but we won’t tell anyone where until thirty minutes before the meeting. We’ll do it in the back room of Tia’s.”
Tia’s Café wasn’t actually tied to him in any way. But she owed him a huge favor and he knew she wouldn’t object to him using her place.
“Tia’s place? But it’s clean.” There was a note of disapproval in The Scot’s voice.
“Problem?” Alejandro drawled. Because he was not in the mood for anyone to go against him today.
“Problem? Guess not, Boss. Just don’t want to see Tia get into trouble.”
“She won’t even be there. I’ll have everyone come in through the back. There’re no cameras. We’ll have to be careful, but there’s no reason the cops would suspect that we’d meet there.”
“On it,” Cairn said.
“Why are the cops at Michelle’s?” The Scot asked.
That was the question. The only thing he could think of was that someone had seen something last night with Vince. Or that someone was attempting to catch them all at a meeting.
That one of them had a rat.
It was well after midnight before Alejandro stepped into his house.
He’d been running around putting fires out everywhere for most of the fucking day. Everyone was jittery after the cops turned up at Michelle’s. They hadn’t had a warrant, thankfully. Apparently, they’d received an anonymous tip that there was an illegal gambling ring in the back of Michelle’s.
Question was . . . who the fuck had called the cops?
He had Nighthawk tracking down who had put in the call. Which had pulled him away from looking into Cat.
But that could wait.
Speaking of Cat . . . he glanced down the hallway toward her door. He wanted to go check on her, but he was fucking exhausted. He couldn’t guard his actions tonight.
And if she licked those pouty lips or gave him any sass . . . fuck. His control was shot. He’d either take her over his knee or fuck her into oblivion.
With a groan, he moved toward his bedroom. Bernard wasn’t around, which was unusual. But the old guy was likely asleep.
