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Few people would understand her relationship with Kurt Stratford, also known as just Strat. Their friendship was sort of a secret. A source was one label she could put on him, but it was more than that. The guy was closer to her dad’s age than hers. Still, for them, for her, it worked.
His daughter, Imogen, was a reporter at The Chronicler too. Maybe that was something to do with why they connected. Could be, but she was no psych major and chose instead just to appreciate the man and his acceptance.
“Not going to offer me some coffee?” she asked.
“Ser…”
“I want to go back to the beginning,” she said, dropping into the armchair by the window. “I want to hear more about your relationship with Silvio Manzani.”
Evander’s father. Writing about the patriarch of the Manzanis may be safer than pursuing the progeny obsessed with stalking her.
“You know, women these days…” Strat said, sauntering over to sit in his recliner. “None of you know what’s good for you.”
“Is that right?”
His apartment wasn’t huge. The bedroom door was between their chairs and the couch shared a wall with the TV affixed above it.
“Like my Immie, always got something to prove.”
Yeah, and it did occur to her to ask if father knew what his daughter was into. But just because Steeple knew Imogen was into something didn’t mean Strat did.
“You adore your daughter.”
“I do. But she doesn’t know what’s good for her and neither do you,” he said. “You don’t want to get into Silvio’s business. Deeper into his business. You’re lucky you got away clean last time.”
“Clean?” she asked. “You think I got away clean?”
Sometimes Strat was the only one holding her up. So what if he was old enough to be her father? He was the only one she could be completely honest with… almost completely.
“I think your exposé strolled dangerously close to defamation.”
“It didn’t cross any lines,” she said, dumping her purse on the floor. “We have a team of lawyers paid to cover our asses on that score.”
“You think the Manzanis care about that?” he asked. “The law is the least of your worries, Scamp.”
“They couldn’t publicly come after me.”
“Because of your brother? Your father? Grandfather? If the McLeod men could dismantle the power of organized crime in this city, they’d have done it already.”
“Are we getting into this debate again?” she asked, slipping off her shoes to tuck her feet up on the chair.
As she settled back, she glanced at the nearby blinds. Had Daly found her yet?
“If you’re settling in for the night, I’ll order pizza…” Strat said. “Don’t you have a family of your own?”
“A workaholic family.”
He laughed and got up to go into the kitchen. “Calling me a deadbeat?”
“If your daughter keeps the same hours I do, she’s on call twenty-four seven.”
“I was always more interested in you keeping hours with my son.”
“Ah, another familiar topic. I don’t even know Ford,” she said, recognizing Strat’s teasing smile as he approached with two beers to hand one over. “I know him, but I don’t know, know him.”
If anyone should have a relationship, it should be her and Imogen, given the woman also dated Lachlan for years. Somehow, they hadn’t got it together as girlfriends, but she could hang out with Strat for hours and still be loathed to go home.
“Ford wouldn’t be able to handle you,” Strat said, settling in his chair again. “He’s all about the straight and narrow.”
