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Fletch chuckles, knowing full well Captain Bowers’ reasons.
We stalk up the remaining stairs, and slow by the heavy steel door that separates the cold stairwell from the office I comfortably assume will be fancy, like that of Ever Mathers.
There’ll be money in here, too. Glitters. Credentials and trophies—literal and figurative—that Richard Whittaker will want to show off.
I set my hand on the doorknob and prepare to push through, but I look to Cato first and lift a finger in warning. “Keep it together, Malone. You understand me?”
He practically quivers where he stands. “I got it.” If he wasn’t so well-trained under the Malone regime, where love was expressed with violence, and disapproval was stated via pain, I suspect he’d tappy-toe dance his way through this door. But hewasraised as an underling within a dictatorship, so he hardens his jaw and nods. “I got it.”
“Fine.” I face forward and swing the door wide to reveal a massive office with a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the stadium. I know the glass is one-way, since I’ve been inside this stadium on game night, and I sure as shit couldn’t see this space.
Phones ring, and a trio of young ladies sit behind a long, banana-curved desk that spans almost the entire length of the room.
“Copeland Condors. This is Becky. How may I direct your call?”
“This is Deanna. How can I help you today?”
“Ohh…” Cato circles around to stop in front of me with a smug grin. “They’re about my age, Arch.” He bounces his brows. “They’re blonde and perky and not really my type, but seeing as there’s three of them…”
“I’ll shoot you in your fuckin face.” I step around him and ignore Fletch’s humored snigger, then I come to a stop by the long desk and wait for the one on the end to stop speaking.
“I’m Detec—”
“This is Becky,” she speaks over me and raises a finger to make me wait. “Mr. Whittaker’s in a meeting right now, Marge. But I’ll be sure to let him know you’ve called. Yes. Yes, okay. I’ll let him know. Thank you. Bye.”
“I’m Detective—”
“This is Becky,” she goes again. “How can I direct your call?”
Impatient, I reach over the tall desk and drop my thumb on the phone cradle to kill her call, then I show her my badge, and smile when her cheeks pale. “Hi, Becky. My name is Detective Archer Malone. We’re here to see Mr. Whittaker. He’s expecting us.”
“Um…” She swallows, her throat bobbing visibly. “S-sure.” She ever so gently lifts my finger off the hook, then dialing, she rasps, “Jenna? There are some police officers here to see Mr. Whittaker. Yes.” She leans to the left and studies the duo behind me. “Three of them.”
“You hear that?” Cato murmurs just loud enough for me to hear. “She thinks I’m a cop.”
“She thinks you’re broccoli.”
My comebacks today are lame. But I school my expression and meet Becky’s terrified gaze as she ends her call.Anyone would thinkshe’sour perp.
“Jenna Anderson is coming f-for you.”
“Great.” I release my badge and glance around. “Who is Jenna Anderson?”
“Mr. Whittaker’s personal assistant. She’ll be right out.”
“Fantastic.” I take a step away from the desk and wink when she remains staring, a deer caught in my headlights. Phones trill out of control, and her two other receptionist friends continue to do their thing and talk at light speed. “Copeland PD appreciates your assistance.”
“Detectives?” A young woman—fuck my life, she can’t be much older than eighteen—emerges through large double doors to our right in a pencil skirt and with bright red lips.
She’s confident in her place inside this building, despite her young age, and when I wander forward to show her my badge, she’s neither worried, nor shy. She only smiles and checks my credentials, then Fletch’s.
She looks to Cato last, but when he has nothing but his grin to show her, she brings her expectant eyes back to me.
“He’s doing work experience,” I tell her. “Shadowing a couple of real cops for a day. You can ignore his existence.”
Cato “pshht”s behind me. But Jenna is the astute professional and takes my answer easily.
“Alright. If you’ll follow me,” she turns on her four-inch heels and starts into the hall she came from. “Mr. Whittaker is just finishing a call,” she informs us over her shoulder. “He’s aware you’re here, and will happily talk with you. He wishes to grant you complete cooperation for whatever brings you here today.”
