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Lory is calm-mad as I approach him and lean against his car door. “What did you find?”
Without a word, he hands me a brand new cell phone.
A whole fucking phone.
I wake the screen... And none other than Quin fucking Copeland is staring back at me, a filthy smirk on his face as he holds a rolled up bill to his nose. Someone outside the photo frame presents a tray of cocaine for him like it’s an award. While he’s mid-way to snorting his brain cells away, a naked woman kneels, perched between his legs with her hands tucked into the waist of his pants where they sit well below his hips.
“Wow. There’s a lot going on here,” I mumble. “Is his lock-screen a picture of him getting a blow job? Or am I reading too much into this?”
“He looks familiar,” Lory tells me.
“He should,” I acknowledge. “We went to school with him and his brother.”
“Who is it?”
My brows knit together when I realize he has no clue. “Lory… That’s Ridge Copeland’s son. Quin.”
“Wasn’t he a twin?” he asks, staring into space as he recalls forgotten memories. “How do you know—”
“Ezra’s hair is shorter,” I cut in, though I don’t know why I feel the need to jump to his rescue.
"Are you fucking—"
“No,” I snap. “I’m not. I ran into him the other day. We chatted. The end. I’m getting really sick of you assuming I’m fucking everyone in town. It’s getting old.”
Lory glares at me, a dozen responses playing in his eyes before he sighs. “Sorry. I’m just—I’m going to kill him.”
“Give me an hour to work out the specifics.” I take his hand, pulling him from the driver’s seat of his car. “I’ll call you when I have an address. Go upstairs and get a drink. Both of us can’t be grumpy at the same time. No one is prepared for that.”
After calling Mr. Copeland to reschedule our delivery, I head to the front desk. Kayla has already left for the night, so I can’t ask her how Quin ended up with access to the garage, but I have a solid idea.
She’d totally fawn over the arrogant rockstar the moment he walked through the front door. That’s the issue with hiring from the younger crowd. They think it’s okay to make an exception for someone they idolize.
But there’s one person who wouldn’t.
Anthony stands at his post outside the front entrance, under the awning to keep the sun away. He’s a handsome mid-forties guy, a little on the weird side. He doesn’t take bullshit from anyone, and he’s good at his job.
“Ms. Smith,” he greets, tipping his head. “Did you need a car to take you somewhere? I wasn’t aware—”
“No, no.” I wave his worry away. “I just came down to ask you a quick question or two.”
Anthony turns to face me, his hands folded behind his back. “Of course, ma’am. What can I help you with?”
“Did a man come in about an hour or two ago... Tall, light brown hair, lots of tattoos?”
“The sniveling brat who parked his car on the curb and handed me cash to leave it there?” He frowns at his words and lowers his gaze. “Pardon me. I shouldn’t speak like that of your guests.”
“He wasn’t my guest,” I inform him. “But you saw him? Got a good look?”
“Yes. He walked in like he owned the place in his hipster flannel, and I called to have his car picked up. Sokolov Towing is around the corner, so they were here and gone before he could get out of the building. But he jumped in Ms. Macie’s Uber before the driver could leave.”
I smile at Anthony. “You had his car towed?”
“Should I not have done that?” he asks, second guessing his decision.
“No.” I laugh lightly, trying to ease his guilt. “That’s actually perfect for what I need. Sokolov, right? Will you call and tell them I’m on my way? I need to speak to the owner.”
His brows tug down, but he doesn’t question me. “Yes, ma’am.”
