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“As screwing her was what crashed your marriage,” Eli continued, faux helpfulness in his voice.
“Our marriage was doomed before that,” Montgomery explained. “I used her to speed up the process.”
“Anyway, Claire’s worried about mentioning anything to Hartley, but she doesn’t think it’s fair that Maddy’s been blackballed,” Eli said. “Don’t be surprised if this woman gets in touch with you.”
Montgomery took a breath. Fucking Christ, the last thing he needed was Maddy to come back and complicate things. “Tell Claire to tell this woman whatever will make her back off, at least until we find Rogue and get the club back in business.”
“I’ll mention it, but it won’t put you in a good light.” Eli shrugged.
“I don’t need to be in any light. I need our team assembled tomorrow, ready to find Rogue. The phones will be up and running by then, but you and I need to hammer out a plan tonight. If I know Hartley—”
“She’s already putting a plan together with her sorority sisters?” Eli asked, leaning on the table.
Montgomery sighed. “I wouldn’t put it past her to rally them tonight and go out in this storm to look for him.”
“Doubtful, but Claire will let me know if she hears anything,” Eli said. He lifted an eyebrow. “That doesn’t mean she won’t go along with it, though. Those women are tighter than a tangled knot.”
“Then let’s make sure we have a plan for flushing Rogue out of hiding before they do.” Montgomery nodded, and both men sat down to work.
CHAPTER8
Hartley had slept like the dead—for exactly three hours. After that even sneaking down to the library for a few shots of settling vodka hadn’t helped.
She’d listened to the storm rage, feeling it match the turmoil of her thoughts and the hum of her frustrated libido. She’d eventually gotten out of bed and channeled that into work, firing off emails to a few of her staff, including the ones she wanted at this meeting.
Now, as she stood in the muted morning light at the Manor’s front doors, she felt more in control.
Putting on her business clothes had helped. She tweaked the cuff of her Dolce & Gabbana suit, then smoothed the sleek skirt and smiled at her leather pumps. Nothing like a little armor to face the day and all the work that still needed to be done.
She’d decided yesterday had been a gift in disguise: a second chance from Yuki, the support of Claire, and then, best of all, an escape from her disaster of a marriage.
But it still felt like Monty had dropped a bomb on her. She’d let herself be torn up about it for a bit. Okay, all night. But she’d started today with fresh resolve.
She’d go back to being Hartley McKay, a confident woman, supportive Sigma sister, and decent corporate lawyer. She’d been all those things before she’d ever laid eyes on Montgomery Meyer. AndthatHartley McKay took matters into her own hands.
She’d texted Detective Spencer Frank, arranging for him to meet with her before everyone else showed up. She’d even included Monty in the text, although he hadn’t responded.
Now, having just buzzed Detective Frank through the front gate, she would get answers about the body discovered last week. She’d find out for sure if it was Lawrence Tate, the man who’d burned down the Treehouse, then trashed the Sun House. And depending on the vibe Detective Frank gave her, she was contemplating hiring him away from the police force to take a role at Cavendish.
Top of the to-do list, though, was finding Rogue. He had to be behind all the trouble since she and her Sigma sisters had taken over the place. And if what Monty had texted her last week was true—that Jackal had been tracking Rogue—she had to think his goal was to come back to Cavendish. That meant this was something personal against her.
She reached for the wedding ring dangling between her breasts under the jacket. Its presence in the kill kit wasn’t because someone had buried randomly stolen items. For the first time, she questioned Monty’s continued involvement at Cavendish.
She’d assumed he thought she was using Cavendish or its clients to ruin him, that he’d showed up to keep an eye on her. Yet now, after he’d apparently filed for divorce, he still wasn’t leaving.
Why?
If it had occurred to her last night, she would have asked him. But last night had been… Momentary madness was the best way to look at it. He’d caught her in a weak moment. Their mutual lust had always been the other’s weakness, and it had been a while since their last romp.
No more romps,she told herself.
The instant her meeting with the detective was over, she’d match herself with some compatible consultant in the Cavendish database. She needed a good fuck to put things right, and it was about time she finally used the best perk of owning a sex club.
She checked her watch just as she heard the distant sound of crunching gravel. She opened one of the tall doors, her heartbeat steady and determined. A crappy little car approached, circled the grand fountain, and wheezed to a stop at the bottom of the steps.
Detective Frank stepped out of his car, tall and commanding, his blond hair glinting despite the weak morning light. He did not look like the stereotypical cop-turned-detective she was expecting. He looked just a little older than she was, with an amiable smile and a lanky, broad-shouldered frame. It reminded her of a surfer movie Becca had made her watch back in college. She didn’t have a thing for blonds, but he was still someone she’d give a second look.
She put on a charming, all-business smile as she approached him, stopping midway on the stone veranda to force him to walk to her. The quirk of his mouth told her he was aware of the power game she was playing.
