Page 25 of Risky Passion

"Do they know who the body is?"

"Not that I've been told, but Whitney is already at the orphanage."

Fuck. I liked it better when I had a coroner in my pocket. Fucking Deputy Prime Minister, Mason Kingsman, ruined that connection when he got trigger-happy at Rosebud Hospital. Whitney was the replacement coroner, and he wasn't the type of man I could manipulate.

"What do you want me to do?" Heathcote asked.

I squeezed my eyes shut and images of Alice flooded my mind. Teenage Alice with her long, blonde hair flowing behind her as she twirled in a field of daisies, with the sun making her dress just the right amount of see-through that I could see her long legs. Alice lying in the fresh dirt, her skin gray and dull, with the bunch of her favorite roses across her chest.

How dare they dig up my precious Alice! She’d suffered enough when she was alive.

Those fucking Foster triplet brothers were going to die for that.

Clenching my fist, I jammed the phone to my ear. "Cooper, I need you to get to Angelsong and kill those fucking brothers."

He whistled. "That's a big ask. What's in it for me?"

I wanted to say that I would let him fucking live. That I wouldn't rip his tongue out with a pair of pliers. That I wouldn't kill his wife and kids and make him watch them slowly die before I slit his throat. But I curbed that rage. I needed Cooper Heathcoat, and he fucking knew it. Besides, once my plans were done, I was getting the fuck away from this hellhole, and B, the queen of Scorpion Industries, would be nothing but a ghost story in this fucking town.

I unclenched my jaw. "You'll get ten grand once you confirm the kills."

"Ten grand." He scoffed. "These are cops you're asking me to?—"

Greedy fucker. "Fine. Make it fifty, and their bodies need tovanish."

He chuckled, pleased with himself like he'd just drawn a royal flush. "What about the body in the ground?"

"Don't you touch her!" The words ripped from my throat.

"Ooh, sounds like she meant something to you."

"Shut the fuck up." I wanted to launch through the phone and rip out his fucking throat.

"I want sixty grand," he said, his voice steadier than it had any right to be.

"Done."

"And I want off your books for good."

I'd been blackmailing him for six years. It was amazing what a few quality photos of men and their dirty little secrets could buy.

"Deal," I said, forcing the word through clenched teeth, swallowing the rage that clawed at my chest.

"And the photos?" His voice wavered, a pathetic note of hope clinging to the edge of his desperation.

His fear was justified. Few men survived demands like that. And those who did never stayed gone for long. The money had a way of sinking its claws into them. Once they tasted it, going back to nothing was unbearable. Sooner or later, they always came crawling back to me.

"I'll destroy the photos," I said, glancing over my shoulder. Hughes sat frozen, hanging on every word, probably calculating his odds of survival. Dumb fuck. There was no chance for him. "But, Cooper, if you breathe a word of this to anyone?—"

"I know, I know. You'll kill me." He paused. "When do you need this done?"

"Now!" Christ, I was surrounded by fucking idiots. "Before they move that body. And, Cooper, I want photo evidence when you're done."

"Always do."

I ended the call and stood there letting the silence settle for a moment. The warehouse creaked, a hollow sound that matched the emptiness in my chest.

They’d found Alice. Cooper better get there before that fucker Whitney chops her up, like they did to my boys.

---