Page 45 of She Gives Love a Bad Name

“Yes.” He leans close. “It’s about the murder. He says he’ll only speak to you.”

“Fucking hell.” Quickly, I rebutton my shirt and put myself in some semblance of order. “Did they say anything else?”

“No. Only that they wanted to speak to you before they go to the cops.” Claude shifts from one foot to the other. “He looks suspicious. Want me to call Mickey for backup?”

“No. I’ll talk to him first. Just let me get my gun.” I leave Claude at the door and return to the sofa where my .38 lays in its holster. Tugging it on, I meet Quinn’s curious gaze.

“What is it?”

“There’s someone downstairs I need to speak to.” I kiss her softly. “Throw some clothes on. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Is that it? You’re done with me?”

I pin her with a hungry stare. “No, sweetheart, I’m not done with you. When I come back, I’m going to finish what I started.”

Pink suffuses her cheeks, and her grin makes my heart pound. “Promise?”

“I promise.” My fingers graze her cheek. “Why don’t you check on dinner?”

Her eyes pop wide, and she shoots off the couch, wrapped in a blanket, making a beeline for the oven. I laugh at the sight.

“We’re good!” she proclaims with a laugh as she retreats to the bedroom to change. “Hurry back.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I catch the flirty wink she sends my way and fasten my holster in place.

When I return to the doorway, Claude’s leaning against the frame with a smirk on his lips. He backs away as I step out of the apartment.

“Don’t say a word.” I close the door behind me.

He shrugs. “I didn’t say anything.”

But the look on his face belies the thoughts in his mind. He knows exactly what was happening in my apartment; I have a feeling he approves. I’m not in the mood to talk about it right now.

“Where is this guy?” I lead him down the stairs.

“In my office. I told him to wait there.”

“He didn’t give a name or anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.” I pause outside the closed office door. “Go back to the bar. I’ll take care of this.”

“Yell if you need anything.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “I’ll be back in five minutes to check on you.”

I nod, knowing it’s his way of having my back. Once he disappears into the bar, I open the door. The small space has few pieces of furniture—a desk, two chairs, a bookshelf, and a filing cabinet. A lamp glows in the corner.

I step deeper into the room and...no one’s here.

Fuck. Where the hell did he go? Couldn’t wait five minutes? I turn to leave, and the door slams shut. I barely see the flash of a neon-green-and-black running jacket with the hood pulled over the person’s head before the door slams closed.

I dart forward, grasping the doorknob, then shaking it when it doesn’t budge. Shit. I try to turn the lock, but it’s jammed. Fuck.

What the hell? I beat my fists on the door and shout, but silence meets my fury.

There’s a phone on the desk. I pick it up. There’s no dial tone. A frayed bit of cord hangs from the receiver. Shit.

It’s a trap.

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