Page 6 of Tempt Me
I don’t care. It’s not my job to worry about what my clients are going to do with all the dirty little secrets I uncover. I’m here to get in, get paid, and get out. No mess. No drama. And even though I’ve yet to hit pay-dirt on Chloe, I know it won’t be long.
Everyone’s got something to hide, no matter how innocent they seem. You’ve just got to know where to look.
For this one, I need to dig a little deeper than usual, so I go meet my mate Logan down at his local—a rowdy Irish bar just down the block. We met years ago at a boxing gym here in town, and it’s my version of a beautiful friendship: we beat the shit out of each other, then go get pissed on a few pints.
And the fact he’s a cop helps, too. He slips me information from the police networks, and I help him out sometimes through less... official channels.
“What have you got for me?” Logan demands the minute I make it through the doors. It’s packed and rowdy, even early, and there’s already a group of women making eyes at him down the bar.
“Is that any way to greet an old pal?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Logan rolls his eyes and gestures to the old bartender for a couple of pints. Not that designer bottled bullshit, no, I’m talking good old Irish bitter, thick enough to stand on its own. He slides me a glass and waits while I take a long drink.
“Well?”
“Easy, pretty boy.” I send a wink to the blonde girl leaning over the bar so far, it’s a wonder she hasn’t toppled right over. I’ve got a clean view down the front of her dress spilling a pair of lush, pillowy tits out of red lace. Hello.
“C’mon, Jase. You know I’m in a bind.”
“Alright, mate.” I drag my attention back. The blonde will wait—until closing time, at least. Then me, my cock, and those breasts are going to have ourselves some fun.
Logan is still looking impatient so I pull a crumpled sheet of paper from my back pocket. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.” Logan scans the page, then breaks out in a smile. “Where the fuck do you find this stuff? This’ll nail the asshole for sure.”
I give a shrug. Logan’s been trying to throw the book at some wife-beating piece of shit all year now, but the guy’s slippery as a well-oiled pussy. He’s kept his rep clean, got a whole list of character references swearing up and down he’s never so much as laid a hand on the missus, and meanwhile, she’s in and out of the ER every month, too scared to ever press charges.
My dad used to pull the same shit—beating my mum black and blue until I got old enough to stand my ground. I can’t tolerate it, so I did some digging, and found a couple of dodgy accounts and some off-shore holdings. He thought he’d hidden them deep enough.
He was wrong.
“Tax fraud.” Logan shakes his head. “It’s not the point, but I’ll take it.”
“Hey, it worked for Al Capone. I already sent it to my guy at the IRS.”
“You have a guy at the IRS?”
“Girl, actually. And she’s a real ball-breaker, too. I told her about our little friend, and she’s ready to tear his life apart and smile as he begs for mercy. Auditors.” I raise my glass in a toast. “You don’t want to fuck with them.”
That’s something I learned in the ring: sometimes the best hit is the one they don’t see coming. I could have paid this guy a visit and shown him what happens when you pick on someone weaker, but men like that cry “lawyer” at the smallest thing. Better to destroy him in a way that won’t blow back on her.
“I owe you, buddy,” Logan says, tucking the paper away. “Let me know if you need anything.”
There’s my cue. “There is this one case. I’ve done the usual diligence, but she’s coming up clean.”
“Cheating wife?” Logan knows my bread-and-butter business.
I shake my head. “Nah, she blew me off. And if she’s getting it elsewhere, she would never have passed up the chance.”
Logan snorts. “How you walk around with that ego dragging you down, I’ll never know.”
“That’s not my ego, it’s my balls.”
He groans. “C’mon, dude.”
“She will.” I make eye contact with the blonde again—or, more accurately, ten inches below her eyes. What I could do with those lush tits...
Logan snaps his fingers. “Focus. You wanted a favor?”
“Chloe Archer,” I tell him. “Background, record check, see what you can find. She moved here from Chicago, used to be a ballerina, far as I can tell.”
Logan types a note in his phone. “I’ll make some calls.”
“She seems pretty innocent, but I don’t know, I get a vibe from this girl.”
“Not enough, though.” Logan grins. “The great Jase Banner, striking out. How does it feel?”
“I’ll live.” I drain my pint. The blonde is on her way over now, and I’ve got some time before my next appointment. Long enough to leave an autograph on those breasts, at least. And I’m not talking about my name.
“Call me when you get a hit. She’s hiding something, I can tell.”