Page 59 of Black Sheep
“Who’s your friend?” Cole tilts his head to look into the back seat of the car from the open front window.
“An employee who needed a ride.”
He ducks down to get a closer look, and I want to rip him away from the car. “What’s her name?”
“My employee. That’s all that matters.” I give the answers through clenched teeth, hanging on to my pretense of politeness by a thread. I’m hoping Drew picks up on my cues to stay silent and let me do the talking.
“Hey, miss. You okay back there?”
From around Cole’s head, I get a better view of her as she lifts her chin to look at him.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she says.
Cole’s posture stiffens. “Have we met before? What’s your name?”
Drew shakes her head. “Sorry, I never forget a face, and I don’t recall yours.”
“Huh. Must be my mistake.” He rises to his full height and shoves his hands in his pockets. “What the hell are you doing mixed up with family business, Freeman? I thought you knew better than to get your hands dirty.”
“Your concern is admirable, Detective, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I manage one of the city’s oldest private clubs, and we have to suspend taking membership applications when the waiting list hits thirty years long.”
His sharp gray gaze doesn’t buy my spiel, and I’m not surprised. Cole isn’t stupid, and in another life, he’s the kind of guy I might have grabbed a beer and watched a game with. But that’s not the world I live in.
“You can hold the party line all you want, but when I bring down Dom, you’re going with him if there’s even a shred of evidence that connects you to all the shit he’s buried. No one stays on top forever.”
“Thanks for the warning. Have a good night, Detective.”
Cole’s gaze slips to the window Warren rolls up as the officer walks back to his car. Part of me says he’s looking for another glimpse of Drew, and I want to know why. “You too, Freeman. You too.”
Once Cole has walked back to his unmarked car, I slip into the back seat of the Bentley and turn to Drew.
“Do you know him?”
35
Drew
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Clinton Cole’s presence is an unexpected surprise. And by surprise, I mean those bad ones, like when you’re standing on the corner hailing a cab and nearly get creamed by a bus swerving to miss a jaywalker.
Now Cannon’s staring at me, and his question hangs in the air between us like a floating guillotine blade.
“Know the cop?” I shake my head and feign surprise at the question, even while I hate myself for lying. “Like you, I try to avoid them.”
“Why did he think he recognized you?”
“No idea. I just have a familiar face. People mistake me for someone else all the time.”
Cannon’s gaze narrows. “Is that why you wear the wig and contacts? To blend in? You don’t want to stand out?”
A million more lies are on the tip of my tongue, but they won’t come out. Instead, a portion of the truth falls from my lips.
“You’re right. I don’t want people to remember me. It creates too many complications. Please don’t ask me why.” I don’t know why I tack on that last part, because it’s just going to make him ask more questions.
But I overheard what Cole said to him—that when Dom goes down, Cannon’s going with him if there’s even a shred of evidence that implicates him in Dom’s business.
That was the exact same attitude I had before, but now I want the opposite. I need to prove that Cannon has nothing to do with the Casso family’s illegal enterprises, because I couldn’t live with myself if my duplicity ruined his life.
