Page 50 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
“I know. I meant how long have you been there. You could have helped.”
She shuddered. “I don’t do cats.”
I rolled my eyes—and shuddered a bit myself—at her double entendre. “Yeah, well. Neither do I.” I shook my hands free of the imaginary cat hair. “What’s up?”
Shelly lifted Bailey and gurgled on her belly. “Just checking on the happy couple. You looked kinda freaked out last night.”
For a second I thought she’d meant at night, when I had indeed freaked out. Right in the middle of Colin fucking me. But then I realized she meant after the ballet. Yup, still freaked out. I made a habit of it, apparently.
“Never mind that,” I said. “Did you see who just stopped by for a chat?”
“Rick?” she asked.
“What? No. It was cops.”
“Oh,” she said. “Shit.”
“Sit,” said Bailey.
Shelly met my eyes. Double shit.
“What did they want?” she asked.
“It’s a long story,” I sighed. “So I don’t think I ever told you, but…Colin’s brother is…I’m not sure.”
She raised her eyebrow.
“A criminal,” I said.
She thought for a second, unfazed. “Like, what? A thief?”
“Maybe.”
“A drug dealer.”
“Probably.”
“Worse?” Now she was interested.
“I think yes.”
“And the cops were looking for him?”
“No, they were looking for Colin. Actually they came to talk to me. Because Colin is involved in the whole thing. And that means…”
“Bad shi— stuff,” she finished.
I nodded.
“Do they have anything?” she asked.
“Hell if I know.” I glanced at Bailey as if that absolved me of my swearing sins.
“How bad are we talking?”
“Don’t know that either. Colin was pretty vague. He made it sound like some sort of business. Crime business. What the hell is that? Anyways, Philip looked like the—”
“Wait. Philip? Philip Murphy?”
