Page 86 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
, but Shelly and even Rose were good conversationalists. It shouldn’t be this awkward.
I scowled into my plate. The cloud of Philip’s derision had dampened any real gaiety. Even the white lily centerpieces seemed to wilt under his wrath.
The paper in my bra started to itch. I wriggled to surreptitiously fix it, but that only succeeded in getting Colin’s attention. The heat in his eyes would be fantastic later tonight. But for now I could hardly reach in my bra and remove a slip of paper with his eyes boring into me.
“So,” Shelly broke in. “You guys were raised in Chicago?”
I’d thought this was a nice neutral topic until I saw the glances exchanged between the three siblings.
“Yes,” Rose finally said. “We were raised in Chicago.”
Hmm, that wasn’t really a mystery. Why the sudden tension?
“Ah,” said Shelly. “Did you—”
“Next course,” Philip said flatly. Shelly’s eyes flared in surprise at the unsubtle change of subject, but she let it go.
The servers exchanged our empty plates for large plates of thinly sliced smoked beef and a small chopped salad of carrots and potatoes and green herbs. It was pot roast done fancy. It smelled divine.
But then another smell wafted to me, this one putrid. What the hell…oh no. I’d been caught in my own lie. Bailey had pooped, for real this time. And it would look weird that she’d gone twice so soon. Assuming they knew about babies, which they probably didn’t.
My palms itched. I glanced over and saw Shelly’s eyes widen as the smell hit her.
One by one they all turned to me. I tried for a smile.
“Sorry, guys,” I said in a small voice. “Turns out she’s got the runs.”
Shelly coughed into her napkin, but I was pretty sure it was only hiding a laugh. The bitch. This is serious, I should tell her. But, well, damn me, at least someone could enjoy this night. There was a reason we never saw spies with toddlers, I thought, and it started with what went in and ended with what came out.
I grabbed the diaper bag and one seriously stinky child and headed toward the bathroom. I hadn’t been entirely lying about the runs, turned out. Rich food didn’t agree with her tummy.
We worked our way through a bag of wipes to a clean, shiny bum, and were ready to head out. In the hallway I paused again. I glanced longingly at the study door. I really wanted to see that file.
Chapter Eighteen
It seemed like a detour like this was only asking for trouble, but then I’d never really found all that much luck on the straight and narrow either.
That decided it.
I used the key again to get into the room and set Bailey down on the rug by the chairs. I’d probably go to hell for using her in this farce, but she’d act as a distraction if anyone came in here. If we were caught, having her might actually be a great excuse—I could say I needed to give her a break from the high chair and that’s why I was in here. That wouldn’t really explain how we’d unlocked the door, especially without triggering his alarm.
Bailey pulled herself up using the leather armrest and gnawed on the corner. I turned on the lamp and went straight for the ledger. I flipped through the pages dating back before I’d moved in with Colin. Farther and farther back I went. They’d started to blur together, but suddenly some pages caught my eye because they all looked alike.
They all started with R. Sanders—Rick’s name. There were five different entries, for amounts ranging from $3,000 to $13,000. Holy shit. Rick had been playing around with a lot of money. And for some reason Colin had bought up these debts…and traded them in for me. I snorted. He’d got the bad end of that deal.
It didn’t mean that for sure. There could be other reasons Rick’s name was in this book. Maybe he’d come to Philip and gotten five different loans on the same day. I huffed a breath. Not likely.
I figured Colin had done it after our date at the restaurant. We’d gotten to know each other, at least. Maybe I’d demonstrated some sort of datable qualities that night. Or maybe someone had roofied his drink or he’d hit his head or…well, something. Because guys did not pay to be with me, not for sex, not for anything.
But no, the date of these entries was before that. I thought for one scary moment that they were from before I’d even met Colin, which would have been truly confusing, but they weren’t. They were a week after the night I’d picked him up at the club, and we’d had anonymous motel sex. What had made him decide to seek out my boss and try to manipulate me—so early?
Colin had asked me out that night, I remembered, and given me a way to contact him. But that was a far cry from taking on thousands of dollars in a bad debt that could never be paid.
I flipped through the next few pages. I didn’t have a suspicion, not really, but something drew me on. And only a week after the Rick entries, I found this one: A. Winters TY. It had to be me. What could TY mean? Thank you? Hah! The amount was for one thousand dollars. I certainly hadn’t received a thousand bucks, as a thank-you or otherwise. I checked a few pages forward and found nothing else I recognized.
Bailey crawled around the desk and stood up at my knee. I sat her in the chair and twirled her gently around. She giggled softly, and I glanced at the door. I should go, but something anchored me here. As I turned the chair with one hand, I slid open the file cabinet. Names mostly, a few other code names I recognized from the ledger.
Colin had a file. Interesting.
