Page 44 of Skin Deep

“Shepherd?” I asked, still a little dazed.

“My brother. He’s a licensed psychiatrist.”

I sighed. “I work the next two days. Off Saturday and Sunday. We can take care of Bowen and work the case then.” I promised him.

He frowned. “Bowen’s routine might be different on a Saturday, but I’ll do my best. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“And after we do this, I expect you to thank me for putting up with your family shit with that pretty mouth of yours.”

It was supposed to be a flirty joke, but his face sobered, losing that post-fuck glow I loved so much on him. “I’m sorry my family is so fucked up, Paxton.”

“Hey,” I said, pinching his chin. “I got my own baggage. If it gets us the ripper, then I can take out a little extra trash on the way.”

He nodded. “Just… be careful?”

“Always am.” I kissed him again.

Paxtonhadtoleavearound four o’clock. I didn’t want him to go, but I knew he had to get back to the girls, and he had work. I felt bad for keeping him up all night, but he promised it was worth it.

After he left, I started going through my morning routine but kept having to stop. I couldn’t run because my leg and ass hurt too bad, and I had to skip the rest of my workout. My stomach, chest, and arms all burned like I’d already done it twice over. I’d always heard sex was good exercise, but it had never felt true until I tumbled into bed with Paxton.

I was a little anxious about not exercising until I spent some time on the internet reading articles extolling the cardiac benefits of vigorous sexual activity. Somehow, I managed to convince myself I’d burned enough calories that it didn’t matter.

When five o’clock rolled around, my arms and leg were still too sore for me to trust myself to stand through a surgery, and I wasn’t willing to risk anyone’s health. I called the hospital and told them I wouldn’t be in. After talking to my supervisor, I managed to set up a short leave of absence. I had a lot of paid time off accumulated anyway. My boss at Best Face Forward was a little less understanding but eventually agreed to let me take a week off. It wasn’t like they could tell me no; I was taking it whether they wanted me to or not.

After that, I put myself to work tracking down Bowen Ivanski. I went into my office and went through the few papers Nikita had given me, making a list of places I wanted to check, starting with his home address. We couldn’t grab him from there since he had cameras watching the place. Paranoid fucker.

Bowen was little more than a pimp for the vory’s prostitution ring. He ran his girls out of a strip joint called the Foxhole over in Hilltop on the west side. He didn’t own the club. That honor belonged to another mobster who went by Dirty Dima. Those two assholes, plus one more named Ira, worked for Simeon’s left hand, Sergei.

I only knew that much because the last time I’d spoken to my cousin, Aleksi, he’d complained that Sergei was trying to close in on his side of the business. Aleksi ran the logistics and protection racket for the organization. He was also two years older than Sergei, who was only a few years younger than me. The three of us had been playmates when I was young, but I’d never liked Sergei. He was a devious little bully who liked to hurt people for the hell of it.

At nine, I called Xavier.

“I need bank and credit card records for the last thirty days for Bowen Ivanski,” I demanded when he answered on my second attempt to call him.

“Bro. What time is it? Do you even sleep?” he muttered groggily.

“It’s nine o’clock. Get up, slacker.”

“Oh, fuck off. There was a raid last night that lasted until like three. I’m dead.” He sighed. “Let me piss and get some coffee and I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Twenty minutes,” I said.

“Workaholic,” he muttered and hung up.

My next call was to Shepherd.

Growing up, Shepherd and I had been close. In fact, it was just the two of us for almost a decade before Annie and Yuri adopted River. We were the same age, but you wouldn’t know that looking at him. It didn’t matter what time I called or showed up at his place; he always looked so put together and prepared for anything, though I knew he had his own psychological issues.

Shepherd was four people in one body, a fact that didn’t matter to me most of the time. I liked all four of his personalities to varying degrees, but it was the primary personality, Shepherd, that I needed to talk to that day. Unfortunately, that wasn’t who picked up.

“What’s up, War?” came the casual, upbeat tone that meant I was talking to his alter, Bryce. The crunching of food in my ear was another clue. Bryce was always eating junk food, getting high, and laying around, much to Shepherd’s irritation.

I sighed. “Hey, Bryce. I actually called to talk to Shepherd. Can you leave a note for him to call me back?”

“Is this about the ripper? He left me a note. Hold on.”

I winced at the sound of more crunching. “What are you eating?”

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