Page 15 of Sweet Temptation

The call ended.

“You’re going in?” Andre asked.

“Guess so.”

He studied me, as I input the address Brody sent into my mapping system. Granted, I didn’t usually respond to random calls into the field in the middle of the night; I’d normally call in one of my guys. But Brody Mason was a highly valued client.

And besides that, the house was literally three minutes away. It wasn’t like I was getting much sleep tonight anyway.

“Hey, whadya know,” Andre said, looking at the map on the screen. “I’m neighbors with a rock star.”

“Imagine that.” I glanced at him. “You want me to drop you off first?”

“Naw. I’ll come with. Too much booze in my system to pull a shift tonight, though.”

“Believe me, I know.”

I backed into a driveway and turned us around, and we took off back up the hill.

* * *

As we drove up the road to the house, we passed a police squad car, probably departing the scene. Then we passed the K9 unit’s SUV, which was just pulling away from the curb.

About a block later, we arrived at the address; a house on the ridge, overlooking the city.

Most of the lots up here were close together and minimal on trees, to maximize the view of the city and the mountains beyond. This one was lined with tall, old trees, concealing the house from the road. A wooden fence in the trees surrounded the property, but there was no gate on the drive.

We pulled in behind a Harley and parked. The motorcycle was the only vehicle in the dark driveway.

The police had completely cleared out.

We got out and I looked around into the dark. Took a look at the Harley as I walked past it; held my hand near enough to the pipes that I could feel the heat. It hadn’t been parked long, maybe arrived just as the police were leaving.

Brody’s guy, maybe.

There was a small amber light glowing over the front door, a few lights on in the house, but only a single motion-activated light went on over the driveway as we approached the house.

It was maybe a mid-century build, a basic bungalow, but large, with a partial second story over the garage. I was no architectural expert, but it looked like it had been completely remodeled and modernized.

The two-car garage was closed, and I glanced in through the window on the door. I could just make out the shape of a single car in the dark, and the distinctive hood ornament. Mercedes-Benz.

I approached the front door first, Andre at my back. I knocked on the door, not too loudly, and waited.

A man answered the door. Maybe late-twenties. Messy dark hair, partly shaved on one side. Fairly built, though not as built as me. Dark, casual clothes and an air of fuck off about him.

He immediately looked me over, head-to-toe. My dress pants and button-up shirt were dark, too, but looked a lot less like I’d just picked them up off a semi-clean floor and raced here on a motorcycle.

“Ronan Sterling,” I said, introducing myself and offering my right hand. He took it. “Brody Mason called me in. This is Andre.” I nodded toward Andre.

“Maddox,” the man said, then extended his hand to Andre. They shook, and Maddox stepped aside to let us in. “That’s Summer,” he said, indicating the only other person in the room.

It was an open living space, living room/dining area/kitchen, and she leaned against the kitchen counter, talking on her phone in a hushed voice. Dark-haired woman in a silk robe. I couldn’t see her face.

“Homeowner?” I asked.

“Yup.” Maddox shut the door behind us and locked it. He got points for that, but I looked him over carefully.

His motorcycle boots had been discarded inside the door. I’d glimpsed the image on the back of his hoodie, the distinctive black-on-black king of spades design, featuring a skeletal king, that was the insignia of the West Coast Kings motorcycle club. Matched the one that was painted on the gas tank of the Harley outside. Which meant that this guy was a patched member of the outlaw motorcycle club that Jude Grayson, Brody’s head of security, also belonged to.

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