Page 44 of Savage Guardian

Fuck, what now?

“I took the names Hawk and Grimm gave me last night and ran them through the usual databases, being careful to stay away from anything that could come back to bite us on the ass.”

“That ain’t much lately,” Grimm grumbled, clearly pissed that his first few months as director for SP were going to shit.

“Special Agent Brian Tyler was first up. I knew I couldn’t go through the usual channels because the man has got a government brand on his ass, but I did some digging through social media, local news, any place online where a stand up American golden boy FBI douche would leave a mark. He’s divorced, no kids, and was recently transferred to Vegas from the Dayton field office.”

“Dayton…is that close to Olsen?” Hawk asked, something strumming within him.

“I have no idea, why?” AFK asked.

“Coincidence that an FBI agent who just transferred to Vegas from Ohio forced himself onto a case involving two women from Ohio?” It was Grimm who asked, getting what Hawk was laying down.

AFK was silent, his brilliant mind working behind his cool green eyes. “I’ll do some more digging and get back to you.”

Hawk could only nod, frustrated that yet another tributary of shit was breaking off from the river of hell. What the fuck was going on? Protecting Aoibheal was supposed to be his dream gig, an easy protection job that put him in close proximity with the woman of his dreams. And it had quickly turned into a goddamn nightmare.

“Next up is Teddy. Theodore Beresford. Fae told Hawk that Jimmy hired him before they got to Vegas. Apparently, he’s a contractor for hire in sound engineering and music production. He’s a no name nothing who makes his home in Chicago, but came to Vegas because Jimmy gave him the job.”

“He got a nine to five?” Fang asked, his gaze pinned to AFK.

“He has part time gigs DJ-ing weddings and shit, but he was barely making ends meet. Looks like the money Jimmy offered was the incentive he needed to pick up stakes.”

“So the guy isn’t even a full-time record producer? What the hell is Jimmy doing? If he’s all that serious about Aoibheal making it big on this album, why didn’t he put up the money for an actual seasoned professional with some clout?”

“’Cuz he’s broke as fuck,” AFK answered.

“What?” That couldn’t be right. The man had put Carrie and Fae up at a boutique hotel that ran to nearly a grand per night. And Carrie was blowing through the shops on the Strip like she had money to burn. Not to mention, leasing the studio couldn’t be cheap.

Now isn’t the time to worry about this shit. Focus!

“Last, we have Jasper Pettigrew Dalton, who was unfortunate to lose his head to Banshee. A grimy little fellow who seems to have had a very…peculiar interest.”

The hairs on the back of Hawk’s neck stood on end, his blood seeming to thicken in his veins.

“What? The gobshite like scat play and choking?” Grimm mocked, the levity in his tone forced. Hawk didn’t blame him for trying to lighten the heaviness in the room, but there wasn’t a goddamn thing that was going to make him feel anything but pissed off.

AFK clicked something on his laptop, then turned the screen out to face the men at the table.

“Shit.”

“What the fuck!”

“Goddamn!”

Hawk held his breath and looked.

“Is that a woman…fucking herself…with aflute?”

Okay, he changed his mind. That made him feeldisgusted.

“Yep.” AFK popped the P, then grabbed the laptop to minimize the image.

“That’s fucked up, man,” Fang croaked, his usually tanned face now a weird gray.

“No shit, brother.” Odin’s face was a mask of venomous disgust—and that man had seen some shit in the Rangers. Apparently, flute fucking was a little too much.

“That’s not all,” AFK continued, ignoring the pained groans in the room. “It looks like this woman, Maggie Kost, invited our Mr. Dalton to Vegas last week.”

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