Page 73 of Forbidden Bond

“You want someone dead?” she asked, sauntering over to prop herself on the windowsill. “What’s your price range?”

Steeple stuck his fingers in his ears. “Ah! La, la, la, no back-alley handshakes in my presence.”

“We should both be offended,” she said as Imogen folded her arms. “What are you implying, Mr. Steeple?”

“Maybe that we have nowhere else to do these deals.”

“Or he’s dumb enough to think we have to do it ourselves when our men take care of these matters for us.”

The quirk of Imogen’s lips betrayed their tease.

Steeple’s every muscle loosened. “How the hell did you two end up on my books?” he asked, rounding the desk to sit down. “How you doing, Sersh? Just checking in, not rushing you. Grief’s got its own timeline. However many days you’ve got to take, weeks, whatever you want.”

“Has Ire been with you?” Imogen asked, sitting at the guest side of the desk. “He hasn’t been seen around much.”

“At all.” Not that Conn had a habit of being a man about town. “He’s fine. Better than fine. Taking good care of me.”

“You sticking with your grandfather’s feature?”

She nodded at her boss. “I want to get down into it, really spend some time with the words.”

Which was her way of saying concentrate on it at all. Despite doing almost nothing except write that week, she had nada for her editor. The promised range of features currently numbered zero, and that didn’t print well on paper.

Steeple and Imogen looked at each other before laying her under their scrutiny.

“And the obit?”

“Oh, I get it,” she said, mouth wide as she inhaled. “You’re double-teaming me. Were you even worried about your dad at all, Im?”

“I was worried—I am worried.”

“We’re worried about you too,” Steeple said. “Something’s going on, tensions are growing, everyone’s…”

“Everyone’s what?” Had colleagues complained about her absence? “Who is everyone?”

“Uh, everyone we’ve interacted with,” Imogen said. “There are rumblings, underground whispers…”

So this wasn’t about her sabbatical or her colleagues’ judgment, they wanted the inside scoop of what might happen in the city.

“Even before your relationship with Ire, you were our girl for the organized crime stories.”

“Manzani stories,” she stated.

“You shadowed Ire for a while too.”

Deadpan, she couldn’t believe they’d make her say it. “I was fucking him.”

“Even when you—”

“Yeah, basically the whole time,” she said because why hide now?

“You know there are rumors circulating. Score’s heading to town, Ire’s been in the shadows while Play runs things at the club.”

“Right, and we’re just wondering…” The two stole another glance. “What’s coming down the turnpike? What’s the McDades plan? How will this happen?”

“Exactly as my man wants it to.” She pushed off the windowsill. “Get out your recorders and I’ll give you every detail.” One beat. Two. Rolling her eyes would be a step too far. “You seriously think I’d tell you what my boyfriend and I talk about in private?” She opened a hand at Imogen. “Let’s talk about you and Jagg first. What do you talk about in the dark? Have you discussed the future? Marriage? Kids? How many cars is he working on this week? What does he think of all his clients? He can’t be a best friend to all of them. Bet he’s confided in you, told you things he trusted you’d keep secret. Spill! Come on, it’s just us girls. Who cares if it ends up in print tomorrow?”

“Okay, we get it.”

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