Page 49 of Unholy Nights

The color drains from her face.

"That's what I thought." I head for the door, then pause. "Oh, and Madeline? Cancel lunch with the boy. I'd hate for something unfortunate to happen to him."

I don't wait for her response as I stride out of the kitchen. My phone is already in my hand, dialing Tristen's number.

He answers on the fourth ring. "It's fuck o'clock in the morning, Astor. This better be good."

"I need everything you have on Emmitt Caldwell.”

"Jesus Christ." Tristen sighs. "What did you do?"

“Nothing yet. It’s what I’maboutto do.”

"Give me a minute." There's a rustling sound as Tristen presumably sits up in bed, followed by a soft feminine murmur that definitely doesn't belong to ex considering she left months ago. I wonder if he finally pulled his head out of his ass and—

When he comes back, his voice is clearer. "Caldwell's going to be a problem. He's got connections."

"So do I." I slide into the driver's seat of my Aston, the leather cold against my back.

“Fair point.” He laughs, but there's an edge to it. "Never thought I'd see the day we'd both be this far gone." A pause. "You know I get it, right? With Waverly..." He trails off, but I hear everything he's not saying.

I pull out of the driveway, heading toward downtown. "They're worth it."

"Yeah," Tristen says quietly. "Yeah, they fucking are. I'll send you everything I have on Caldwell. And Cohen? Whatever you're planning... I've got your back."

"Thanks." I end the call, my mind flipping through all the ways a man like Emmitt Caldwell can disappear. The legal ones first. Then the fun ones.

The sun is just starting to peek over the mountains as I pull into the underground parking garage beneath Caldwell Communications. The eyesore towers over downtown Emerald Hills like a middle finger to everything this place is. I still can't believe the town council approved this monstrosity.

Emmitt's Tesla sits in its reserved spot, a predictable testament to his desperate need to appear successful. Everyone knows Teslas are what you drive when you want people to think you're smarter than you actually are.

I could have waited for a more civilized hour to do this, but some conversations are better had when witnesses are scarce.

The lobby's deserted except for the security guard, who nods at me without hesitation. Being the Savage Society's attorney has its advantages in this town - no one questions my presence anywhere. The elevator ride to the fifteenth floor gives me time to lock away the violence humming beneath my skin, to polish my rage into something sharper, more precise.

I find Emmitt exactly where I expected, already behind his mahogany desk with his coffee and his wall of windows showing off the snow-covered Cascades behind him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Amazing how quickly his refinement abandons him when he sees me.

I settle into one of his uncomfortable leather chairs, taking my time as his annoyance grows visible.

"If this is about the boutique—" he starts.

"It's not."

His jaw tightens at the interruption. "Then what exactly are you doing in my office at seven in the morning?"

"Emerald."

"What about her?" The flash of hunger in his eyes when I say her name makes my fingers itch to wrap around his throat.

"You're going to stay away from her."

He barks out a laugh. "Is that so?" He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his desk. "And who exactly are you to make that demand? The stepfather who's been here what, a year?"

"I'm the man telling you to stay away from her."

"Interesting." His smile turns calculating. "I've noticed how protective you are of your pretty little stepdaughter. Very protective, actually. Almost inappropriate, one might say."

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