Page 69 of Paternal Instincts
“That’s all we saw,” Costa confirmed. “I would barely call it intimate. They talk. She leaves. Nixon checks the time and makes a phone call.”
“He called home to tell Imogen he was running late.” I slumped with defeat. “His story checks out, except that he lied about who he met with to supposedly protect his wife.”
“And technically,” Costa added, “doesn’t this mean that he and Clementine couldn’t have taken Crow? They wouldn’t have had enough time to get to the Soccerplex. This video is timestamped. They parted ways at five thirty-six. Peak rush hour.”
I gnawed my thumbnail as I rolled around the information. He was right. Technically, Crow left home at five thirty to walk to his game. The coach claimed he never arrived. We had no proof he ever went into the building. Someone picked him up between home and the Soccerplex, likely between five thirty and six.
“What’s the bad news? Might as well get it out of the way.”
Aslan’s thumbs dug into the tense muscles along my shoulders, reminding me of the messy massage the previous night. The slippery, sticky sex that followed. The volcanic eruption. Those sheets would never be salvaged, but I didn’t care. It was worth it.
I took Aslan’s hand while waiting for Costa to find whatever he needed. My husband gave me a reassuring squeeze and kissed the top of my head.
“Here we go. Jude Marigold definitely has a gambling problem. He spends a great deal of money at various casinos and plays online poker, but—”
I groaned. “Don’t say but.”
“But, he’s not showing any significant debt. For an addict, he seems to play within the very edges of his means. He has the usual loans and credit card bills, but they’re not outrageous, considering his hobby. He pays his bills on time and isn’t in trouble with creditors. I noted a few issues in 2016 and 2018, but nothing recent, and no evidence of unusual deposits. His income from NexGen is unchanged and consistent. No spikes. No extras. He takes home a reasonable salary every month. He and his wife live a middle-class lifestyle, veering toward the lower middle class, if I’m being honest. Considering what he makes, he should be doing much better, but again, he has habits.”
I cursed under my breath. “What you’re saying is, Jude’s not the one skimming the books.”
“Not that I can see. I can’t eliminate him, obviously. His methods could be more underhanded, but everything on the surface seems typical. I haven’t found secret bank accounts or massive investments he shouldn’t be able to afford. It’s all really simple and straightforward. The man’s retirement savings are shit too. If he was skimming the books, I feel like he would have padded parts of his life or be living in a bigger house and driving a better car.”
A crinkling of paper bags announced Jordyn’s return with food.
Aslan rushed to assist her, and Costa groaned about the invasion of his limited workspace. We found extra chairs in an empty office down the hall to accommodate everyone. It was tight, but we made it work.
Jordyn unpacked the bags. “Before anyone bitches about what I bought, I went to that deli down the street because it caters to all our finicky needs. June has decided we’re vegetarian again, so yay, there’s that.” Jordyn wrinkled her nose. “Sarcasm fully intended, and no,” she pointed at Aslan and Costa, “I won’t eat meat behind her back because god help me if she finds out, she will turn us vegan, and there are only so many lines I’ll cross for my diva fiancée.”
I’d heard the complaints for a month straight. Jordyn’s girlfriend—fiancée—went on random vegetarian kicks and dragged Jordyn along for support. Jordyn was a good sport about it most of the time and didn’t hate vegetarian eating, but she did go on tangents when her stress was high, announcing at random that she craved a burger or roasted chicken.
Jordyn rooted inside a paper bag and withdrew two wrapped subs, tossing them to Costa and Aslan. “For the overly testosteronated bottomless pits—and yes, I made that word up—we’ve got loaded subs with four kinds of meat, two kinds of cheeses, every sauce imaginable, and all the fixings.”
Jordyn unearthed two smaller containers and handed them off to Aslan and Costa as well. “For dessert, you get in-store baked caramel pie. Pure sugar and fat. Have fun with your early onset heart problems.”
I snorted and immediately rolled my lips over my teeth and bit down to quell the laugh. “That’s usually my line,” I said when everyone stared.
Aslan, immune to snarky food comments, stared at the offering with a wide grin. “Jordyn, has anyone told you how amazing you are?”
“Eat your food and shut up. Your appetite is disgusting.”
“You don’t mean that. Will you be my girl friend? There’s a space between the words. You can’t always hear it, but it’s there.It won’t interfere with your other relationship, and Quaid won’t mind since he and Ruiz have a thing. I promise it will be purely platonic.”
Costa both cursed and laughed under his breath as he unwrapped his sandwich.
Jordyn shot Aslan a dirty look and ignored him, digging out another wrapped sandwich—significantly smaller—and handed it to me. “Grilled turkey, no cheese, light mayo, mustard, lettuce, and tomatoes on whole grain dry bread. No dessert because I value my life.”
I smirked as Aslan’s brows shot up, gaze darting between us. “Oh, how far you two have come. Amazing.”
Again, Jordyn ignored him.
Unwrapping her own sandwich, she revealed it to be egg salad. Costa looked prepared to comment when Jordyn held up a finger. “Itdoesn’tcount. Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you, you tattooed freak. You don’t scare me.”
Costa clamped his teeth together so hard they clacked, and Aslan almost choked on his first bite of sandwich.
Jordyn glared in my direction. “Why are we here again?”
“Costa has good news for us. He promised. I already heard the bad news and the expected news, but he saved the best for last.” To Costa, I said, “God help me, it better bereallygood news, or I’m rescinding our boy-space-friend agreement.”
