Page 72 of Convict's Game
Shade’s words came back to me. He’d told me which floor to come to. Why would he do that? As far as he was concerned, my memory was fine.
The stairwell exit opened, and Cassie appeared. Her attention fell on us, all bright eyes and knowing smirk, like she already had gossip to collect. “Ohmigod. Hey, players. I’m surprised ye have the energy to walk around.”
At the same moment, the apartment door ahead opened, and Arran appeared with the woman we’d seen in his office, Lovelyn, I recalled, plus another crew member who took to the stairs, leaving them behind.
There was no give in Arran’s expression when he centred on Lovelyn. “I appreciate you coming in, but I don’t like your father using you as his mouthpiece.”
Lovelyn tucked her hair behind her ear with floral nails. “I’m grateful for your time all the same. Thank you for hearing me out.”
Arran’s attention fell on us like a dead weight. “Convict. You’re here.”
For better or worse, I was.
Lovelyn swung her gaze to us, her eyes widening. “Convict? That’s wonderful timing. I came tonight with hope of seeing you as well as Arran. On my father’s behalf, I’m truly sorry that he concealed your hospital stay from your friends.”
Who the fuck was her father? My mind was slow to make the connection, though I was vaguely aware of Shade or Tyler saying something about it.
Cassie got there first. Her eyes bugged out. “Hold the phone. You’re Detective Dickhead’s daughter? Shite. I mean Chief Constable Kenney? No offence intended. Well, maybe some, but only to him.”
Lovelyn grinned. “None taken. At least not personally. I’ve called him worse in my time.” She turned back to me. “He offers no excuse. I believe it was done as a joke, though I can’t see the funny side. I’m very glad to see you’re back on your feet.”
Right. Her father was the police officer who had known I was in hospital yet chose to tell my crew I was dead. “He sent you to do his dirty work?”
Lovelyn’s smile slipped. “I think he knows he took it too far. Seems to me he had a personal beef with Arran or Shade and you were the victim. Again, I apologise.”
“Rest assured he and I will be having words.” Arran’s sober tones drove away my wondering.
I laced my fingers with Mila’s and drew her with me until we were in front of him. “Mila, this is Arran, the leader of the skeleton crew. Arran, this is Mila. She’s…mine.”
Arran’s shrewd gaze took in my lass. “It’s a pleasure.”
When his attention came back to me, I wasn’t sure what I could see in it. Shock. Some other high emotion. It cut through me.
He was so familiar. His dark-blond hair was swept back, his normally pale skin tanned from wherever he and Genevieve had been. He was in a black suit, looking every inch the mob boss, but my memory sparked other images. A younger version of him in a torn t-shirt with a bruised cheek. Him laughing with me as we entered a run-down building in another city.
My breathing stuttered. Remembering Arran was giving me parts of myself back. Something that had barely happened since I’d left the hospital.
Mila squeezed my hand. “If it’s okay, I’ll let the two of you catch up, and I’ll go explore the nightclub. Maybe get a drink.”
She’d picked up on the tension. It would be impossible not to.
Cassie arched a dark brow. “I’d step right out of that crossfire, too. Come with me. I’ll bag us a table in the VIP suite so we skeleton girls can get to know each other. Lovelyn, you too. I want to hear all about how a nice girl like you is the progeny of your father.” She shot a chin lift my way. “Don’t worry. Riordan is working tonight. If he isn’t watching over us, no doubt a dozen other skeleton crew will.”
Mila waited on my word.
“Two hours maximum,” I murmured.
She smiled. “Don’t be late.”
The three women entered the lift, and Mila kept my gaze right until the final second.
She didn’t know it yet, but I was far from done fighting. Just because the battlefield could change didn’t mean the war was over.
Their exit left me alone with Arran. He gestured for me to enter the apartment and closed the door after us.
Once inside, I knew the space. The red-brick walls, the engineered oak floorboards, and fancy fucking kitchen I was certain he never cooked in. There were new additions. Signs that a woman lived here and it wasn’t just a bachelor pad. A cosy blanket on the back of the couch and a desk I didn’t remember from before, presumably for Genevieve’s use as the laptop case boasted a sticker declaring ‘Won’t work without caffeine’.
More telling was the fluffy brown cat with a pink collar that padded over to me and wound around my legs.
