Page 45 of Blackmail
“Why are you here, Simon?”
He sighs and rounds my desk, dropping into my chair without permission. “I’m here because you mentioned you’d had some of your clients turn up missing.”
“And?”
“And…” He pulls a folded-up newspaper page from his pocket. The same article from the front page of the paper I’d thrown across the room. “Like these guys?”
I narrow my eyes. “Yes. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. It seemed like a possibility, an important enough one to come and ask you about it. The thing is, I sort of know this guy.” He points at Dev’s picture.
“Client?”
“Fuck no. I volunteer at a local animal rescue. I’ve seen him there. I wasn’t sure I remembered him, but when I went yesterday, the assistant director was all worried because he hadn’t shown up in a while, and it wasn’t like him to miss a shift without calling. But the thing is, I also saw this other guy at a party on Friday night.”
I round the desk, standing right between it and Simon. “You should go to the police.”
A laugh escapes him, his head dropping back against the chair. “That’s a good one.” Then he sobers up. “Seriously. I try to avoid the police as much as possible. For obvious whore-related reasons.”
“Right. Then tell me.”
“Just…don’t shoot the messenger.”
Because I can’t have him this close to me without touching, I step forward, placing my hands on the top of the tall chair back and keeping one leg on either side of Simon’s knees. His eyes widen, but he keeps eye contact. The only hint of concern is the rapid tick of the pulse in his throat. Or maybe that’s excitement.
When I push my thighs together to squeeze his knees, his breath catches. “Tell me,” I repeat.
“I can’t go to the police because it might come out that I was working the party.”
Working. “As in…”
“Not what you’re thinking. I never fuck at parties. Dancing, though. Performing. A few other guys and I were there. Got lots of questions about all the bruises on my arms that haven’t gone away yet, so thanks a fucking lot. Also, Tony was there.”
Reaching out, I take hold of his hands to push up one of his sleeves and then the other. The marks are fading but still there. The glow of my desk lamp shows a mix of greens and yellows.
“Wipe that smile off your face, you dick. I’m not your property.”
So he says, but when I run my fingers up and down his arms, he doesn’t stop me. Just slouches in the chair lightly, his breath growing choppy. And when I straddle his lap and sit, trapping him in place, I don’t think he even realizes the moan that comes out of him.
“Simon.”
“Hmm?”
Great. I’ve distracted him a little too well. “You said you saw Parker at a party. You said Tony was there.”
“Right. Yeah. Dude was drunk off his ass or maybe high—this Parker kid. But I saw Tony and some other guy walk him out. They said something about getting him a ride home, I think, but they were all heading toward a white catering van. I didn’t want to get in trouble for not doing my job, so I didn’t spend too much time perving on the situation.”
I clench my fist. “Anything else?”
“Other than your husband threatening me for letting you fuck me, no.”
“Wait.” I stand and take a step back. “How would he know?”
“No idea. Maybe one of the guys at the front desk tipped him off.”
“I’m going to punch him in the face,” I mutter.
“Only if I get to watch.” He grins. “It’s fucked, but I think you’re hot when you’re violent.”
