Page 37 of Laurels and Liquor

Sighing, I rub my eyes. “Yeah. But look, we’re all accounted for. I’ve told you where I was. Rhett is literally in another state right now, with an ankle monitor. Lydia has a bodyguard with her at all times. Lex and Mateo were on the road to Savannah after end-of-business yesterday. They’ll have their toll pass records to prove that.”

Lee nods and makes a note. “I heard about Mr. Cooper’s arrest. I could tell he has a temper, but…” Lee trails off with a low whistle.

“He was acting in self-defense and to protect Lydia from her abusive ex,” I grumble through gritted teeth.

“Hey, don’t get me wrong. Scumbag abusive alphas need to be put in their place sometimes. Too bad this one’s place wasn’t six feet under,” Lee returns, tone darkening slightly.

I give him a genuine smile for the first time. “Yeah. But Rhett’s not a murderer. None of us are, even if the people who hurt us deserve it.”

Lee nods and goes quiet as he finishes his notes. He reads through them once before sliding the notebook back into his vest. Pulling out a business card, he hands it to me before getting to his feet.

“My email address is on there. When you get a chance, send me anything you’ve got. I think you’re solid, but my boss will want a paper trail,” he says with a sigh.

I smirk and nod, putting the card on my desk and getting to my feet. I walk him to the door of my office and open it for him.

“Thank you for your time. With any luck, this might be the last time you see me,” Lee says with a light chuckle.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I sure as hell hope so,” I return with a laugh of my own.

Lee sticks out his hand, and we shake once before he finally turns and leaves. I exhale heavily and turn back to my desk. I want to blow this off and spend the weekend with Lydia like I’d planned, but I know I can’t. Once we’re cleared and the investigation is over, then I never have to worry about Seth again. I might as well do everything I can to expedite the process.

Chapter eighteen

Mateo

Mybeachhouseusedto be a secret place, a retreat, an escape from the mask I have to wear as the face of the St. Clair Foundation. I’d brought Lydia here not that long ago, to get away from the madness, only to have it encroach on us anyway. And now my private place has been invaded again.

Lex is sitting at the head of the dining room table, looking for all the world like she is a queen and this house is her castle. Meanwhile, three alphas I’ve never met are scattered throughout the living area. I’d been introduced to them as Gideon, Delano, and Hunter, but I haven’t been given more information beyond their names. It’s impossible to not see the familial connection between Lex and Gideon, though. If the Ice Queen ever had a twin, it would be Gideon. Even their scents are similar: spicy and citrusy, and while Lex has notes of mulled wine to her, Gideon is all smoke. Almost like someone set an orange grove on fire with cinnamon sticks as kindling. He’s posted up by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyes stay fixed on Hunter’s back as he unpacks supplies from a black bag. The somber undertaker in every sense of the word; Hunter’s hardly said a word since the trio arrived a little over an hour ago. In contrast, Delano hasn’t stopped his incessant, inane chatter as he digs through every cupboard and cabinet he can find.

“…but anyway, I prefer gasoline in most cases. If you’re going to do something, you shouldn’t half ass it, and nothing gets the job done like the classics,” he’s saying, though I’ve long since lost the thread of what he’d been talking about.

“Dee, enough,” Gideon snaps, rubbing at his temple.

At least I’m not the only one he’s annoying.

“God, where do you keep your fucking booze, Matty?” Delano sighs dramatically, slamming the last of the kitchen cabinets closed.

“There isn’t any here. This is a vacation rental most of the time,” I drone, words clipped.

“Fucking lame, bro. You didn’t even bring any liquid courage for your weekend trip?” he asks, turning an incredulous stare in my direction.

“Just because you can’t go three hours without a drink doesn’t mean no one can,” Hunter grumbles, holding a vial and a syringe up to the light.

Delano turns to glare at Hunter, not that he notices, and then saunters out of the kitchen, hands deep in his front pockets as he glances around at the walls and ceiling. Despite myself, I take the opportunity to look him over. His blood red hair is pulled back in a topknot, exposing the shaved and tattooed sides of his scalp. The ink continues down his neck and under the fabric of his loose Henley, and I can’t deny the beauty of the artwork on display. His ears are gauged slightly, his plugs maybe the size of a dime, and based on the way his jaw moves, I’d be willing to bet his tongue is pierced too.

A low growl from across the room draws my attention, and I snap my eyes to Gideon. No longer looking bored, his hazel eyes narrow in a possessive glare. I snort a chuckle and smirk at him.

“I’m all set, if you’re ready to begin,” Hunter says, interrupting whatever Gideon may have been about to say.

“I’ve been ready for months.” I sigh, getting to my feet and crossing to the kitchen.

Delano steps into my path and looks me up and down. We’re the same height, so I have no problem looking him in the eye as I stand my ground. This close, I can detect traces of citrus and smoke among the phosphorus and salt pouring off him, swirling together to smell like a freshly struck match, igniting a driftwood beach fire. This close, his light gray eyes are almost unnaturally bright, a keen intelligence in the depths.

“I could stick around, and we could get to know each other a little better,” Delano nearly purrs.

Another growl sounds from across the room, but I don’t back down. A year ago, Delano Argentieri would have been exactly my type of mistake. We would have destroyed each other, my lightning and his wildfire clashing over and over again, obliterating everything in our path for the sake of having a good time.

But not anymore.

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