Page 23 of Say My Name

“I know who she is,” I snap, because this fool thinks I’m unfamiliar with my own girls. “And no, I’ve had nothing outside of a professional relationship with Ginger.” I don’t tell him about the night she came to my office.

“Somebody mentioned she had a thing for you,” Finn says, challenging me with his shit-brown eyes.

I stand to my full height. “I’m sure many of the women who work here have a thing for me.” That’s not being cocky. I see the way they stare at me.

The way I wish Swan would stare at me.

“Do you know Benedict Cole?” Geneva asks.

“Heard of him,” I say, not wanting to give anything away.

“Is he a member here?” Finn asks.

I shrug. “I’d have to check my member’s list. I don’t have it memorized, sorry.”

“We’ll wait,” Geneva says, snapping her notepad shut and stuffing it into her back pocket.

“Have a warrant for it?” Having a sister who’s a lawyer sometimes pays off.

Finn holds his hands up as if he’s trying to break up a fight. “There’s no need for a warrant here. I’m sure you want to know who’s behind the murders as much as we do. Why don’t you just help us out? We don’t need to see your entire list. We just want to learn about Benedict Cole.”

“Hell yeah, I want to know who’s behind it all.” I blow out an exasperated breath. “Benedict’s the father over at Saint Ignatius Loyola.”

“He’s a priest, and he comes here?” Finn exchanges a look with Geneva.

I shake my head. “I didn’t say that. I said I know he’s the father over at the Catholic church down the road.”

Finn nods, realizing I’m not going to give up any information.

He scribbles in his notepad and then shuts it. “If you know of anything else, call me.” He fishes out a card from his back pocket and hands it over to me. “Even if it’s the smallest thing.”

I take the card and glance at his name written on it. “Will do.”

Trouble is, I’m as clueless as they are about who’s behind everything. And I’m willing to bet Benedict Cole is just as clueless too.

Chapter 8

Chloe

“You’re the best server in this place.”

“That’s so sweet,” I say, batting my false lashes at the older man occupying one of the high-top tables surrounding the bar. “You’re the best customer,” I purr, flirting a little so I can get that promotion and ‘move up the corporate ladder.’

The older man nearly drools as he hands me a few wet dollar bills—gross—and I slide them into the small apron tied around my waist. Somehow, I side-step his wandering hand before it can pat me on the ass.

Once again, the club is slammed, and I work through my shift, doing my best to keep up with the other girls who work here. Most nights I get home, soak my aching feet, and sulk because I’ve gotten nowhere with this investigation. It’s already been two weeks, and I have nothing to show for it.

I thought I’d be able to spy on Devereaux every night, but I hardly ever see him.

“I need a drink,” a customer who I’ve never seen before slurs. The bad thing about working the main floor is sometimes there are a few patrons who forget their manners. “Chick,” he hollers. “Blondie. Get me alcohol.”

I cross to his table, but before I can speak, he slaps a hand on the wood. “Beer.” He’s already drunk, and I’ll have to call Brandon over here soon. “Now.”

“Well, why don’t we start with some coffee first?” I try to calm the situation, but he’s not having any of it.

He reaches for me, his slimy hand snaking around my waist and pulling me into him. Spittle flies from his mouth as he tells me what he wants to do to me in the private rooms. Vulgar words fly from his lips, and I nearly gag from his sour-smelling breath.

I push away, but before I can free myself from his grasp with one of my many self-defense moves I’ve learned from the force, his body is yanked from me. My heart pounds furiously inside my chest when I see my savior.

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