Page 22 of Shattered

“You’ve never heard of nicknames, Spencer?” She wouldn’t divulge that Jackal was his Cavendish code name. She wanted Spencer’s help, but she also wanted to protect the club as much as possible.

“I suppose I have. Anyway, the man who claims to have found the body, Ryder, couldn’t describe the location very well. Jackal was marginally better, but Mr. Meyer described it perfectly,” Spencer said, flipping his notepad shut.

“And that makes you suspicious?” she asked.

“Very. If this was a proper investigation, his presence at the crime scene would automatically make him a person of interest. At the top of the list, actually.”

“Hmmm, interesting,” she said, giving Spencer a sly smile, as if she enjoyed the idea of her soon-to-be-ex under suspicion.

In reality, her heart skipped a beat. She’d been doubting Monty. Now somebody else was. Cheating? Definitely. Interfering and making her life hell? Absolutely. But murder?

“But this isn’t an on-the-books investigation, so to speak,” Spencer said with a shrug. “And whatever a rich, entitled man like Montgomery Meyer does in his free time isn’t any of my concern. Unless you’re worried and want me to look into him?” He angled his chin down and raised an eyebrow.

She looked off into space, as if to consider it, then met his eyes with a humorous smile. “You’d do that for me? If I was worried about him?”

“Like I said, I’ve got damsel-in-distress syndrome. Or maybe in your case, damsel with concerns,” he amended.

“I’ll be honest, Spencer. Having you hang around to help me out is something I’ve been considering.”

“I could run a check on Meyer in less than an hour—”

“Not him. Although…I might change my mind about that. No, what I’d like is for you to help me find someone,” she said. “Another former employee partnered with Mr. Tate to vandalize the property. I thought they’d both tire of it and leave, but now one is dead and the other is missing.”

“That’s what your husband and Jackal told me,” Spencer replied.

“My ex-husband,” she corrected.

“Not an ex yet, but point taken,” he replied, sitting forward in the chair until their knees were almost touching. “How can I help you?” Spencer linked his fingers together and let them dangle so close to her knees that she could feel their warmth.

“I need to you to find someone named Rogue. Well, Rogue is his nickname, but—”

“You’re big with the nicknames around here.”

She ignored him. “I’ll get his real name and last known address, but my colleagues and I are convinced he’s behind everything that’s been going on here.”

He nodded slowly. “Jackal shared some of that, although he did it reluctantly.”

Hartley swallowed. She remembered firing Jackal, and how pissed off he’d been. “He’s another disgruntled ex-employee, but from what I understand, he’s been following Rogue.”

Spencer nodded again. “He seems loyal to this place, and to you in particular.”

That made her frown. “Me? I understand him wanting to protect Cavendish, but I fired him.”

“He mentioned wanting to clear his name. For some people, pride is a bigger mountain to climb.” He shrugged. “If this Rogue guy is hard to find, consider yourself lucky that someone’s been able to track him.”

Pride,she thought, and huffed a bitter laugh. For her, it wasn’t a bigger mountain. It was thebiggestmountain. But it all started with one step, didn’t it?

“Will you help me?” she asked. It wasn’t a ploy, and it wasn’t begrudging. And maybe it was easier to ask a veritable stranger for help because he didn’t know her. All she knew was that she meant it. She needed help. Badly.

Something in Spencer’s face tightened, his gaze going from soft and flirty to steady and deep. “I will,” he said, taking her hand in a firm grip. “I will.”

His touch was unexpected, but she gripped back like his hand was a rope pulling her out of a deep hole. “Thank you,” she said.

His gaze rose to look over her head, and his expression changed, shifting from protective to mocking. Then he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

An icy shiver raced from the base of her spine to her neck, and it had nothing to do with his kiss. She knew without a doubt that Monty was standing in the doorway. She hadn’t even heard the click of the door opening.

“I thought I heard voices,” he said, the syllables crisp and cold. “Good morning, Detective.”

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