Page 83 of Coveted

“My gut says no, but we won’t leave any stone unturned. Our people at the precinct are discreetly looking into their alibis. Any leads from your end? Have your private detectives tracked down the car stolen from Darkbloom?”

I shake my head. “They got the same results as the cops. The vehicle seems to have fucking vanished. I don’t understand it.”

“The bastard must’ve dumped it somewhere. It’ll show up sooner or later.”

“Sooner would be better than later.”

“Indeed, we don’t want any more dead young people.” He heaves a sigh. “Keep an eye on the girl. The witness.”

I sip my drink. “I am.”

“Our agents are patrolling the building’s perimeter, along with gala security,” says Dad.

“I know, I spoke to them.”

“Excellent. Tonight should be wonderfully ordinary then.”

“Don’t jinx it, Dad.”

“No such thing as jinxes, Lucan.”

He moves on, leaving me to watch Sadie’s progress on my phone.

Three minutes.

A hand wearing a gold family-crest ring waves between the screen and my face. It’s Reeve, his blond hair nearly as white as his teeth, and Madox is with him.

“Earth to fucking Lucan,” says Reeve. “What’s got you glued to your phone?”

Madox smirks, rubbing the shaved side of his head. “More like, who. Sadie. The writer girl.”

I slip my phone into my pocket. “Yeah. And?”

“Nothing,” says Reeve with a deep nod, like he’s equally surprised and impressed. “Glad someone finally caught your highly discriminating attention.”

Madox snickers. “Is Sadie glad?”

His slight Irish lilt is more noticeable from the whiskey he’s been drinking.

Madox was born here, but his parents’ accents rubbed off on him, as did their enthusiasm for violence.

“She will be,” I say.

Madox claps my shoulder. “I would never doubt a Hale.”

“I hear your parents are laying out your future,” I say to Reeve.

His eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

“They’re set on locking down a wife for you.”

“Fuck me. Mom swore she’d talk him into giving me more time.” He downs the rest of his whiskey. “Excuse me while I go and ruin their plans.”

Madox watches him leave. “At times like this, I’m ecstatic to be a second son. Fewer expectations.”

“You coming to the afterparty tonight?” I ask.

“Can’t.” He grimaces. “Pudding’s sick. I need to give him his meds before bedtime.”