Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I’m sorry, sir, but the club is closed.” The security guard kept one hand on the door and the other on the frame as if he thought Lamar would bolt inside. “If you’d like to make an appointment, you can log into our website or download an app for your phone.”
“I know that,” Lamar said, trying to keep his temper in check. “I’m not here as a client. I’m a friend of Aeren’s and I want to see him.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed. “He isn’t here, but I can leave a message telling him you stopped by.”
Lamar narrowed his eyes in return and lowered his voice. “I know damned well that he lives here,” he snapped. “So, open for business or not, I want to see him.”
The guard shook his head. “I’m asking you to leave,” he said politely. “If you refuse, I’ll have to call the police.”
“Iamthe police, you damned moron!” Lamar snarled. “Now let me in!”
“This better be good,” the Chief growled from the opposite side of the holding cell bars.
“It’s not,” Lamar sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m a fucking idiot.”
“No argument there,” Trask agreed, walking in to stand beside the Chief. “Since when does the department have a stalking division?”
Lamar groaned. “I wasn’t stalking him.” When Trask snorted, he exhaled sharply. “Okay, I guess I was, but I really didn’t think about it that way.”
The Chief cleared his throat. “I’m still waiting for an explanation for one of my detectives being hauled in for trespassing at a former crime scene.” He shook his head, the movement ruffling his graying hair. “Not even a week after his partner was accused of assault, none the less.”
Another groan from inside the cell. “I’ve been seeing one of Ms. Clauneot’s employees,” Lamar admitted, burying his face in his palms. “He, ah, left without warning last night. I was afraid something was wrong, so I wanted to check on him. I got a little carried away when the security guard told me to pound sand.”
The silence that filled the room forced Lamar to drag his face up.
The Chief’s eyes were huge and his jaw was hanging down as he stared at his veteran detective. “You were there harassing a hooker you’re dating that is still on our suspect list?” the Chief finally choked out.
“The kid isn’t a sex worker,” Trask quickly interjected. “He’s an Empath. He only offers psychic touch therapy. No sex. And he’s unofficially off the suspect list. He can’t be the killer. He’s not a shifter.”
Lamar gave his partner a grateful smile. No matter what Trask thought of the relationship, he still had his back.
“Not the point,” the Chief roared, spinning to stare Vic down. “Do you understand the concept of a conflict of interests?” He turned back to Lamar. “You stay the hell away from that club and everyone involved with it, understand?”
Lamar cleared his throat. “That could be a problem since you added the Thomas crime scene to my caseload and, uh, Genov has already been told he has to stay away from the owner.”
The Chief released an impressive string of curses, his cheeks flushing angrily. “I will talk to Ms. Clauneot. If she wants you off the case, I’ll reassign both murders to another team.” He turned to Vic. “Get him out of that damn cage and tell Genov to keep him out of trouble.”
~*~
Lamar was back at his desk when Trask stopped by just before seven that night.
“You’re here late.”
“So are you,” Lamar sighed. “Aren’t you supposed to be on leave?”
Trask laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Now that you mention it, yes. But I was in HR dropping off paperwork to add the baby onto the insurance plan. What’s your excuse?”
He shrugged. “Nothing waiting for me at home. Might as well get through some more of this footage.”
“All right,” Trask huffed. “That’s enough of this bullshit. Shut that laptop down and let’s go get a beer.”
“Not really in the mood,” Lamar groused. “Besides, don’t you have a husband and a new baby to get back to?”
“They’ll understand,” Trask said, his tone softer. “Come on.”
“Fine.” Lamar shoved the laptop away and stood, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of his chair. “Let’s get this over with.”
