“Hi, I’m Detective Agosti. You can call me Corwin, though, Mr. Mayor.”
Cop. He sounds respectful, at least.I gave him myfront-pagesmile. “Hello.”
“Are you comfortable, Mr. Mayor?” He held up a can of Sprite and brought it over to sit it on the desk in front of me. I popped the top on the can, and the bubbles bit my nose as I slugged some down, all at once aware I’d been sitting here a long while. Gloom gathered in the corners of the room. He reached down to snap on a lamp in front of me, then sat his ass on the corner of the desk. As he got comfortable, he kicked the Sharpie I’d dropped earlier and it skittered across the floor and under the leather couch.
“Got no real complaints.” I sipped more of my pop.
“Let’s talk about your bad habits. It’s okay. We all have them. I have some of my own. Yours are kind of expensive, huh?” He took out his phone and smiled again. “Me? I don’t ever do the dishes the same day I make them. It’s so stupid, and such a terrible habit. I also forget my towels on the floor and have to wash them all the time because they mildew. Gross, right? But not illegal. Not like this.”
He turned his phone screen toward me and swiped through several photos. Some were of me coming and going from the Courtesan. My stomach sank at a photo of Stormy and me at a noodle house that had just opened in New Gothenburg’s small Chinatown three weeks ago. Chinatown was only a square block, but the people who owned businesses there were very proud of their heritage, and they had pooled resources and funded a beautiful water garden everyone in the area could enjoy. The garden had been constructed close enough to the shadier areas on the east side that I’d worried there would be problems, but none of the motorcycle-club violence ever spilled into Chinatown, which was a huge relief.
I’d taken Stormy to the restaurant because he’d mentioned wanting to go to the grand opening, and I’d wanted to do whatever he wanted to do. It had made me wonder what a date would be like. My heart pounded harder.
Detective Agosti swiped his screen again and showed me what were obviously security-camera stills of Stormy and me from earlier in the day. One was of me—eyes closed and head back—with Stormy’s face buried against my groin. My cock twitched and I bit my lip. Ugh, the adrenaline of that moment had been perfect.
“You know, I’m pretty photogenic. Why are you stalking me? Most of that wasn’t illegal.”
He shrugged and smiled down at his phone as he turned it toward himself. “You’re fairly egocentric. Men like you usually are, though. Suffice it to say, we have you on camera, way more than only these pics, and we know what Lane Kennedy does in his spare time.”
Anger pelted through me and I stood, pushing the chair back until it smacked against the wall. “You leave him out of this. He’s just a guy I sleep with. That’s not a crime as far as I know. It isn’t, right?” I asked, all of a sudden not feeling sure of anything, even the floor I was standing on.
“No, that wouldn’t be,” he agreed, and that fucking easygoing grin of his was back—but I was on to his tricks.
“Where’s the blond with the delectable English accent? I liked him better. He wasn’t trying to railroad me.”
Detective Agosti glanced at his phone and moved the photos back to the shot of Stormy and me at the noodle house. I seethed inside. “I can print this one off for you if you want it. This one almost seems like a social meeting, but we both know what was happening. He was paid to be there. And before you say it, no, it’s not illegal to pay for companionship, but I doubt the evening stopped after dinner?” He flashed me a knowing look. “Officer Paxton arrested you, but I was asked to take over your case. The Courtesan Hotel.” His dramatic pause got on my nerves. “Lots of people are curious about it. Lots of high-powered people go there.”
I shrugged, and a sick sheen of sweat broke out over my body. My shirt stuck to my back. Everyone, when they first started their “journey” with the Courtesan—and it was always a hugefuckinglearning curve—was made to sign a stack of paperwork. If the prospect of Madam Winters dragging me through court wasn’t enough to make me want to lose my lunch, I knew that wouldn’t be the most immediate way she might deal with me if she thought I’d talked to the cops about the Courtesan or Stormy.
I’d heard the rumors. Everyone in this city who did what I did to get my rocks off had a good idea she wasn’t a woman to piss off. I knew better than to ever consider hurting one of her people, not that I wanted to do that.
“Uh…. The Courtesan is a historical site. They keep a small museum in the west wing. If you want to know more, you should go. They give tours of the building when they’re not busy.” I gave him myshaking hands with important peoplesmile and pushed the chair back into the desk, trying not to flinch at the crack I’d put in the plaster on the wall.
Detective Agosti shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t realize you were so dedicated to history. Or that they would give tours like that at 1:30 a.m. on a Tuesday.” He held up his phone, and there I was, walking out to my car looking like I’d spent the night balls deep in Stormy’s ass—because I had. Son of a bitch, I’d thought the security at the Courtesan was on the lookout for people snapping pictures. How the hell had they gotten those?
I crossed my arms and steeled my spine. “What’s your point? You’re not exactly the first person to verbally spar with me, Detective.”
He flashed me a handsome smile that probably got him his way a lot. “We’re prepared to make some of your charges go away.” He brushed at some dirt on the knee of his suit pants and pouted at it when it didn’t come off.
“You’re not making anything stick.”
He shrugged. “This isn’t playground rules. You’re not rubber. The only reason you aren’t in a cell is as a courtesy. We have you recorded handing Lane Kennedy cash before you jammed your tongue down his throat, followed in short order by your cock.” He darted a glance down my body, and I fought the urge to cross my hands over my valuables. “It will take me five minutes in a courtroom, showing my evidence to a judge, to have you escorted to a jail cell.”
“My boyfriend needed rent money,” I said fast, remembering Stormy’s lie. Seemed good enough to me, and difficult to disprove.
Detective Agosti chuckled and showed me his phone again. His friendliness was really starting to crawl under my skin and make me want to do or say something that would definitely screw me over in the long run. He swiped through a couple of photos of random dinners, and then flashed me a photo that contained a shot of a nicer apartment building downtown, near the fancy one where Vane had his place. “Okay, who lives there?”
“That’s where your hooker du jour lives. He owns his apartment, according to city records.”
Leaning forward, I stared in shock. I couldn’t afford a place like that. Well, maybe if I wasn’t constantly paying for ass. What did I know about Stormy? Nothing much, except that he was great in bed, funny, and held up his end of a conversation. Oh, and he’d tried to keep me out of this mess. Well, and he also gave head like it was his one purpose in life, and up until now I’d thought maybe it was—but this threw me. Had he funded his apartment with sex? When the hell had he started peddling his ass to own a place like that? As a zygote?
“Well, if he lied to me, he’s probably blowing my cash on clothes and mangas. He likes to read them. There’s this one with a teacher and student…. Well, okay, that’s a few shades of non con, and I think, like, half the mangas he owns is that exact storyline, but he likes them. You ever seen one? They confuse me, sorta, because you have to flip them backward. Japanese comics. Lots of juicy, kinky sex.” I shrugged. “Expensive habit. Worse than drugs.”
Detective Agosti snorted. “You’ve got an expensive habit yourself, so you’d know.”
“My lawyer isn’t here yet. I think we should be done.”
“I’m going to let you go.” He stood as if that was no big hairy deal.
