The door opened, and Force entered, followed by Jethro.
“I don’t need witnesses for this,” Wolfe muttered. He lowered his chin, letting his anger finally take over. “You made sure we toasted with you, and you made sure we had champagne.” His memory was too fuzzy to remember the face of the woman who’d poured his glass. He’d been off balance from kissing Dana right before that, and he hadn’t paid attention. “You knew we’d be dosed.”
“That’s ridiculous. I had no idea,” Trentington said, his eyes spitting.
Wolfe looked over his shoulder at Force. “I think he’s lying.”
Force nodded. “Yeah, that’s my take. How about you, J?”
Jethro leaned back against the door. “I might have a degree or two in micro-expressions, and he’s definitely lying to you. He’s also scared and doing a marvelous job of hiding it.”
Yeah, Wolfe had already clocked that. “Maybe I should ask the blonde if she poured the booze for me.”
Trentington’s eyes widened and then relaxed. “You may be good with a knife, but even I can read that you wouldn’t harm an innocent woman.”
“If she dosed my drink, she ain’t innocent,” Wolfe returned, his grip steady on the knife. “You’re right, though. I want to hurt somebody bad right now, and I’ll sleep better if it’s you and not her.”
“Me too,” Trentington said.
“Okay.” Wolfe moved for him.
Trentington lifted a hand. “Wait.” He sighed. “Fine. An associate, not a close friend, asked me to make sure you and your date were there to share in the toast. I figured he wanted a look at you, not that you’d be drugged. I truly had no idea about the drugs.”
“Name?” Wolfe asked, not backing away.
“I can’t tell you.” Trentington leaned back in the chair, away from the knife.
“Did he mention me or my date or both?” Wolfe had to know who the target was, damn it.
“Both.” Trentington jumped up.
Wolfe swatted him back down with one hand at the neck. He squeezed. “There were bruises on my date this morning, and I’d like to return the favor to you.” He squeezed harder.
Trentington’s eyes bugged out, and his face turned red. He clawed at Wolfe’s hold.
Jethro cleared his throat. “He can’t talk if you kill him, mate.”
Wolfe lightened his grip a fraction. “Name,” he bit out.
“Frank Spanek,” Trentington gasped out, his eyes filling with tears. “He’s been a member of Captive for years.”
“Was he friends with Albert Nelson?” Wolfe snarled.
Trentington coughed. “Um, I think so. In fact, I believe Spanek sponsored Nelson a decade or so ago. I’d forgotten all about it,” he rushed to add.
Wolfe released him. That was almost too easy, and he hadn’t gotten to hit the idiot. “Do you know Candy Folks?”
Trentington frowned. “The journalist who has gone missing? Why would I know her?”
“Do you know her or not?” Wolfe twirled the knife again.
“No. Never met her.”
He still couldn’t figure out if they’d been drugged because of Dana’s story or his hunt for Rock. The anger inside Wolfe hadn’t abated. Even if Gary Rockcliff had started playing games and drugged him, there was no way he’d revealed himself to Trentington, so asking the question with Force standing behind him would be a useless move. “Who was the woman who poured my drink last night?” He still couldn’t get a bead on her face. Why would Spanek and the woman want him drugged? Or was it Dana they’d wanted?
“I don’t know. She was Spanek’s guest, but she had a mask on.” Trentington glared. “Now get out.”
“Oh, I will, after you print me out a list of your members. The real list with phone numbers and addresses. Then I want a list of anyone who attended or worked the party last night.” Wolfe leaned in, letting his fury show. Thunder bellowed outside in tune with his mood. “Please say no.”
