Why does that sound familiar?
“The most recent donation was for three hundred K. The donations are all anonymous, but the funds came from an account with the name Jane Roker. When we cross-referenced the Social Security number and date of birth on the account with everyone in the department, we didn’t get a hit, so we cross-referenced the name Jane Roker instead.” Reid pauses. “Jane Roker is Emily’s mother, who passed away two years ago.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Yeah, and it gets better. The charity is run by Senator Ashford.”
“You’re fucking kidding me?”
“Looks like we have more than a couple of dirty cops on our hands. We have a dirty senator too,” Reid says.
My gaze shifts to Karmen, her curious eyes fixed on me.
“He’s throwing a gala tomorrow night. I think you two should go. Scope it out. See who he’s talking to and shaking hands with.”
“Good idea.”
“Find out what you can on your end. In the meantime, we’ll keep digging.”
After ending the call, I relay everything to Karmen.
She sits in stunned silence for several minutes before she finally says, “I always knew the charity was a front, a way to make himself look good politically, but I never imagined he would do something like this.”
“He’s hiding something, and I plan to find out what it is. But he’s your father. I need to know where you stand on this. This could get ugly, Karmen.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I stand with you.”
My heart jackhammers in my chest at the conviction in her soft voice. “Are you sure? Even if it means going up against your own blood?”
“I’m with you. I’ll do whatever it takes, Benson. Whatever you need me to do.”
When Karmen opens the door to her apartment Saturday night, it takes everything inside of me to remain calm and maintain control. The shimmering onyx fabric hugs every inch of her toned body as if it were custom-made for her. The front dips low enough to showcase an ample expanse of cleavage and her upper torso without being overly revealing, but my imagination is running wild. I know what she looks like without a stitch of clothing on, and that’s the only image flitting through my mind.
Swallowing every primal urge inside me, I shove my hands into my pockets, clutching the fabric in my fists to keep from touching her.
“Nice dress,” I say simply because if I say what I want to say, we won’t be leaving her apartment.
A blush paints her cheeks as she replies a little breathlessly, “Thank you.”
We take the separate entrance at the hotel, bypassing the large crowd gathered out front, and make our way through the security check. We stop short at the mouth of the ballroom and take in the opulence, status, and wealth you would expect from a man like Ashford and his constituency. I’ve never felt comfortable at these events. These people are nauseating, and being fake is not in my wheelhouse.
I scan the room, noting the usual suspects—politicians, donors, and socialites—and clocking several familiar faces turned our way, most of them directed at her. Karmen squeezes my bicep as she collects a steady breath.
I brush my thumb over her knuckles. “You good?”
She tips her chin toward the front of the room where her father holds court, shaking hands, accepting back slaps, king of his own fucking world.
“Everyone is a pawn to him,” she says quietly. “Including me.”
“Not anymore,” I reply, keeping my voice low.
She offers me a faint smile, but it falters before it reaches her eyes. The music swells, champagne flows, and across the room, her father throws his head back in raucous laughter, oblivious to the storm that’s brewing around him.
I thread my fingers with hers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, reassuring her that I’ve got her back, because we both know this isn’t just a party, it’s a declaration of war.
Karmen leans in, her voice barely a whisper. “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.” Her gaze locks with mine, her silver eyes hard with determination.
I can already see the wheels turning behind those stunning silver eyes. “Tell me.”
