Chapter Twenty-Six
Three days later…
Thursday, August 25, 2022
“If I didn’t know better, I’d thinkyou were workin’ on somethin’ you said you wouldn’t work on.”
Reese looked up from his computer screen, surprised to see Brantley standing in his office doorway. He was also surprised to see that it was dark outside his windows.
When the hell did the sun go down? The last thing he remembered was having a late lunch, eating at his desk, then taking a call from Z. Since then, he’d been working at his computer, searching for … yes, fine, he’d been working on something he said he wouldn’t work on. And it was now after eight. Where did the day go?
Reese didn’t have a chance to say anything before Brantley chuckled and took a few steps into the room.
“Might I suggest you don’t take up anything that requires you to be stealth, Tavoularis? Like poker. Don’t take up poker.” He used two fingers to draw circles in the air around his own face. “You’ve got a shitty poker face.”
Reese tapped the key on his keyboard to hide the screen before leaning back in his chair.
“What is it that’s been occupyin’ all your time these past couple of days, huh?” Brantley asked, perching on the corner of his desk.
“Just tyin’ up loose ends on some open cases, that’s all.”
“Is it?” Brantley pointedly looked at the screen. “Which case seems to be givin’ you all the problems?”
“What?”
Brantley’s smirk was wicked and hot, which meant he was convinced he’d caught Reese in a lie.
It was his own fault. If he hadn’t asked what he was talking about, Reese might’ve gotten away with it. But it was a stall tactic. One Brantley was always calling him on, insisting that you never ask a question when attempting to avoid one.
“I know it’s not the New York thing because we tied that up neatly.”
Reese started to say something.
Brantley held up a finger to stop him. “Before you start with a lie, you should know I talked to Ronan Kavanagh two days ago.”
“He called you?”
Brantley shook his head. “I called him. Wanted to follow up, make sure Saoirse was all right. You never know when you might need a favor from the Irish mob.”
Reese’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.
Brantley laughed. “Kidding. But having a billionaire with serious connections on speed dial doesn’t hurt.”
“No,” Reese said. “It’s not the New York case.”
Brantley regarded him for a moment. “And I know it’s not Uncle Toby’s case. I got word that he’s settlin’ in nicely with the Adorites.”
Reese grunted. “No. Not that one, either.”
Brantley pressed his fist to his chin and tapped his lips with his index finger. “Hmm. Then which one could it be?”
“Fine,” he blurted, flopping back in his chair. “It’s Baz’s case, okay?”
The grin that formed on Brantley’s mouth was both sexy and satisfied.
“Evan told me you suspected somethin’ was up with him.”
Reese sighed. He should’ve known Evan would talk. The guy didn’t keep secrets, and if Brantley asked the right question—which he always seemed to do—Evan likely opened up and revealed all.
