Kimberly Dean - Courting Gossip

Shit. If there’d been any chance of him slipping his client out quickly and quietly, it was gone now. The guy in charge had just showed up.

It was like throwing a light switch. The noise dissipated, people became more vigilant and the chaotic situation suddenly felt like it was under control. He heard the name Morgan, and it rang a bell. The guy had been on the Jason Sloan assault case, where, once again, a reporter had gone beyond the line. From what Brody had heard, Morgan was tough as nails and a rock-solid cop.

In this situation, he didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

He looked into the room, trying to see Genieve or Samuel, but neither were in view. Staying on the periphery, he listened as the detective began to grill the reporters with the same questions that were pinging around inside his own head.

He liked the way the conversation was going until he was hit with a sucker punch.

In an effort to prove their motive, the reporters offered up their camera. Before Brody could react, the detective started playing back what they’d taped – and it wasn’t PG-rated. Silky feminine sex sounds filled the air, along with male grunts of ‘Darling’. Brody’s belly cinched up tight, and his air left his lungs with a whoosh . There on the tiny screen over the detective’s shoulder, he saw the flash of red hair against a white pillow and the silver-haired rider on top of her.

The headache that came on was full-blown. A GoPro. Team TMI’s video equipment was a GoPro, but it had done the trick.

‘Bag that,’ the detective told one of the uniformed cops.

‘Yeah.’ The reporters grinned at each other. ‘All right.’

‘You can’t use that,’ Brody said, his voice like ice. ‘It was obtained illegally. My client will fight it.’

He watched the camera as the policeman handled it as evidence, and his fingers itched. He needed to get his hands on that thing. He needed to erase what he’d seen and then smash the memory card into little pieces.

The big detective turned and lifted an eyebrow. ‘And – as I was about to say – arrest them.’

The two millennials squeaked in protest. The geniuses hadn’t realised the detective had wound all the way back to the beginning of the tape to see them break into the room. They looked bewildered as they were read their rights. One even started crying when cuffs were slapped on his wrists.

The reporter in the hoodie talked right over the cop who was Mirandising him. ‘You can’t stop the flow of information, man. This guy is running to represent the American people. They have a right to know that he’s not only screwing the system but whores too.’

Brody heard a gasp from the next room. Soft. Feminine. Jenny.

Grit rumbled in his throat, and he stepped forward. ‘Watch it.’

The detective stopped him with a bar arm and his eyes narrowed. Brody met the icy look with one of his own. He knew he’d just made a mistake. He’d stepped out of the background and had brought attention to himself, but right now he didn’t care. Samuel and Genieve were victims here. Their… arrangement …was immaterial.

For this case, anyway.

‘Were you involved here?’ the detective asked. ‘Why are you in my crime scene?’

Brody smoothed his tie and straightened his jacket. ‘I was called here by my client in the next room.’

The detective’s lip twisted in distaste at a lawyer on the scene. ‘Then let me do my work and don’t interfere with police actions.’

Taking a step back, Brody folded his arms over his chest. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues. He liked to work fast and quiet, but neither of those was an option now.

The detective went at the reporters again, drilling them with more questions that they answered, forgetting entirely about their right to be silent. Brody soaked up the answers like a sponge, but one in particular rang in his head.

They’d gotten an anonymous tip.

Luxxor had done a good job establishing the senator and Genieve as a couple, but somebody knew what her true line of work was. His fingers dug into his arms. That was a problem – one he needed to fix.

At last, the detective had the reporters taken away, and he moved on to the bedroom. Brody followed, steeling himself.

He kept his gaze determinedly off the bed. Covers were on the floor, and a shoe had made it as far as the door. Samuel stood in the middle of the room wearing one of the Emissary’s complimentary bathrobes. At least he wasn’t wearing a bed sheet. The senator was talking more than he should, and Brody’s teeth ground. The man was his client. He should jump in to shut down the conversation, but instead his gaze went to the bathroom door.

It stood wide open.

His blood began to hum. His gaze swept the space, skimming over the bed before locking with wide emerald-green eyes. Jenny was sitting in a chair wrapped in a robe identical to the senator’s. Brody hated it on sight, but at least it covered her.

If you could call it that.

The terrycloth was too big for her, but, instead of swarming her, it gaped open to show cleavage that nearly gave him an aneurysm. Her bright hair was sexily mussed, and the split in the robe showed a mile-long length of leg. He followed the line of smooth skin all the way down to her painted toenails.

The electricity in the air snapped.

She shifted on the chair and pulled the robe together, but it was too late. She curled her toes into the carpet, but the splash of red was still enough. Out in the open like this, there wasn’t a red-blooded man who would forget her.

She hadn’t listened to his advice either.

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