“I have to admit, I never really noticed it until Meg pointed it out. But once she did, and I started paying closer attention—”
“Meg?” Brody frowned.
As soon as he uttered his sister’s name, he remembered Ro had said something about how Meg had revealed to her she’d known about the secret crush Ro had been harboring for him. Apparently his sister felt the need to share her suspicions withhisbest friend.
Of course, she did.
“Oh, yeah.” Christian chuckled beside him. “She mentioned it to me not long after she and I got together. Apparently Meg picked up on Ro’s feelings for you years ago but never said anything because she was trying to give Ro time to bring it up herself.”
Liam’s golden-brown eyes found his in the mirror’s reflective surface. “Guess the only question left is…what are you planning on doing about it?”
Christ, it was like being stuck in a vehicle with bunch of gossiping teenage girls.
“There’s nothingtodo, okay?” He continued with the denial as he maneuvered through the city streets.
Nothing I’m going to tell you assholes about, anyway.
“Really?” Jagger shifted in the seat behind Brody, his voice lifting into an almost hopeful tone. “I mean, that’s cool. But hey, if you’re not gonna go there, then you wouldn’t mind if I sampled some of the woman’s sweet—”
“Finish that sentence.” Brody’s sharp warning cut the man off. With his eyes locked onto Jagger’s reflection, he added a low, “I dare you.”
Not one to scare easily, the other brown-eyed man lifted his mouth into a sideways smirk as he uttered a knowing, “That’s what I thought.”
Cursing beneath his breath, Brody pulled the SUV into the gated parking garage attached to Yorke’s upscale high rise apartment building. “We’re here, so can we please just focus on what we came to do and drop the junior high lunchroom gossip bullshit?”
A casual shrug from Liam. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want,” Brody growled between his clenched teeth.
“Consider it dropped,” Liam agreed…just before he mumbled a low, “For. Now.”
Fuck me.
Brody pulled up to the building’s security guard post stationed at the parking garage entrance. Thanks to a preemptive call by one Detective Hansen, once Brody showed his I.D.—driver’s license and official R.I.S.C. badge—the gate was lifted, and they were allowed to enter.
Wall-to-ceiling windows lined the two sides of the building facing the adjoining streets outside. Marble tile flooring lay beneath three massive chandeliers, their linear tubes and illuminated crystals lighting up the open space with the kind of elegance rich bastards like Yorke probably drooled over.
Brody didn’t care about marble or crystals. He only cared about finding the person who pulled that fucking trigger. And the number one suspect on his list—the only name he had to go on—lived in the building’s two-story, forty-five-grand-a-month penthouse suite.
Something Liam had discovered during his tertiary look into the smug S.O.B.
“Oh!” The metrosexual-looking man behind the enormous reception desk at the lobby’s front. “Can I…help you gentlemen?”
Wearing a skinny gray suit that looked two sizes too small, an electric blue shirt that made Brody blink, and blond hair that looked like it had enough gel in it for ten men, he gave Brody and the others a blatantly disapproving once-over.
“We need to speak with Clayton Yorke.”
Skinny’s narrow gray eyes lifted to Brody’s. “I’m sorry. Mr. Yorke is not accepting visitors, at this time. Perhaps you’d like to schedule an appointment.”
A suggestion, rather than a question.
This guy can take his suggestion and shove it up his skinny-suit-wearing ass.
“Call him,” Brody ordered the man as if he had every right to. “Tell him Brody King is here to see him.”
“Sir, I just told you—”
“I heard what you said, but here’s the thing.” He rested his elbows on the desk and leaned in. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the shooting that took place at Yorke’s fancy party tonight, yes?”