Kahlen Aymes - Angel After Dark

“Him?” Alex’s brow raised and a soft smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

“Uh huh. The district attorney, Kenneth Gant.”

The name registered in Alex’s mind, Bancroft mentioned that he was the man Angel was seeing, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, jealousy burning in the pit of his gut. He looked down at her hands in his, his emerald eyes on fire. “I see. Let’s talk later, okay, baby?”

“If it matters, I wish I didn’t have to go, but I do.” Something inside her wanted to make sure he knew this was business and nothing more.

She waited for his response, and finally, his eyes met hers. He pulled her into his arms for a hug. Leaving Angel felt strange. He turned into her hair inhaling deeply, memorizing her scent. Even though Becca looked on, Alex’s mouth took hers in a passionate kiss, his tongue invading her mouth, teasing hers into play. He took his time, enjoying the feel of her mouth on his, her body in his arms, her fingers in the hair at his nape.

When he drew away, he sucked in his breath and kissed her temple. “See ya.”

On his way to the garage and his car, Alex shoved his hands into his pockets; his mind racing with questions about the man that Angel would be spending the evening with. For the first time in two weeks, he had the desire to read the red file. While he was confident that the passion between them was unparalleled, he wasn’t willing to leave it to fate. That’s how he won, by dissecting the competition and knowing their weaknesses.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, running a hand through the beautiful, damp mess of hair. He knew he wouldn’t read the goddamn thing.

When the elevator doors opened, the garage was filled with a car alarm honking repeatedly and he realized it was his Audi. He hurried forward, slowing as he approached. The windshield was shattered—like someone had taken a baseball bat to it—a huge round break, spreading out from the center, some of the glass littering the expensive leather interior and sleek black paint.

“What the hell?”

He shut the alarm off with his remote and moved closer, pulling a piece of paper from under the wiper and glancing over the rest of the vehicle. There didn’t appear to be any other damage, thankfully.

Unfolding the paper, the words sank in.

Keep away. If you know what’s good for you. If you know what’s good for HER.

Alex burned; his heart tightening as anger flooded through him. He began to shake, his fist closing around the note.

“Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing through the empty space.

Alex sat across from Cole as he cracked open the first of his second dozen crab legs, shaking his head and watching in stunned amazement as his brother packed in huge quantities of food. The morning had been a blur; getting his car out of the garage before Angel saw the damage and to the body shop, then the rush to meet Cole as planned. He shouldn’t have bothered; Cole was late as usual.

Alex used the time to think about the implications of the vandalism and strengthened his resolve to find out what the hell was going on. Thoughts raced; the group of young men the night before at the radio station, and Angel’s comments about her cases getting scary sometimes, had his neurons working overtime. The possibility of it being a coincidence seemed highly unlikely.

“Cole, can you stop eating long enough to tell me what you found out?” Alex leaned on his elbow against the back of the booth, his food untouched, his thumb and index finger plucking at his eyebrow impatiently. His lips set into a thin line when Cole continued to concentrate on his plate. “Please?”

Cole shrugged and licked two of his fingers and, at the same time, rolled his eyes.

“Uh, yeah, but I still don’t get why this is important to you.” Alex’s stern expression urged him to continue. “The only dude I could track down that fits the profile is the owner of that big chain of dry cleaners. He’s pretty connected; knows a lot of politicians and has distant mob connections.”

Alex’s face twisted in disbelief. What the fuck? Investing—maybe, real estate—sure, but dry cleaning? He could think of none. “How powerful can someone be when his business is cleaning clothes?”

Cole shrugged again. “It’s all over the place. The business name is Pressed. They’ve been in operation for more than fifty years, Alex. I know you’ve seen ‘em… Bancroft believes it could be a front for laundering cash. His business grew in one huge spurt after his father died.”

Alex vaguely remembered some TV commercials and images of a logo. Obnoxious orange and bright blue with that smarmy bastard’s mug attached to billboards and television advertisements. Angel’s conversation of the rape of a stepdaughter made him cringe. “Yes, that is suspicious. Did you get financials? Where did the money come from?”

“It’s not clear yet. Some loans, venture capital maybe, but it’s probably dirty, Alex. Bancroft got pics of Swanson with James Standish, who, apparently, is married to Swanson’s younger sister, Carol.”

Heat spread under Alex’s skin as the threats to Angel’s safety took on more urgency. The Standish family was rumored to be marginally involved with the Chicago crime circuit; drugs, dirty politics, and who knew what else. It was known, and yet, business continued as usual. Alex worked on an international level for Avery and remained clear of any businesses the mob was involved with. His mind raced with questions about how solid this bastard, Swanson, was with the mob.

“What about his own family? Does he have kids?” He picked up his Blue Moon and took a long pull.

“Yep. He’s been married twice and has a 30-year-old son from the first one. Thomas. He didn’t even finish high school and his old man’s set him up to take over. There is a stepdaughter from the second marriage. She’s the one accusing him of rape.”

When Alex seemed lost in his thoughts, concentrating on the way his beer sloshed around in the bottle as he moved it in circles, Cole put down his fork. “Alex, what is this about?”

Green eyes flashed and a muscle in Alex’s jaw twitched. “What do you know about his business?”

Cole sighed. “I have the list of locations and whatever was available on public record.”

“Is the company publicly traded?”

“Nope, it’s still family-owned, but it’s incorporated.”

“LLC?” Alex searched for a weakness. If the company was limited liability, the bastard’s personal finances would be protected.

“Nope.”

Cole studied Alex as the corners of his lips lifted in a devilish smirk.

Stupid bastard, Alex thought. What idiot would have a business that size tied to his personal assets? Alex almost laughed out loud. “Excellent. I want to know which locations are owned and which are leased. Find out what the purchased properties are worth and what he pays for rent on the others, and get a list of the employees and all of the businesses around the cleaners.”

“I didn’t know Avery was in the dry cleaning business. Does Dad know about this?”

A scowl settled on Alex’s face, but no answer was forthcoming.

Cole shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “This shit is getting old, little brother. Tell me what the hell is going on. I have a right to know why I’m doing this.”

“You’re having fun, aren’t you? Just do it.”

Cole pushed his plate away, a stern look on his face. “I won’t do another goddamned thing until you explain.”

Alex drew in a heavy sigh and his brow creased, uncertain how much of it he was willing to share. “Uh,” he hesitated, not sure what label he should assign to Angel. “I have a friend working on the rape case, and I think the asshole is pressuring her to doctor her testimony so he comes out clean.”

Cole’s eyes widened, his expression incredulous. “You think? Surely a friend would tell you for sure?”

“It’s a professional ethics thing. Won’t discuss it.”

“What will fishing around in his business dealings accomplish? If he’s in with the mob, even lightly, then…”

“Exactly. The bastard’s dangerous, and she doesn’t know what she’s dealing with.”

Cole nodded knowingly, eyebrows lifting. “Ah ha, the clouds are clearing. Your friend is a woman. Didn’t take you long to replace Money-Grubbing Barbie. Are you really interested in this chick, or is this just to keep me busy?”

Alex sat back in the booth, holding his beer casually. “Angel is hardly a chick, and yes, I’m interested. Very. And I’m worried.”

“Wow.” A grin split his face at the obvious discomfort Alex was in. “She must be one hot tamale.”

“Shut up, Cole. We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks—”

Cole interrupted, a knowing look crossing his features. “And already you’re this tied-up in knots? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Alex was flustered by his brother’s perception of something he hadn’t even taken the time to analyze. But, the thought made him flush. “I’m not in knots. I just don’t want to see her hurt.”

Cole’s eyes narrowed and he nodded, disbelieving. “How is she involved? Professionally, you say?”

“She’s the clinical psychologist assigned to assess Swanson’s mental capacity and pathological tendencies, I gather.” Even without confirmation from Angel, he knew he was on the right track. She’d shared enough for two and two to equal four.

Cole whistled. “So she’s hot and smart. She is hot, right?”

Alex took a long pull on his beer, and when he was finished, a beautiful smile flashed. “It’s me, Cole. Come on,” he teased. “Besides, when you clean up, you land some hot women. Although, I do wonder about your beer goggles. That redhead a couple of weeks ago? Gross.”