6 Chapter 6: No Cops

“No.”

Whitney pulled out her phone, and Deke grabbed it from her.

“I’ll call the cops when our customers are gone,” he explained. “That body isn’t going anywhere.”

She tried to brush past him, her shock clearly having worn off. “I want to see it. Take pictures.”

He put a firm hand on her wrist. “Stay out of it, Whitney.”

“Why?”

“Because if you do get involved, you might be in danger.”

A small smile appeared on her face. “Deke, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Can it, Whitney. If someone jumped off a building to kill themselves, there is no doubt their life was a mess. You don’t need to involve yourself in that. Stick to socialites.”

“And pop-up nightclubs?”

He looked down at her. She was baiting him, and with God as his witness, he wanted to take that bait. “Leave it be, Whitney.”

She crossed her arms. “Are you going to hold me here against my will?”

“Yes.”

Her mouth opened slightly. Had no one ever said no to her before? She hadn’t come off as a spoiled rich girl until now.

His eyes narrowed. “It’s for your own good.”

She snorted. “Like you’re the first domineering male who has ever said that to me.”

“I’ll let you go when the place is cleared out.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Trent said from the door. “I don’t think it’s safe.”

“I’m not staying here,” Whitney said.

“What did you have in mind?” Deke said, wanting to be rid of her as soon as possible. Hopefully, she had no idea the body was so damaged that the person couldn’t have merely jumped from the roof—not to mention the talon marks on the side of the body from the goblin who’d carried it.

“I need to talk to Deke in private,” Trent said. “Stay here.” The last was directed at Whitney, who nodded her assent. Deke followed Trent into the hallway. “Definitely goblincide. The bar is empty. Can you take Whitney to your place?”

“You think she’s in danger for sure?”

“Yes. Even if it isn’t a message to us, only the goblins know why the person was dropped. If they know she was a witness—especially if he wasn’t supposed to be dropped there—they will kill her. Or worse.”

Deke pressed his lips together. “Okay. I’ll take her to my place.”

“Use public transportation, so you can’t be tracked.”

“You think there aren’t cameras on buses?” Deke asked.

“It isn’t like you’re willing to fly her home,” Trent said.

Deke couldn’t argue with that. “Okay. We’ll need hats.”

“Got them behind the bar,” Trent said before he left.

Now, Deke had to think of a valid story to tell Whitney that would get her to put on a hat and come home with him.

***

Whitney had been easier to get to his townhouse than he expected. He’d dangled the prospect of an interview that he never intended to let happen. She was like a deer to a salt lick.

Now, she was upstairs in one of his showers, and he did his best not to think of her naked as he made them some food. Cooking had always calmed him, even when he was making it for his sick father during the last days of his life. It had been the one constant in his life. He’d missed cooking during his days in the Middle East. The first renovation he’d made to the townhouse after buying it was the kitchen.

He chopped vegetables and sliced up some meat. He pulled leftover brown rice from the refrigerator.

“I’m always happy to show up at your house when you’re cooking,” Trent said.

Deke had left an upstairs window open for him to fly in through, knowing Trent would travel as a gargoyle any chance he could. “You just hating cooking for yourself,” he replied. “If I had a pizza here, you’d be just as happy.”

Trent slid onto a stool. “Can a guy get a beer around here?”

Deke’s gaze flicked to a small refrigerator under the counter. “You know where the drinks are kept.”

Trent grunted, then found himself a beer. Deke turned back to his concoction.

“Smells good,” Trent said. “What is it?”

“Fried rice.”

“Where’s your lady friend?” Trent asked.

Deke shot him a glare. “She isn’t my lady friend. It was your idea to bring her here.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s in the shower.”

Trent’s eyebrow went up, and Deke didn’t like the implication.

“No, I haven’t slept with her,” he said. “Nor do I intend to.”

“She’s a looker,” Trent said.

“Well, I’m not in the market. We have bigger things on our plate.”

Trent grimaced. Deke stirred the vegetables one more time before he poured in the brown rice. He added a few dashes of soy sauce and one dash of sesame oil. He drank in the scent of what he was making, and he heard Trent’s stomach rumble.

Trent’s voice lost all its teasing. “We do have bigger things. How big do you think this goblin situation is?”

“The more we learn, the less I feel we know.”

He slid the food onto three plates—one of which he put into the warm oven. Whitney would probably be hungry later—not that he was concerned. He put a plate in front of Trent, who dug in immediately. Deke listened, but the water was still running upstairs. Whitney’s arrival was not imminent, and he was hungry. He sat, and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

When the edge of his hunger had been taken off, Deke leaned back on his stool. “What’s your take on all of this?” he asked. He trusted Trent. He’d brought Deke into the business after they’d met online. Trent had an analytical mind and a good head for business. They all knew Trent wouldn’t guide them astray—well, until tonight, after having two events in one week.

Trent put down his fork and rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “When was the last time you saw someone goblincided?”

Deke had to search his memory for that one. “Not in decades. There have been some deaths I suspected were done by them, but I never investigated them.”

“Maybe we need to get Tex involved in this. He could get us the research in the time it will take us to explain what we need.”

Tex was the husband of their former bouncer, Aileen. She was half-gargoyle and half-fairy. He was all human. They’d all gotten together to celebrate the union in the town where Aileen’s brothers lived. They were all Irish gargoyles, recently relocated to the United States. Deke had been born here, as had his fellow Grotesque owners, but he suspected they had similar roots as Aileen’s family.

“Tex will ferret out any other suspicious deaths,” Deke said.

Trent nodded, then went back to his food. “What are you going to tell the reporter?”