chapter 8

"Follow me," Jude says as he walks past.

Looking around the room, I find Ignacio off the phone and staring in my direction. When I notice the charming Brooks doing the same, I duck my head and follow the guy back down the hallway. The second he shoves open a door, the lights flash on, revealing a room stuffed with enough medical supplies to make most free-standing clinics jealous.

He points to an exam table on the far wall, and like the obedient child I never was, I hop up on the table without argument.

After washing his hands, he gathers supplies and spreads them out on a small rolling table.

"How long have you known Dion?"

He doesn't say a word as he pulls on latex gloves, unwraps some gauze, and pops the top on a new bottle of saline.

I hiss when the cool fluid flows over my sores, and I expect him to grip me hard when his free hand presses to the back of my calf to hold me steady, but surprisingly his touch is gentle, much the same way I'd expect a doctor in a hospital to be.

"I didn't even know he was out of the military," I continue.

I'm left without a response once again.

"You're not curious about me?"

This causes his eyes to lift up to mine, but he still doesn't open his mouth.

I give him a sweet smile, one that has worked for me numerous times in the past, but he doesn't seem fazed by the miniscule charm I'm trying to lure him in with. I want details on Dion. I want to know what he's been up to for some reason. Is he even up to the challenge of locating Dona? Is she even missing? Did someone take her and hurt her? Was her blood in the condo as well?

I keep the questions coming before my mind can run through every episode of CSI I've watched and start coming to horrific conclusions about my best friend.

"Not curious at all?" I prod because talking seems to help with the insane thoughts racing through my mind.

Jude only gives me another small smile.

"Is it often that women show up here off the street in crisis?"

His lip twitches. "You'd be surprised just how often that very thing happens."

And things just got a lot more interesting.

What exactly have you become, Dion Black?

****Dion

"You're a dick."

I take a long slow breath, keeping my eyes off the stupid fucking bird as I enter Wren's office again.

"I'm going to put that bird in a fucking stew," I threaten.

"At least he didn't call you motherfucker," Wren says as I pull up a chair beside his. "Give him some time to change. It's a slow process."

"Speaking of slow," I mumble, angling my head toward the computer. "What do you have for me?"

"Quite a lot actually."

I spend the next hour going through the copious amounts of information Wren has discovered online, and my eyes are nearly crossing when I stand to leave. After finding out that Dona wasn't the one hurt, I was hoping this would end up being an open-and-shut case, but the shit Wren just explained to me makes things much more complicated.

"Compile the rest of it for me. Shoot it to my phone and print a hard copy."

"You got it."

I turn and glare at the bird, challenging the bastard to say something. Unconcerned and using his beak and foot to open a sunflower seed, he simply does that head tilt shit before shooting me a later as I open the door.

"He's going to eat you one of these days," Wren says.

"Eat it hard," Puff says before I close the office door. "You know what Daddy likes."

"Stupid fucking bird," I mutter as I walk across the room.

"She's in your office," Jude says before I can even open my mouth to ask a question.

Normally, I'd be ecstatic at his ability to get me information before I have to waste energy asking for it, but there's something about the glint in his eyes that makes me cautious. Also, I didn't want that damn woman in my office. We have a waiting area in the back for instances just like this. He'd never let another client into my semi-personal space. I guess I should just be grateful he didn't send her upstairs to my apartment on the tenth floor.

Client.

I realize as I think the word, that's exactly what Anni Grimaldi is. She isn't an old friend. Enemy would be closer to the definition, but this is still personal, right?

She didn't call me to hire Blackbridge. She called because when there was an issue with my ex-wife, I'm the first person she thought of.

I clench my teeth, looking over at my medic, wondering who's going to provide his treatment when I jab him in the damn nose for the way he's looking at me right now.

His grin only grows wider. I expect this kind of shit from Brooks, but it seems he just can't leave it alone. "She had a lot of questions about you."

That news doesn't really upset me, simply because I know he didn't tell her a damn thing. No matter how personal a case is, he's a professional through and through. The other guy loitering around the room however…

My eyes hitch toward Brooks. The smiling bastard simply raises an eyebrow at me.

"You need to tone down your fucking charm while dealing with clients."

"Can't," he says with a wide smile. "It's literally uncontrollable."

"I know better," I mutter. "Ease up a little on the charisma and keep your fucking eyes off of her."

"She's off-limits." It's not a question, and I know he's not finished. "I knew that much when you pissed a circle around her when you first saw her."

"Never seen you growl at a client before," Ignacio says, walking into the room with a beer in his hand.

"Don't you assholes have anything better to do than hang out here? Anything on the Hughes case?"

Ignacio takes a seat next to Jude on the sofa. "Nothing yet, boss, but I'm working several different angles."