It was impossible to organize my thoughts and find the right words, and before I could, her shock began to morph to anger. Her glare was so heavy it was hard to stand beneath it, but she directed the question at Regan. “You said he tried to become a member. What happened?”
“He lied about who he was. He’d come to the club to get a story, but I pulled him out of your room and Julius threw him out.”
I’d wished it could have been said differently, but I couldn’t argue with the truth. I was wishing for a lot of things right now. Mostly that I could go back in time, do it right, and wouldn’t have to watch Tara’s face as even more dismay washed through it.
“That was you?” she cried. “But it couldn’t be. That guy didn’t have an accent.”
I needed to take charge of this conversation. “If I concentrate, I can speak without one. While it’s true I went to the club looking for a story, that’s over. That was before we got together.”
When I tried to advance, Regan stepped protectively between us. I remembered how she’d acted that night in the club, and it made more sense now. Beyond Regan, I could see that every inch of Tara’s body language was screaming she didn’t believe me.
“I didn’t know you worked there when we met,” I said. “Think about it. You fell, and I caught you. I didn’t seek you out, and I didn’t know until the next night when I saw your tattoo. I was supposed to stay away, but I’d already agreed to help with your audition.”
Fire burned on her face. “Okay, but then why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Julius made it real fucking clear to leave his business alone, and honestly, Tara,” I said, letting the hurt seep into my voice, “I was hoping you’d tell me.”
“I was going to,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if I could before. You told me you were looking for a story.”
“I’m not. I mean, I was, but not anymore.”
Regan lifted an eyebrow in displeasure. “Why should she believe you, if you’ve been lying to her from the beginning?”
Irritation simmered in my core. This conversation was supposed to be between Tara and me. “I’ve known about the blindfold club for a while now, and have any stories come out about it?”
Silas hadn’t participated until now. He frowned. “That doesn’t mean anything. Her bosses would squash that story, just like they did with—”
“Silas,” Regan hissed.
Tension was already high, but her single word took it to a new height. The silence between us was taut.
Tara’s focus swung from me to the couple. “What does that mean?”
“He meant that Julius would handle it,” Regan answered quickly.
“I know what I heard. He said bosses—as in—plural.”
Regan’s breathing picked up, but otherwise, it was hard to tell if she was nervous. “We can talk about it,” her gaze flicked to me, “in private.”
“No, I’m done with secrets.” Tara crossed her arms over her chest and looked dubious. “Julius runs the club by himself, so explain how you have more than one boss.”
“What if,” I said quietly, “she works for someone else?”
The mob? No, that didn’t make sense. They had a lot of power, but not enough to kill a story. Who had that kind of authority?
Bloody hell.
I couldn’t make sense of it. “Do you work for the government?”
“No,” Regan snapped.
It was a lie, and we all knew it from the way Silas reacted. He’d turned away, unable to look at any of us, trying to hide his expression.
“Oh my God,” Tara gasped. “You’re . . . a cop?”
Regan lifted her reluctant gaze to the ceiling. “Not exactly.” She let out a deep sigh. “Goddamnit, Silas.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, but as he continued talking, he built steam. “Look, I didn’t mean to ‘out’ you, but . . . you know what? I’m with Tara on this one. I’m fucking over it with all the lies.”