“Isn’t that always the case?”
Cam hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed, still rumpled from last night’s activities.
Drea stood on the opposite side of the bed. She stripped off his shirt, which effectively short circuited his brain. “Good news?” She grabbed her silver bra and slid it on, then put on her dress.
“Hopefully.” He grabbed his T-shirt from where she’d dropped it on the bed and tugged it over his head. He inhaled…and his heartbeat went into overdrive. She’d worn it what, five minutes? And already it carried her tempting scent as if she’d slept in it all night. “What else do you know about Fergus?”
“He seemed like a good guy. Obviously that’s wrong, because he’s a shithead.” She crumpled up the silver panties he’d ripped last night and tossed them at him.
He dodged the satin ball. “Does he have family?”
“Not to my knowledge.” She tugged the dress into place and fastened the button at the top of its scoop neck with a decisive snap.
It was a tossup which he hated more. That button…or himself for wanting to pop it back open. “Anything you can think of that would tie Fergus to Diamond Tommy?”
She shook her head.
Both were fully dressed now. They stood on opposite sides of the bed. An awkward silence fell as she did some girly twisty thing with her hair, and he watched like a starving man locked out of the kitchen—hungry, empty-handed, and his belly burning with want.
His phone buzzed on the bed, doing a little vibrating dance in the twisted sheets. He leaned over the bed to grab the phone. The smell of sex mixed with Drea’s scent from his shirt, and his eyes nearly crossed. Fuck. He had to get away from her before he forgot that he had simply been the wrong man at the right time for her.
The text message notification flashed on his screen.
CARLOS: ON THE SYSTEM.
He hurried to his laptop, logged into the Maltese Security website, and clicked on the folder labeled Grayson. In it, he found the names of every board of director member, management, and major stockholder. None of the names rang any bells. Shit. They really needed something in their win column.
Drea peeked over his shoulder at the screen. “That was fast.”
“‘Los isn’t known for dicking around.” But even for Carlos, this was speedy. Ever since he’d decided he wanted to move from behind the desk out into the field, the computer guru had busted his ass to prove himself to Tony.
He scrolled down, got to the end of the scanned document stamped with the Harbor City tax office. That’s when he saw it. Paulsen and Paulsen were listed as the company attorneys. “Gotcha now, asshole.”
“What is it?”
He tapped the screen. “Paulsen and Paulsen is the law firm that handles Diamond Tommy’s legitimate businesses—all of the clean stuff that helps him launder his shady money.”
“Could it be a coincidence?”
“It’d have to be a pretty big coincidence.”
“And you don’t believe in coincidences.” She quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Nope.”
The bed dipped underneath her as she sat down on the edge. Her shoulders slumped. It killed him to see her like that. “So what now?” she asked.
Fergus was the key to all of this—not to mention in all likelihood a murderer. If he hadn’t offed Natasha Orton himself, he’d had a hand in it. They had to get him to talk to the cops. Of course, that would mean implicating himself, and Cam doubted the shithead would be all that honorable after what he’d done. Looked like it was time for a little creative motivation.
“We find Fergus and hit him with everything we’ve got.” That wasn’t a lot, but it would be enough. He’d make sure of it.
“Do you really think he’ll talk?” She mauled he bottom lip with her teeth.
“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll talk.” He rubbed the back of his head. “But that’s not what’s sticking out to me.”
She perked up. “What is?”
“Why Grayson Domestic?” He got up and paced from the table to the deadbolted steel door and back again before sitting down. “Even with his legitimate businesses, he expects a better return than average. The profit margin on a straight business can’t be at the level he expects.”