13

While those who were unaware of his upbringing thought he was affected by it due to his…habits and the fact he rarely stayed with one woman, the truth was, he had enough common sense to know that not all relationships were like his parents’. 

 In reality, he had always been the least affected by his bastard of a father and train wreck of a mother. He just hadn’t met the woman he wanted to be with for more than a few hours here and there or involved in any aspect of his life.

He really should get the fuck out of here. The lack of interest was one of the reasons why he hadn’t frequented Leather and Lace lately. And this was the only place he’d do this in. He never brought women back to his home. His cell started vibrating again.

Fuck.

Leaning back in his chair, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. Curiosity perked when he saw that it was his partner's number. “Paul?”

“Thanks for answering the phone in a timely manner,” a deep, gravelly voice said.

Alaric's lips tipped up at the corners. “I’ve been busy.” Which was utter bullshit, since all he’d been doing was sitting here, staring at a half-naked woman, with the limpest dick in town. “What’s up?”

“Mrs Spencer was here looking for you.”

He arched a brow as Racheal glanced over her bare shoulder again and licked her plump red lips. “Did she say what she needed?” he asked. 

“She said she wanted to talk to you," he replied, and the sound of fingers tapping along a keyboard echoed in the background. “She asked for you directly.”

“And you didn’t ask her why?” His brows lowered.

Paul snorted. “Of course I did, but she didn’t tell me. And before you ask, she was out the door and down the street before I could get my gimpy ass out of the chair and follow her to get her tags.”

About six weeks ago, Paul had taken a nasty gunshot to the leg during a security detail and was now on desk duty for at least another three weeks, but he still went around with Alaric once in a while. Shit happened. Alaric had a matching bullet wound on his arm and his thigh from an incident a few years back.

Shaking her lace-covered ass at him, Racheal purred softly. All right. That managed to get his attention. His jeans tightened by the slightest measure, but still. He got this hard when he saw a 1969 Dodge Charger in mint condition. Shit. Maybe he needed to see his doctor about low testosterone or something.

“Did she leave a number or anything?” he interrupted, a strange sensation now crawling over his skull. Muscles clenched in his stomach.

“Nope. She bounced like a ball when I said you weren’t here.”

“Call me immediately if she comes back,” he said.

Paul laughed. “That’s what I’ve been doing. Try answering the phone next time. And oh, I did mention where you were.”

"You did?" Alaric asked. 

"Yep. I'm sure she understands you just wanted some me time," Paul said and chuckled. 

There wasn’t much Alaric could say to that. He hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket. His mind was still on the conversation. If Vanessa had come to see him, then it had to be about the case. Something must have come up…. Or happened again. He knew about the shooting, but he had been on another case when the police arrived so he'd just gone through her statement. 

"Are you okay?” Racheal asked, startling him.

He blinked and nodded.

“Then come join me. I’m getting lonely over here.”

Without thinking about it, he stood and slowly made his way over to the chaise longue. When he looked down at Racheal, it wasn’t her he saw. The picture that formed in his mind? 

Kneeling on the longue was Mrs Vanessa Spencer. Except her hair was down, falling around her face in dark waves. The glasses were on. He liked the glasses. And now Alaric was hard as a fucking brick wall. Good news? His dick worked. Bad news? Shit. There was a lot of bad in this.

Racheal’s gaze dipped below his belt, and her eyes lit up. “That for me?”

Uh. No. He opened his mouth, but the door swung open unexpectedly and his chin jerked up, eyes narrowing. No one in this club would barge into any of these rooms unless they were invited. There were rules, for chrissakes, and…

Holy shit.

In the dim red glow of the small overhead light, a slight form appeared like an apparition, straight out of the shadows and out of his fantasies.

Mrs Spencer stood just inside the room, clenching a folder to her chest like some kind of shield. Behind her glasses, her eyes moved from him to Racheal and back again. A pink blush bled into her cheeks, and screw him, he got harder.

Her expression remained cool, though, as she cleared her throat. “We need to talk.” 

—---------

Anyone who had ever met Vanessa Spencer and was around her for ten minutes would agree that she was determined and impatient. Those two things made for a nasty combination.

And could lead to really awkward situations.

When she’d gone to the station and was told that Alaric wasn’t there, she'd been disappointed and while Leather and Lace had been a shot in the dark, it had been one she’d been willing to take. She was worried and scared, and there was no time to waste when there was someone somewhere trying to kill her or do God knows what.  

Leather and Lace was nothing more than a sex club fronting as a regular nightclub, and as much as Vanessa wanted to be disgusted by the whole thing, she couldn’t help the slight wiggle of curiosity whenever she thought about the place and what went on inside the rooms on the second floor. Were there really people hooking up and engaging in all kinds of sexual play inside? Well, now she knew for sure.

Her gaze crawled between Alaric and the barely dressed woman on her hands and knees. Vanessa doubted she was searching for a missing contact lens dressed in a corset and little else. Unless her clothing had fallen off in the process.