Page 9 of Seduced By the Billionaire
Ronan swallowed hard. Paddy’s point was valid. Being in this club was a risk, but he’d known that from day one. And he’d kept coming, anyway. Because of her.
Paddy was still watching him. “If it’s not like the last time… what is it like?”
“Let it go,” Ronan said, turning to the entry to the main room.
“I’m just trying to understand, brother. You can have any woman you want. I don’t know why you come to these?—”
“We have witnesses to interview,” Ronan fired back, stepping through the swinging door, hoping that would be enough to shut his partner up.
But when he glanced back, Paddy’s brow remained furrowed. Suspicious. “You’ll need a better story than that when this gets kicked up to the chief. He ain’t going to let the fact that you were here slide, and?—”
“He was walking by,” a female voice said from their right, and they both turned.
Jenny blinked; her cheeks flushed. She’d reapplied her lipstick—flawless now, not a smudge. Her hands were clean, too.
Shit. How had he let her do that? He should have followed protocol. Bagged her hands. Kept her exactly where she was. What was wrong with him?
You’re obsessed with a woman who works in a strip club, Ronan, a voice whispered in his head. You’re just like your father.
His ribs constricted, heat stabbing at his throat.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, stepping closer, her eyes on his. “I just wanted to say thank you—for coming in when you heard me screaming. To think what might have happened if you hadn’t been walking down that alley…”
“What might have happened?” Paddy shifted around Ronan, positioning himself between them, his head cocked.
Uh-oh.
“If Detective Duffy scared the killer off, does that mean the killer passed him on the way out?” He glanced over his shoulder at Ronan, a look that said, I know you’re lying—you need to talk to her, get your fucking stories straight.
She swallowed hard. “I… maybe he went out the front? I mean, I didn’t see him,” she amended. “I just heard footsteps—scuffling, a thud, someone running off. I came out and started screaming. Suddenly, the detective was there.” Jenny shrugged. “It’s all a little fuzzy, but… I’m grateful.” She reached out and gently squeezed Ronan’s arm, then turned on her heel and headed back to the clique of dancers huddled near the stage.
Ronan stared after her, his arm tingling where she’d touched him despite the circumstances.
Insane, Ronan. You’re insane. A horny stalker, that’s all you are.
But what the hell was she doing? Was she trying to… protect him from having to admit that he was already here at the strip club? His gut said yes, and his instincts were usually right, but…
Huh. She was perceptive. The chief wouldn’t love it that one of their own had been drinking whiskey and stuffing bills into G-strings while their killer slid a blade between Jason Mercer’s ribs six times. And the chief definitely wouldn’t appreciate that Ronan had broken protocol, letting the woman who’d been kissing the victim just moments before—or maybe even during—the attack wash away potential evidence.
He was a real piece of work. Paddy was right—he needed to get his shit together.
He couldn’t afford to be this stupid. Couldn’t afford to be blind to everything except a woman he couldn’t have. Couldn’t afford to protect her either, not when she might have conspired to kill a man.
No matter how much he wanted to.
Chapter 6
Juliette
The streetlights painted the detective’s face in streaks of white, shadows sharpening his cheekbones. Handsome… or was he just dangerous?
Juliette knew herself well enough to know the answer. He wasn’t handsome despite the danger; he was handsome because of it. She’d known it for months in that club, and it felt all the more true now. Even after everything she’d been through, her pulse quickened at the sharp angles of his jawline, the cool detachment in his eyes. Her mother used to call it the family curse. Her own father had been the walking definition of a red flag, a motorcycle-riding bad boy who’d ridden off into the sunset when she was ten.
Detective Duffy stopped at a red light, the glow spilling into the car like blood, a hue far too close to the gore on Jason’s face. The memory should bother her… but it didn’t. She’d seen worse—far worse. Nothing compared to the first time you held a man’s organs in your hands, even if you were safely surrounded by the cool sterility of the morgue.
How surreal to think that used to be her life. How absurd to think she’d spent years wearing nothing but sensible orthotics. Her arches, still pressed against her cheap heels, throbbed at the thought, a dull ache that faded almost as quickly as it came.
“Tell me about the kiss,” Detective Duffy said, voice low—gruff. Almost… jealous? But that was ridiculous.
