“Yeah, we’re starting to gel. Tonight was great.” I grimace. “Minus the snow. The last place I want to be is stranded in Denver an extra night because of weather.”
“You called Iris to let her know?”
“About to. Once we get settled in the room, I will.”
“How’s her cousin?”
I stop in the hotel lobby and stare him down. “Do you want Iris to put in a good word for you with Lo or something?”
“What?” He looks at me like I have two heads and an extra nose. “Why would you think that?”
“Obviously because you keep asking about her.”
“Has . . . she ever asked about me?”
I’ve never seen Kenan “Gladiator” Ross tentative, but the expression on his face is probably about as close as he’ll ever come.
“Never,” I answer unhesitatingly, my lips stretching into a smile.
Kenan rolls his eyes and gives me a middle-finger salute.
“August, hey.” Decker walks over to us from the front desk, a file in his hand. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Sure.” I fist-pound Kenan before he walks toward the elevator. “What’s up, Deck?”
“Come sit.” He gestures to a nook just off the bank of elevators.
It’s late and I have no idea what this is about, but I hope he makes it quick. I want to call Iris as soon as we’re done since she’s expecting me tonight.
“Um, I just got off the phone with Avery,” he says, watching me closely.
“Cool.” Now I really don’t know where this is going. “How’s she doing?”
“Good.” Decker hesitates and then goes on. “How much do you know about Iris’s relationship with Caleb?”
Predictably, my hackles rise. The hackles on my hackles rise.
“I know it’s over.” Even I hear the tension in my voice.
“Calm your ass down, West.” Deck’s lips tighten around the words. “I’m just trying to figure out if you know . . .” A sigh heaves his heavily muscled shoulders.
“Know what, Deck?” I ask impatiently. “Dude, spit it out.”
“There was a file delivered anonymously to Avery today at the station,” Deck says, the words dragging over his lips.
“Okay. What kind of file?”
“This one.” He slides it across the table to me but places his hand on top so I can’t open it. “It’s a file of pictures. Um, pictures of Iris.”
My hand knots into a fist on my leg. “MyIris?”
“Yeah.” Sympathy fills his eyes. “Your Iris.”
“Like . . . naked pictures?” I try to keep my brain contained in my skull. “Give me the file, Deck.”
“Not naked.” He keeps his hand over the file and blows out an extended breath. “Pictures of her beaten pretty badly. And some medical records that detail . . . a pattern of abuse.”
“Abuse?” The word, ugly and harsh, shouldn’t even be in the same sentence as her name. “Like when she was young? Like someone touched her or . . .”
