Keeping Secret (Secret McQueen) - By Sierra Dean Page 0,75
of us was terribly surprised by this.
“Hired? You’re sure?”
“I am.”
“What makes you think it’s a professional job?”
“First, they tailed my car halfway to Lucas’s mansion and tried to do me, Brigit and Kellen in on the highway. Then they knew when I’d be at Kleinfeld and tried to gun me down in public. He killed himself instead of being taken into custody. He clearly didn’t want anyone asking any questions. And two days ago they came after me in Louisiana. It’s professional work if they’re finding me places that aren’t part of my routine and they aren’t being subtle about their efforts.”
“Hmm.”
“Yes. Hmm indeed.”
“Under normal circumstances I would ask if you had any enemies, but…”
I threw another paper on his desk. This one was a list, and it was a list no human should have ever been given. “That’s the name of every werewolf in the Eastern pack. Not just Manhattan wolves, every wolf in Lucas’s pack. Someone isn’t happy about our wedding, and I think that someone is on the list.”
“So what makes you think it isn’t werewolves themselves attacking you?”
“The guy at Kleinfeld was human. And there was no way a wolf could have maintained human form in Louisiana to shoot me. No way. It had to be humans.”
“And you want me to…”
“I don’t know, Keaty. Work your weird P.I. magic. Look at bank records. See if there’s anyone on the list who writes crazy letters to Congress or has a brother who really likes collecting guns. Investigate.”
“My time is valuable, McQueen.”
“And my life isn’t?”
We stared at each other. I chucked my three grand back on his desk. Easy come easy go.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Work fast. I’m getting married on Friday.”
“Mmhmm.”
“That’s tomorrow, in case you’d missed the memo.”
“I hadn’t.”
“Your RSVP must have gotten lost in the mail. I’ll see you at The Columbia. Nine thirty sharp, the ceremony is at ten. Rent a tux.” I got up and pushed the list closer to him with one finger.
“I own a tuxedo.”
“Then dust it off.”
I was halfway between Keaty’s brownstone and Central Park when Sig called.
“If your young Mister Chancery is to be believed, I owe him several debts of gratitude. It would have been quite inconvenient to have to explain to the council why we needed a new Tribunal leader.”
“Nice to hear your voice too.”
“I trust your vacation was invigorating.”
“I feel like a new woman.”
“Yes, I can imagine.”
“Sig, not that I don’t love our little conversations, but is there something I can do for you?”
“Perhaps invest in a personal calendar.”
“Pardon me?”
“It’s Thursday.”
“Yes, and what’s your—?” Oh, Jesus. Today was the day the council would announce their decision about making Brigit a ward, and I’d totally forgotten. I felt like an asshole of epic proportions. “Is Brigit already there?”
“Waiting very patiently, yes.”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
I wasn’t dressed for the council.
Jeans and a hoodie with thumbholes ripped in the sleeves didn’t scream authority figure, and I already had a hard enough time getting the council to respect my authority.
It didn’t help that when I said “respect my authority” in my head, it was in the voice of Cartman from South Park.
I needed to put on something more appropriate or I risked making them change their minds about letting Brigit become a warden. If my holey-kneed jeans were the reason she didn’t get the position, my asshole status would be assured.
I barged into my apartment, texting Lucas with one hand to tell him he’d have to see Kimberly without me, while my other hand pulled my clothes off. I was topless and halfway out of my pants before I realized I wasn’t alone.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Holden said from his place in the armchair. “I was enjoying the show.”
I threw my hoodie at him. “Make yourself useful. I need to be dressed for council in three minutes.” If I had a fashion editor in my living room, I was going to put him to work.
We went opposite ways, he into my bedroom where he would make himself at home in my closet, and me to the bathroom where I would attempt to scrape off last night’s booze-induced pity party and the exhausted patina it had left on my face.
He mumbled something from the other room.
“Are you bitching about my wardrobe again?” I would be pissed if he was. I’d spent a lot of time and money making it into something respectable since I’d joined the Tribunal. Nothing in my closet was comfortable, but at least I looked hot