Reclaim - Aly Martinez Page 0,88
jack-of-all-trades who, with the help of his team of bodyguards, security specialists, and investigators, dabbled in a little of everything in the personal protection sector. He was no nonsense and cost a fucking mint, but every single person I’d called from New York all the way to Seattle swore by him.
I’d contacted him on my way to the airport after hearing that Jonathan had Nora in lockup. I’d only gotten so far as to tell him what Josh had done to Thea and subsequently that Ramsey had spent twelve years in prison for killing him, strategically leaving out all details that could blow back on Nora, when Leo interrupted me, saying, “Fuck that motherfucker. Email me the details and I’ll get Apollo on it tonight,” and then hung up.
I did not know Apollo or how he was going to “get on it” from their home office seven hundred miles away in Chicago, but I’d sent him the details anyway.
“What I got is a folder full of Caskey fuckery. Where would you like to start? Your grandfather’s foot fetish porn collection seems like a fun jumping-off point. Though your uncle’s affair with his best friend’s wife would be my second choice.”
I curled my lip. “I’m gonna take a hard pass on both. Just give me what you got on Jonathan.”
He chuckled. “Smart man. Unfortunately, what I have on Jonathan is not as exciting. Seems he’s the only one in that muddy bloodline who knows how to lock down a damn Wi-Fi network. However, we did find one thing that might interest you. The night before your girl was arrested, Officer Caskey took down a kid named Sean Watkins on a possession charge. Nothing big, first offense, slap-on-the-wrist misdemeanor. But the interesting part is, according to police reports Caskey confiscated point eight two ounces of marijuana. Want to take a guess how much was found in your girl’s purse?”
“Point eight two ounces,” I mumbled.
“Bingo! Now it’s not the nail in the coffin you were hoping for, but we’re still working on it. In the meantime, put some pressure on him. Let him know you know about Sean Watkins. Get him on edge. He’ll fuck up eventually.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I didn’t doubt he was right about that. My fear was I wouldn’t still be in Clovert when Jonathan fucked up, but Nora would. “Will do. Thanks, Leo.”
“No problem. We’ll be in touch.”
He hung up and I sank to the edge of the bed. What the hell was I going to do when I had to leave her there? Why she even still lived in Clovert was a mystery to me, but short of kidnapping her, I had no idea what else I could do about it.
After dragging a shirt on, I called up to the police station to request a copy of the Sean Watkins arrest report. Jonathan wasn’t in the office, but I made sure to ask enough questions and said my name no fewer than a dozen times until I was positive word would get back to him.
I had an hour before I was supposed to be at her house, and while my cock had thankfully gone into hibernation at the thought of my almost eighty-year-old grandpa’s apparent foot fetish, I still had a whole night with Nora to face.
Honestly, that might have been harder than anything else. Literally and figuratively.
Ever punctual, Camden knocked on my door at seven o'clock on the dot. I drew in a deep breath and ran my fingers through my beach waves, taking a second to do one last physical inventory.
Tight, cropped skinny jeans. Check.
A pink silk camisole that was supposed to be worn under a cardigan, but it did great things for my boobs, so I did not want to cover that up. Check.
Black strappy heels—in my own house when I could have gone barefoot. Check.
A smoky eye that looked both seductive and effortless. Check.
A ball of nerves roughly the size of North America vibrating in my chest. Check. Check. Check.
God, why was I so damn nervous? Camden and I had had a great day together. He had been a little distant, but at lunch, it’d felt like he was slowly starting to come out of his shell. When he’d dropped me off at my house, he’d actually pulled into the driveway and walked me to my door, which I’d chalked up as a huge success after my dash at the curb the night before. He’d even given me a one-sided