Knave (Masters of Manhattan #1)

by Jane Henry

  Sabrina scoffed. “That’s ridic—”

  “Ah, no, there’s a fair amount actually,” Walker interrupted. He shrugged and pursed his lips to one side when Sabrina turned to glare at him. “Just speaking the truth, Sabrina. Gingers Go Wild, for example. A cinematic classic. Lusty, Busty Redheads for another.” He winced at me apologetically. “I mean, I felt like I needed to see it… in the interest of the investigation. It’s some truly twisted shit.”

  “And if Walker says it’s twisted—” Caelan began.

  “Then it’s really twisted,” Ethan and I said at the same time. Xavier, Caelan, and even Walker himself snorted in agreement.

  “Well. It could still work.” Sabrina paused, like she was trying to rally an argument together. I admired her determination, but still wanted to spank her ass for insisting on endangering herself. “I mean, if all I have to do is flirt with him—”

  “Non-starter,” I said shortly, and every man in the room nodded in agreement.

  “What?” Sabrina looked around the room, from Walker to Ethan to Caelan to Xavier… and finally to me. “Come on,” she said. “Flirting, Anson. Not sex. Not even… anything. Just flirting and asking questions.” She put her hand on my knee. “We have come this far and we are so close. How can we not do this?”

  “There’s another way we can get him to answer our questions without you flirting,” Walker told her, touching her shoulder. Sabrina turned to look at him hopefully. “That’s the other piece of good news.” He winced. “I mean, good for us. Fairly shitty for Max Pederson.”

  He tapped more keys on his tablet, and I pulled Sabrina back against my side. She huffed, staying stiff for a second, but finally relaxed against me.

  Several images scrolled across the screen as Walker tapped, all different poses of the same tableau. A tall, barrel-chested man and a blonde were walking across a parking lot at night. Though their faces were shrouded in shadow, it was easy enough to get the gist of the scene. The woman’s blouse was unbuttoned nearly to the waist, showing off the dark fabric of her bra against her pale skin. Her pencil skirt was twisted. She appeared to be stumbling, leaning heavily on the man’s arm and grinning giddily. A few images later, she’d stopped in front of the man and hoisted herself up with her legs wrapped around his waist. In the next shot, the man had propped her against the trunk of a dark gray or black sedan, and her hair glowed almost neon blue, like the car was parked beneath a sign. In the one after that, the man appeared to have buried his face in her sizeable chest, and given the way her head was thrown back in ecstasy, she seemed to be enjoying it too. Her face was lifted to the glow of the light and…

  “Stop!” Sabrina said, sliding forward. “Is that—”

  “Emma Pederson,” I breathed. “Yeah, I think it is.”

  “It totally is,” Walker confirmed, matter-of-factly. “And Max Pederson knew it. This little photo essay came courtesy of a private investigator he’d hired.”

  “To find out what happened to my dad?” Sabrina demanded.

  “Uh, no,” Walker said gently, looking at me before looking back to Sabrina. “No, kiddo. Because he was preparing to get a divorce and wanted to catch Emma cheating.”

  “Oh.” Sabrina sat back against me. “Oh. Well, good for him.”

  I pulled her against my side, wrapping an arm around her chest. “Yeah. First smart thing I’ve heard from this guy.” I turned my attention back to the screen. Something about the image was gnawing at me, and it had nothing to do with the woman in it.

  Walker nodded. “Agreed. So I’m thinking, we talk to Pederson, tell him we know about her affair and could release it to the press. Maybe, you know, insert a little blackmail in there somehow? Huh? What do you think?” He looked around at everyone for approval.

  “Walk, can you enlarge that image?” I interjected.

  “Enlarge? Sure. What part?”

  “The part above her left shoulder.” I pointed. “Where the blue light is reflected in the rear window.”

  “Uh, yeah. Okay.” He complied. “Hang on while I adjust it, see if I can get a clearer… yeah! There,” he said triumphantly. “What’s that?”

  “That’s a sign for Silver,” I said. I stood abruptly, dislodging Sabrina, my gut clenching with a combination of anticipation and dread. Xavier leaned even further forward, peering intently at the screen. “Emma Pederson was hanging out at the bar where my mom worked.”

  “Shit,” Sabrina whispered. “You think…”

  “It’s connected? Yeah.” Cold certainty had settled in my stomach, an instinctive knowledge I couldn’t explain. The same rightness that told me Sabrina was everything I’d never dreamed I’d find in a woman was now telling me that my mother’s murder was definitely connected to Fowler’s death and somehow, unbelievably, to Emma Fucking Pederson.

  “We’ll go to Max Pederson,” I said, still staring at the screen. “We’ll tell him about the hard drive and explain that these pictures show more than just an affair. We’ll find out exactly who the guy meeting with Emma is.”

  “I don’t think he knows, man,” Walker sighed. “At least not yet. Communications with the investigator say they haven’t ID’d him.”

  “Damn it,” I swore. But I was too close to lose now. I’d fucking tail Emma Pederson myself if I had to, to find out the mystery man’s identity and how they were connected to Silver.

  “I bet I know who’d know,” Sabrina said confidently. She slid her hand into mine, squeezing slightly, reminding me that she was there. That I wasn’t alone.

  It was a dangerously addictive sensation.

  And once again, it reminded me that I’d known this woman for less than a damn week. The danger of the situation was making it impossible to keep my barriers up. I was pissed at myself for falling for a pretty face so damn fast, but I wasn’t sure how the hell to fight it, not when every fiber of my body was screaming at me to keep her close and protect her at all costs. Still, when all this was over and we went our separate ways, I didn’t want to consider what the fallout would be.

  “Who?” Xavier demanded.

  “Our favorite soap-watching spice-cake addict,” she said, her eyes steady on mine. “I think it’s time for us to go pay Gwendolyn a visit.”

  “Not you,” I said, shaking my head. “Because if we go, you’ll want to talk to Pederson, and that’s not—”

  “Anson, now is seriously not the time. You can beat your chest and drag me around by the hair later.” She lowered her voice to a whisper that only I could hear, and added, “Might be fun.” She cleared her throat and spoke loudly again. “But at this moment, we have shit to do. Right?”

  I ground my teeth together, but she wasn’t wrong. We needed this information, ironically, to keep her safe. As long as she stayed next to me the whole time… I blew out a breath. “Yeah,” I agreed reluctantly.

  “So let’s go see what Gwendolyn and Max Pederson know.” She looked around at the others, who seemed to be frozen in place. “Shit to do?” she prompted.

  “Yeah!” Walker jumped up from his place. “I’ll, uh, make you some copies of these pictures in case you need them.”

  “And I can prep the van to get to the Pedersons’,” Caelan said. “Fucking nobody is running my baby off the road.” His eyes were lit like some crazy Celtic warrior’s, and I almost smiled.

  “I’m going to dig up more information on Emma Pederson,” Xavier said, getting to his feet and staring at Emma Pederson’s picture with undisguised loathing. “See what my contacts know about her, who she hangs around with, where she came from.”

  I nodded, and Sabrina did the same.

  “And I guess I’ll go find some very important thing to do, too,” Ethan said, getting to his feet with exaggerated reluctance before giving Sabrina a wink. “Maybe sample the vegetable salad. I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

  When we were alone, I wrapped my arms around Sabrina’s waist. “I don’t like you being involved,” I told her honestly. “I don’t know how shit happene
d so fast, how you became so damn important to me overnight.”

  She nodded, wrapping her arms around my neck again. “I know the feeling. I don’t trust easily, Anson. My own father wasn’t the man I thought he was, growing up. And yet now—”

  “Now you’re putting your life in the hands of a thief,” I said wryly, shaking my head. “You sure that’s a smart move?”

  “Not a thief.” She lifted to her tiptoes and brushed her lips over mine. “A Saint. And no, it's not a smart move. It's risky. Dangerous. Just like you.” Her voice lowered, the husky sound of it making my cock twitch. Her eyes lit with excitement. “But I’m realizing I kinda like the risk.”

  Eight

  “I really think I should have called first,” I told Anson. “Remember, he’s not just a pawn in this investigation, he’s also my client.” I held onto the grab bar that hung above the rear passenger’s seat of the van as Caelan careened the van around a corner.

  “We talked about this. You call him first, and he’ll have a chance to think of a hundred reasons why he can’t meet with us, and a hundred more why he can’t work with us,” Anson reminded me from the front seat. “He’s slippery as fuck.”

  From the seat next to me, Walker opened his mouth to say something—likely something frat-boy and groan-worthy, but he took one look at me and closed his mouth on a sigh.

  As we approached the Pedersons’ building, I smoothed down the cotton of the green button-down shirt-dress I wore. I’d pulled my hair back into a simple bun at the nape of my neck in deference to the July heat that still lingered despite the setting sun, but I purposely hadn’t applied any makeup. I was going for the post-car-crash-pale-and-sickly look—not exactly runway-ready, but hopefully effective in gaining Gwendolyn’s sympathy and Max Pederson’s compliance. I wasn’t above a little shock-and-awe when the situation called for it.

  Caelan pulled under the portico out front and Anson immediately opened his door and swung down from his seat, then opened the sliding door in the back to help me out. He grabbed my hand so I could step down, while I clutched a leather tote bag beneath my arm, which held copies of the private investigator photos Walker had retrieved from Max’s hard drive. Another form of shock-and-awe, Ethan had told me, and I trusted his assessment. I’d never met a more perceptive person in my life. Sometimes, it actually freaked me out.

  We made our way to the Pedersons’ front door and knocked. Before anyone answered, Anson pinched my ass. My jaw dropped, and I swung around to smack the smug look off his face, but the door swung open just in time. I flushed. Jerk. Hot jerk, but jerk.

  “Sabrina?” Gwen blinked in confusion. “Isn’t it your day off?”

  “Yes.” I gave her a brilliant smile. “I just stopped by for a visit.”

  “What happened to your head?” she demanded, looking past me to where Anson stood in the hallway, like she wondered if maybe he’d had something to do with it. I was a tiny bit amused to see Anson scowl indignantly, and even more amused when Gwen didn’t yield even a millimeter in the face of his glare.

  “It was a car accident,” I told her firmly. “The other night, actually. After we left here.”

  She blinked again, but this time stood back, holding the door open so that Anson and I could walk in.

  “I’m afraid the missus is at one of her charity things,” she began, but I put my hand on her arm to stop her.

  “Actually, we came to see you… and Mr. Pederson, if he’s home.”

  “Me? But… well, of course. It’s just all so unusual.” She guided us inside. Once we were inside, I put my bag down and lowered my voice. “Gwen, I need to ask you a favor.” I couldn’t pull any punches. I needed to get some answers, and I hoped preying on her sympathy for my injuries would get me an in. She looked from me to Anson, and her eyes shuttered a bit. My voice dropped. “It... it involves something that could hurt Mr. Pederson.” I’d worked here long enough to know her loyalty was with Max above all.

  “Max?” she whispered. But then she shook her head and her voice hardened. “I’m not betraying their loyalty, Sabrina. If you have anything personal to ask me—”

  I looked quickly to Anson, who gave me a quick nod of affirmation. I pulled the incriminating photos from my bag and showed them to her, one by one, watching her eyes go from wide to narrowed as she realized the truth. I spoke patiently but firmly. “She’s having an affair, Gwen.”

  Gwen’s jaw tightened. “That bitch.” I’d never heard a curse word from her before, but I hid my surprise. She shook her head. “Though I had my suspicions.”

  “Did you?” I ask, pressing closer to her, allowing my eyes to go wide and innocent, my voice confidential and warm. “Can you tell me what you know?”

  Gwen sighed. “There was—well, they couldn’t hide…” her voice trailed off and I waited patiently, hoping I could encourage her to continue. “I did suspect Mr. Fletcher had… ulterior motives.” She clutched at her neck, fingers trailing along her collarbone and her voice trembled. “Mrs. Pederson supposedly models for him, to launch his new brand, but one day, when I was dusting the balconies, I heard… well, they weren’t noises I’d imagine would happen during a modeling session.” Her cheeks flushed a little. “I never did trust Mr. Fletcher.”

  I questioned her further and managed to get the guy’s full name—Robert “Robby” Fletcher—and learned that he and Mrs. Pederson met at some charity function and quickly became close. Fletcher was obsequious and a little bit awed by Max Pederson, but Gwen privately thought Mr. Pederson didn’t care for the man.

  I imagined he’d like the guy even less, once he knew Fletcher was the man in these photos.

  Once I got everything I needed from her, I thanked her.

  Armed with this info, we moved on to the next step of our plan. Squaring my shoulders, I walked to Max’s office, and left Anson with Gwen in the kitchen. He gave me a firm nod before I left, and I knew he was trusting me to do this job, and to handle Max Pederson. It made warmth spread through my chest. I liked his strong, possessive side, but I loved his faith in me even more.

  Jesus. Things had moved so far, so fast. I shook my head and made my way to Max’s office.

  The door was slightly ajar, and I could hear low streams of jazz music playing in the background, then the clink of glass on glass as he likely finished refilling his drink. I knocked tentatively on the door. The sound of a laptop snapping shut came before, “Yes?” I shoved away the mental image of what Walker had told me about Max Pederson’s online activities. Gah-ross.

  “Mr. Pederson?” I asked, mustering up the sweet voice that could get me anything I wanted from him. I’d spent years trying to avoid using that voice, to establish myself as a professional adult, but I had a job to do.

  He blinked in surprise when I pushed the door to his office open and sidled in, jutting out my chest and sashaying a little. Jesus. I hoped Anson would whip my ass later, as penance for what I was doing now.

  “Sabrina! Sweetheart!” he drawled, his voice slurred. I eyed his nearly-empty decanter. “How are you? Are you… are you hurt?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, taking a seat in front of his desk, allowing myself to wince a bit to hopefully muster some sympathy. “I was in a car crash. I’m better now.” I squared my shoulders. “But I need to talk to you about something, and it isn’t an easy conversation to have.”

  He arched a brow. “Oh?”

  I inhaled, then plowed on. “I need to talk to you about this.” I retrieved the pictures and spread them out on the table in front of him.

  His voice was choked, and he took another long swig of whiskey before he asked, “How did you get these?”

  “It doesn’t matter. We—myself and a few security experts I’ve been working with—have reason to believe the man in these photos is Robby Fletcher.”

  Anger kindled in his eyes. “Fletcher! That social climbing piece of shit! And after I agreed to invest in his company and everything!” I found it odd he sounded more shocked about Fletcher than
Emma, but then I realized he’d already accepted that his wife was unfaithful, and my heart twisted a little at that.

  “It’s actually worse than that, Mr. Pederson. We think he had something to do with my father’s death, and the car crash I was in the other night.” I waited for surprise to register on his face before I pressed on. “We need your help.”

  I filled him in with as much as I could, vaguely alluding to the Masters but not revealing their identities. He needed to know enough to help us, without me giving too much away. “Do you have any idea if my father kept a thumb drive with backup copies of his client documents? We believe that one of his clients was involved in his death, and we’re concerned that the man in these photographs is involved as well.”

  He nodded his head and worked his jaw. “I did take a small box of your father’s belongings back but nothing of importance.” He sighed. “There was no thumb drive. But he did mention once, shortly after he went to prison, that he had copies of that information. He called it an ‘insurance policy.’” He looked up at me. “He was killed before he could tell me what it looked like or where to find it.”

  My heart pounded even as my stomach sank. We were so close, and yet had so little to go on. We would, though. I knew we would. I tried one more tact. “Do you at least know any connection between Fletcher and my father? Anything at all that could connect the two?”

  His eyes widened, and he smacked the desk. “Well, yes. Of course. I introduced your father to Fletcher when Fletcher purchased that bar—”

  “Silver?”

  His head tilted a little to the side. “Yes,” he said quietly.

  I leaned in, pressed both forearms on the desk, and met his eyes. “You’ll help us get answers, then.”

  He polished off the rest of his drink, sat back in his chair, and nodded.

  Anson was ridiculously grabby and possessive when we left, making sure to snake his arm around my waist in front of Max and Gwen, then kissing me like he meant it back in the van, but I pushed him away. I had things I needed to process, and I didn’t want my logic clouded by any of his shenanigans.