Justin cleared his throat, Price had the decency to look up at the ceiling and Flynn was fighting a mighty hard- on. Everything about Saturday night flooded his memory banks.
“Do we need specifics, Justin, or can we just move on?” Flynn bit out.
“I’d like to know the specifics,” Jackson said, sitting forward.
Flynn opened his mouth to tell her to back down, but Pink put her hand on his, squeezed it, and said, “I’d be happy to explain, Officer Jackson.”
“It’s sergeant,” Jackson corrected.
“Sergeant Jackson,” Pink said, sweeping her gaze across the antagonistic woman’s face, then to her left hand where there was no wedding ring. “Would you like a demonstration on how to get and hold a man’s attention?”
Flynn bit his lip, Price snorted, and Justin smirked before saying, “Let’s move on, shall we?”
Jackson shot Flynn a harsh glare, but sat back, knowing she was going to make a fool out of herself if she pushed. She might be one of the guys, but none of the men in the room were going to allow her to pick on Pink.
Justin glanced at his laptop, then at Pink. “Do you have keys to the building?”
“No. Only Boris, Andre, and Sherry the bookkeeper.”
“What type of access do you have to the interior areas of the club?”
“All areas except Boris’s office. That’s locked when he isn’t there.”
Making the notation, Justin picked up a thick manila folder from the table. As he came around the table, he sat down beside Pink and opened the folder. It held a stack of 8-by-10 color photos. He spread them out in front of her and asked, “Do you recognize any of these men by sight or name?”
As she leaned across the table in Flynn’s direction to get a better look at the dozen or so pictures lined up on the tabletop, he tensed when her knee slid against the outside of his thigh. The contact struck him with the heat of a laser beam. Despite the full room, he pressed his thigh against hers, enjoying the contact.
“I recognize some of them, but only a few by name.” She moved three to the side and pointed to the next three photos. “They were in last week. Boris’s office. It was very hush-hush, but I took them drinks. That one called this one Josef; they were talking about a man named Miroslav. I don’t know the other’s name.” She moved them aside and as she reached for two more photos, her right breast nudged his forearm. The contact caught them both off guard. Pink glanced at Flynn, her cheeks flushed.
Flynn steeled himself. When she bent farther across the table, the pressure of her warmth nearly killed him. Damn it was hot in that room. When she pulled two more from the spread and sat back, relief flooded him. He looked up to find Justin’s brooding gaze on him.
“This is Sasha,” Pink said, pointing to the picture of a dark-haired younger man. “He comes in every Friday night, likes his vodka warm, and tips well. Sometimes he comes in with a satchel, but he always leaves with one. This other guy is Maks. I think he’s related to Boris, maybe his nephew, because when he comes in and harasses the girls, Andre doesn’t call him out on it. Most of girls have dated him.” She said, air quoting dated.
“Have you?” Jackson asked.
Pink inhaled sharply at the insult. Flynn turned on his one-afternoon stand. “You have a problem with me, Jackson, fine but leave Miss Fuentes out of it.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Ryker. My question’s legit. If she’s dating any of these guys, how can we trust her?”
Flynn stood up. Placing his hands palm down on the conference table, he leaned over it and into Jackson’s space. “She’s not fucking any of them now and hasn’t fucked any of them in the past.”
“You know this how?” Jackson asked, and smirked.
“My sex life is no one’s business but mine, Sergeant Jackson,” Pink said calmly. “That said, the answer to your question is no, I haven’t dated or been intimate with any of the men or women who frequent the club.”
“Thank you, Miss Fuentes,” Justin said. “Is there more than one way to access the office?”
“No, just the one entry. It has several deadbolts, and a guard outside the door when Boris is in-house.”
“How often is he in-house?”
“A few times a month.”
“Does he have a regular day?”
“The club is only open Wednesday through Saturday. He shows up different days and times.”
Justin typed in notes. When he looked up from his laptop, he looked thoughtfully at Pink. “How much do you know about Boris’s side business of blackmail videos?”
Pink pushed the pictures away and straightened in her chair. “What does any of that have to do with finding my sister?”
“Who is your sister?” Justin asked.
Surprised, Pink looked at Flynn. “You didn’t tell them?”
“Not my story to tell. That’s yours.”
Her lips parted, her white teeth catching the tip of her pink tongue.
“You asked me to keep your secret. I gave you my word.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Caught up in the emotion flickering in her eyes, Flynn smiled, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. He’d just scored major points with her. “Your secret is safe with every man in this room,” Flynn said, then looked pointedly at Jackson, who nodded. “And woman.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice as trusting as a child’s. But her tone didn’t fool Flynn. Pink had a steel rod running through her.
“For us to be able to help you, you’re going to have to be transparent. About everything.” Flynn nudged her chin up with his hand. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” God help Jackson if she went after Pink again.
“Yes,” she said, her breathless voice shooting straight to his dick. Pink turned to Justin and said, “Alexandra Chastain, Senator Chastain’s daughter, is my half sister.”
Confusion flashed across Justin’s face.
“I thought he only had one daughter,” Price said.
Pink shook her head. “He has two. I’m his dirty little secret.”
Justin pursed his lips, but nodded. “Let’s back up, Miss Fuentes. Tell me what you know about Boris’s blackmail video business and how you came to know about it.”
“My sister called me a little over three months ago, begging for my help. She said she was in trouble.”
“Excuse me for interrupting, but did she say what kind of trouble?” Justin asked.
Pink nodded. “First she said, she thought someone was trying to kill her. Then later in the conversation she said, ‘I think it’s him’.”
“Who is him?”
“I don’t know. And I didn’t believe her,” Izzy whispered looking at her hands in her lap then back to Justin. “We’d been estranged for thirteen years so I wasn’t very receptive. She told me was working at the Surf’s Up club and asked me to meet her that day to talk. I refused and hung up on her.” Pink swallowed, her voice full of emotion. “I felt bad and a few days later called her. Her phone was disconnected. I went to the club and asked about her, I was told by Sherry, the bookkeeper, that she no longer worked there. I called the cops and asked if there was a missing persons report filed on my sister, they said no.”
“Didn’t you think that was odd?”
“Yes and no. Apparently my sister had been working at the club for some time. I’m sure her mother gave birth to a cow or two over that news. My father?” She shrugged. “He’s a politician. For all I know he had her shipped off to a dark corner of world so she wouldn’t hurt his chances of getting reelected.” As she said the words, Flynn caught Justin’s gaze.
They were thinking the same thing.
“Did you confront your father?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I have nothing to say to him, and even if I asked him, he wouldn’t tell me anything. So I took matters into my own hands. I went back to the club and got hired to pick up cocktail shifts for girls who called in sick or were no shows.”