“We’re not talking about me.”
Candice seemed relieved when their waitress arrived to take their orders. As the server walked away she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone, which was buzzing madly. One glance at the screen and Candice began spewing a line of obscenities under her breath.
Lacey studied her closely. “So you’ve been busy this week?”
“You could say that.”
“Every time I tried you at home this week you were out.” She kept her tone light, hoping her friend wouldn’t see where she was going with the conversation.
Candice snorted. “Thus is the life of an investigative reporter. When duty calls, thou must answer the summons.”
“So you were working earlier?”
“Yes, Lacey.” Candice ran her fingers across the screen of her phone. “In order to pay the bills, I have to put on my big girl panties and go to work.”
“When I called you today, I had to leave a voice mail.”
“Yeah, and?” Candice shrugged, staring at the screen. “I called you back.”
“You’re always at home when you’re not working, and you never send your calls to voice mail.”
“I could be turning over a new leaf in life.”
“Or you could be hiding something.”
Candice snorted. “I think someone is trying to play at my job.”
Lacey’s memory of Candice’s odd behavior when the police officer arrived at her apartment surfaced. She’d been distracted by everything that had happened between her and Michael that morning, but not so much that she didn’t see the look that passed between her best friend and the enormous man in uniform. And Michael obviously knew Officer Stone. Their conversation had been too casual for the men to have been mere business associates.
A dawning comprehension brought it all together.
“No, you’re not hiding something.” Lacey gazed at Candice with a knowing look. “You’re hiding from someone.”
“I told you this isn’t about—”
“About you, I know.” Lacey sat back. “It’s about the ginormous police officer who responded to the disturbance call at your apartment.”
It had been years since she’d seen Candy frazzled and off balance. In fact, Lacey could pinpoint the last time she’d witnessed the cool and collected reporter without her security blanket of control—the night she’d lost her virginity to an asshole who wooed her, gained her trust and fucked her as part of a pledge to his fraternity. After he’d revealed what he’d done he’d kicked her out of his room to do the march of shame from his dorm. That one joke had irrevocably changed a girl who had once been eager to smile at a stranger and trust the opposite sex. Overnight, a disillusioned woman took her place. A woman who didn’t believe in love, relationships or the good in man.
Candice started collecting her belongings and pulled cash from her wallet. “I’m not discussing this right now. I’ve got a lot of shit to do.”
Lacey reached out to stop her and Candice shrugged away from her touch as she rose from the table and threw two twenty-dollar bills on the table.
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this.” Candy adjusted the numerous straps over her shoulders, the motions of her hands jerky. “You wanted to know about Michael Gilchrist? Here you go. He’s a nice guy. I worked the piece for two weeks and in that time he was never anything but a total fucking gentleman. Someone like me doesn’t trust men but I know he has feelings for you. I could see it in the way he looked at you at Haddie’s. I was just worried that the rosy gloss was an act, and I didn’t want him to hurt you. Knowing what I do now, I never should have said a word.”
Candice’s cell started buzzing again. “Goddamn it!” She yanked the phone out of her pocket, pressed a couple of buttons and stared at the screen. What she saw caused her cheeks to turn red and her lips compress. “You ballsy son of a bitch.”
“Who is it?”
“Nothing.” Candice didn’t look up from the phone.
Again, nothing like the Candy she knew. Her friend was totally avoiding her question, and she was doing it on purpose. “I didn’t ask what it was, I asked who it was.”
Candice looked at her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s none of your business.”
“Ouch. Harsh much?”
“Look, I’m sorry.” Candice’s face reflected her apology. “I’m tired and cranky and I’m being a bitch. I’ll call you later, okay? I’m working on a story and it’s kicking my ass.”
“Don’t leave.” Lacey shifted toward the end of the booth. “We don’t have to talk about anything. Just sit down, enjoy your meal and relax.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, Lace.” Candice’s voice was shaken, her hand trembling as she returned the phone to her pocket. “I’ll call you when things settle down.”
Lacey watched, confused, as Candice shouldered past the waitstaff in her path, walked past the bar and exited the building. Candy would never admit it but something had gotten to her recently. It might be work-related, but somehow Lacey didn’t think so.
She had a decent idea of who her best friend was running from—like a G.I. Joe he came complete with muscles, a gun and a uniform—she just didn’t know why.
“Come in!” Michael yelled as he exited the bathroom upstairs and adjusted the bowtie at his throat. Jacob wasn’t supposed to arrive with the limo for another hour.
Please don’t let it be bad news.
Staying away from Lacey for an entire week had been hell. There was no way he was going to last several hours without her, much less another day.
The doorbell rang again and he rushed down the stairs, careful not to slide on the wood, slip and break his neck. As he approached the door, he knew it wasn’t Jacob. The visitor, who was facing away, was too large and broad. He stifled a groan when the man turned and he saw his face. He’d expected this. From the moment he’d seen the looks exchanged between his friend and Candice Bradshaw, he’d known this was coming. But now was not the fucking time.
“Brady,” he said as he opened the door.
The brick shit house didn’t offer a greeting as he walked past Michael and into the house. He was out of uniform—dressed in a pair of jeans and a skintight navy polo—but Michael was well aware that the cop was armed. More than likely a gun was tucked on Brady’s ankle. Ever since he’d been in a store robbery without his weapon, he never went anywhere without one. Brady turned around in the center of the living room, placed his arms over his chest and set his feet shoulder’s width apart.
“Tell me about her.”
Michael closed the door. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything I can’t get from our records database. She’s not a member of Fantasia but she was there during the Halloween Masquerade. I did some digging and found out you were her host at the event. I want to know why you invited her and why she hasn’t returned.”
“Can I ask why?”
Unfolding his arms, Brady shifted his weight uncomfortably. “We struck up a conversation at the bar and eventually we took it somewhere private.”
Shit. Candice and Brady? It would have been laughable if the man standing before him wasn’t dead serious.
“She approached me about writing a piece on the club, and I agreed to get her in if she kept the intimate details—including names—out of her article. I got her in for a couple of weeks to get a feel for the lifestyle and the people. That’s it.”
Brady’s face fell. “She’s not a Domme?”
“If she is, she didn’t share it with me.” He couldn’t answer that question, even if he wanted to.
Candice Bradshaw exuded a dominant vibe, but so did a lot of people. During the two weekends she’d spent at Fantasia, their personal encounters and chats had been brief. He hadn’t wanted to discuss his personal life and neither had she. He came and visited friends while she mingled at the club as a Domme without a sub. Since she was extremely picky and standoffish, it worked perfectly.