Jack & Coke (The Uncertain Saints Book 2)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  One who wasn’t, might I add, in his uniform.

  “Take a seat anywhere you want, but the further away the better,” he said.

  I went to the very back of the room and slid into the round table that took up the very back booth.

  “What can I get y’all to drink?” The waitress asked.

  “Sweet tea,” I ordered.

  “Coffee…black,” Officer Shields said with a small smile.

  Once the waitress left, he turned to me and started.

  “We went through Ross Autrey’s computer to see if we could find any links or lines we could follow, but we came across something interesting, and I wanted to know if you knew about it,” he said.

  I raised a brow.

  “Okay,” I said slowly “Sock it to me, Officer Shields.”

  Officer Shield’s grinned. “Call me Byron.”

  I nodded, and he continued.

  “Your ex-husband was living a second life. One that was centered entirely upon you,” Byron explained.

  I sighed.

  Of course he did.

  Because why not?

  “What did he do?” I asked softly.

  “He started accounts in your name. You’ve got at least six open right now, with him as the co-signer.” He handed me some papers, and I felt my eyes widening as I saw the dollar amounts associated with each of the accounts. “And we need your permission to sort through these to determine where the money’s originating from.”

  I nodded. “Of course you have my permission. What all do you need from me?”

  “Just consent for now. If we need to go further, we will,” he explained.

  My stomach clenched as I thought about what all those zeros on that bank statement meant.

  “None of that money is mine. I’ve never seen that many zeros in my life,” I told Byron.

  Byron nodded. “Me neither. That’s pretty impressive.”

  I agreed.

  It was.

  Just not how he’d acquired it, since I was sure he was dealing drugs to get that much in the first place.

  “Okay. What else did you have questions about?” I asked.

  He produced more papers from the front inside pocket of the jacket he was wearing and placed them on the table in front of me.

  “Do you know who Liam Cornell is?” He asked.

  I blinked.

  Then nodded.

  “Yes, I do,” I confirmed, my stomach knotting in agony at hearing his name.

  “He’s listed as your ex’s employer on his life insurance policy,” he started. “But we can’t find what ‘business’ he owns, and we were hoping you could shine some light on him for us.”

  I didn’t want to shine any light on him.

  The last time I’d tried to help someone find anything out about Liam Cornell, I’d ended up with a headache the size of Texas, and a radical change in clientele…not that Mig realized that.

  Because if he had, he wouldn’t be very happy.

  But there was no way I was giving Mig one more reason to hate Liam Cornell.

  Not if I could help it, anyway.

  “The only reason I know the name Liam Cornell is because he used to be a client of mine,” I replied. “But he’s also who Mig suspects was the reason for this,” I said, fingering my still sore part of my face where the wood had connected with my cheek.

  “Why does your boyfriend think it was him?” Byron asked.

  I sighed. “I’d really like you to talk with Mig about that. He knows a lot more about him, and since my attack, I’m uncomfortable even talking about the man.”

  Byron nodded sagely.

  “The last thing I wanted to talk to you about was your life insurance policy on your ex-husband.”

  My brows rose, and the skepticism must’ve showed on my face, because he smiled.

  “I can see you didn’t know about that, either,” he replied.

  I shook my head.

  “No, I didn’t. What kind of life insurance policy was it?” I asked, trying to find the number in the paperwork he’d pushed in front of me.

  “Accidental death and dismemberment,” he said, pointing at the title of the policy.

  But my eyes were caught on the number I’d finally found towards the middle of the page, and my heart had started to pound.

  “Three m-million d-dollars?” I stuttered, looking up at Byron.

  Byron nodded. “Indeed. As soon as Autrey’s death was listed as a murder, the funds were released to be sent to you. But they take around two weeks to a month to arrive, which I’m sure you’ll be getting in the mail or electronically, if they set that up with you, very soon.”

  My mind was a little bit blown.

  “Who took the policy out?” I asked in awe.

  Byron smiled.

  “It was done the day after you were married. He took out a policy on himself with you as a beneficiary and another policy on you, with him as the beneficiary. He pointed to the numbers.

  I shook my head.

  “That’s just…that’s just crazy.”

  ***

  It wasn’t until an hour later, after Byron had dropped me off at my work, that I realized that Mig probably knew about all this money.

  There was no way he didn’t know.

  He’d practically bugged me for every bit of information about my ex-husband. Where he liked to go when he was off work. Why he never had a job. Who his friends were. What his passwords used to be.

  You name it, he asked about it.

  And he never once said a word about any other bank accounts.

  “You forgot to bring your phone,” Mig said from the doorway.

  I’d known he was there.

  In fact, I’d known it was his bike approaching when he was two blocks away.

  And now he was standing there, looking perplexed, as if he had no idea why I was so upset. As if he hadn’t just dismissed me—again—to cater to Jennifer. He should be thanking me for putting up with Jennifer and her shit!

  “I didn’t forget a damn thing,” I told him, picking up all the bottles of lotion and oil I would be using for this session.

  I could hear Mig inhale as if I’d surprised him, but I didn’t stay long enough to confirm or deny it.

  “You can’t just leave without letting me know. I had to go to work, and you were just suddenly gone. I had to call Alison to sit with Jennifer,” Mig growled at me.

  I looked at him beside me out of my peripheral vision.

  “I don’t know what I expected when I agreed to help you with this,” I said, turning around and pacing to the windows before turning back to explain. “But… what I wasn’t expecting was how you’ve been catering—unnecessarily—to her every whim. I wasn’t expecting that when she said jump, you would. I wasn’t expecting just how much she’d take advantage of the situation, or how much you’d let her. And I definitely wasn’t expecting to be dismissed so often by you. You said it yourself, she’s a master manipulator, and she knows exactly what she’s doing. But the thing that bothers me most is that you’re letting her do it, and it’s hurting us in the process.”

  He sighed and ran his hand through his hair…what little was left of it.

  Which was another thing that pissed me off.

  Jennifer had made the comment that Mig’s hair was getting long and that wasn’t the way he normally liked to wear it.

  So what does he do?

  He fucking cuts it!

  That’s not to say that I don’t like the short hair, because I do, what I don’t like is the way she mentions something, and he jumps to do her bidding.

  Deciding Mig needed to be put in his place, I opened my mouth to let him have it, but my three thirty client walked in, and he did not look good at all.

  “Mr. Gains,” I said congenially. “What did you do to yourself this time?”

  Mr. Gains, aka ‘The Gripper’, was an MMA fighter.

  He kicke
d ass all day long, and he got deep tissue massages at least once a week.

  “Caught one to the cheek,” he laughed pleasantly. “You ready for me?”

  He gave Mig an odd, almost excited look, and I couldn’t quite decipher what that look meant.

  But I didn’t stay to examine it for long.

  Not when I was ready to get this session over and done with so I could go home or maybe to my sister’s.

  I thought I might need a little time away from Mig and his inattentiveness.

  I patted the table once I got in the room, then set my bottles down on the table beside the bed.

  Mr. Gains stripped off his shirt, whipping it off and throwing it down onto the chair across the room.

  His pants followed the shirt, but I’d turned around to get my oils ready by that point, and didn’t get to look.

  Not that Mr. Gains hadn’t offered to let me try out the merchandise.

  I’d declined.

  Mig was kind of hard to get out of your head once he was there.

  And Mig was there…in my head…all the goddamn time.

  I couldn’t get him out of my mind if I tried.

  Not that I really wanted to get rid of him…I just wanted him to stop being stupid.

  I looked up at Mig who was across the room, and I glared at him.

  His eyes narrowed back at me as I worked my hands over my client’s back, causing my client to moan.

  “My God, your hands are magical,” Mr. Gain’s said in a low groan.

  I smiled devilishly at Mig, moving my hands more sensually.

  I usually didn’t notice how ‘sensual’ or ‘not sensual’ I did things when I massaged.

  Truly, to me, this was a job.

  It was my job to make this man’s back feel better, and his massive amount of muscles wouldn’t normally have been that big of a deal.

  But Mig and his narrowed eyes were across the room, watching, and I was pissed at him.

  So what did I do?

  Something stupid.

  I massaged Mr. Gain’s like I was making love to his body with my hands.

  And Mig saw every single bit of the show.

  He stayed that way, watching me work, with fisted hands.

  And if I’d been smart, I would’ve stopped.

  But I didn’t.

  And Mig watched the entire show with a very pissed off expression on his face.

  And only when I was done did he leave, and I realized that just maybe I shouldn’t have poked that particular sleeping bear.

  Chapter 17

  Missing: Beard. Last seen: Between my thighs.

  -T-shirt

  Mig

  “What are you doing here?” The Gripper, also known as ‘Mr. Gains’ asked.

  I ignored him, walking into the main room of Uncertain Principles, the gym that Casten owned.

  Casten was an ambitious guy.

  He owned his own bounty hunter business, which was doing pretty well for him.

  And he also owned the one and only fighter gym in Uncertain, which also happened to be the only fighter gym in the entire area.

  “It’s time,” I said, walking over to the bench.

  I think I rendered Adam speechless, because he didn’t say a word as he watched me walk away.

  CeeCee, Casten’s sister, came out of the office with a smile on her face.

  “What are you doing here, Mig?” CeeCee asked.

  I started to strip my cut off, followed shortly by my shirt.

  “It’s time,” I repeated for her.

  CeeCee looked at me like I’d grown a second head.

  “You told me two years ago when I met you that you’d never fight again. What’s different about today?” She asked.

  I liked CeeCee.

  She was cute, sweet, and an overall awesome woman.

  See, here’s the thing, Adam Gains knows exactly who I am.

  I work out here just like the rest of our brothers.

  But I don’t fight.

  Ever.

  I shadow boxed. I did everything any other fighter would do in their workout routine…except fighting an actual person.

  Give me a bag, and I was happy.

  Give me a person, and it wasn’t happening.

  Until today.

  Until I watched my woman rub her hands all over Adam fucking Gains.

  And he knew the moment he walked in the door that Annie was mine.

  Knew it, and I’d bet he’s probably known it for a while.

  He’s been looking for a way to get me to fight him, and it looks like today was his day—he was going to get his wish.

  Watching Annie rub her hands all over him like he was her lover, was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.

  I turned around as I emptied my pockets onto the bench that ran along the outside wall of the gym.

  The last thing I took off was my gun, which I handed to Casten as he walked through the door with a bag of what appeared to be fast food for him and CeeCee.

  “Here, hold this,” I ordered, handing the gun to him.

  He took it without a word, hooking the clip onto his jeans and continuing walking as if I hadn’t stopped him at all.

  Finally, I turned to Adam.

  Adam smiled.

  “It’s not like I had any control over how she massaged me today. I was a perfect gentleman,” Adam said.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “Yep, you sure were. But you also didn’t leave when you knew I wanted you to,” I said tightly.

  Adam laughed.

  “I knew that if I could piss you off enough, you might spar with me,” he said tauntingly.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “You know I don’t fight anymore,” I countered stonily.

  Adam smiled.

  “Yeah, but you’re pissed, aren’t you? Want to plant your hand in my face,” Adam goaded.

  My fists clenched.

  I did want to plant my fist in his face—and I would.

  And I did want to beat the shit out of him.

  But I hadn’t fought in a ring in well over ten years.

  Adam was good.

  But he didn’t stand a chance against me, although he’d tried to prove otherwise once before, and I’d shut him down, not giving him the fight he wanted.

  “I was just doing you a favor, anyhow. She’s lost a lot of customers; that’s why I started coming once or twice a week instead of every other week,” Adam said, smiling.

  He slipped his hands into fingerless gloves, watching me, assessing my face, trying to gauge my reaction.

  Outwardly I showed no reaction at all, but on the inside, I was stunned.

  I hadn’t realized that Annie’s business had been affected by all of this.

  Just how many customers had she lost?

  A few?

  A lot?

  And why hadn’t she told me?

  Now that I knew, however, I would be able to figure out a way to help her.

  And it sickened me that my rash act of confronting Liam Cornell at Annie’s salon had made her feel any recourse from that situation at all.

  I sat on the bench and slowly started to unlace my boots, taking the time to collect myself as I did it.

  The first rule of fighting was not to let anger play a part in your decision to fight.

  And that was what Adam had been trying to accomplish.

  Once my boots and socks were off, I stood up and stretched my arms up high above my head.

  My spine cracked as it lengthened, and I wanted to laugh when CeeCee made a gagging sound.

  She hated it when people popped their knuckles or their backs, and made no secret of her opinions.

  The door jingled again, causing me to glance in its direction out of habit.

  I wasn’t at all surprised to see Peek, Ridley, Wolf and Griffin coming through the door, either.

  The office that Grif
fin, Wolf and I shared was located just down the street, so it wouldn’t have been that hard for them to get here.

  Peek and Ridley, though, had been out of town.

  Vaguely I wondered why and when they got back, but chose not to question it until I was done with my fight.

  It shouldn’t take long.

  “Who’s officiating?” Adam asked as I finally moved to the cage.

  It wasn’t really a cage.

  It was more like a ring but surrounded in netting.

  It was there as a visual aid and it didn’t really serve any other purpose.

  “No official. First one to pass out loses,” I told him, causing him to blink in surprise.

  “Okay,” Adam agreed a little too eagerly.

  That was a second stupid thing he’d done.

  Adam was pretty smart, but he let his emotions get the best of him.

  I knew he was excited to fight me.

  He wasn’t, however, excited to know we were only going one round.

  “How is that going to accomplish anything?” Adam asked in confusion.

  “Don’t worry, I’m going to let you get a good 20 seconds in before I knock you out,” I taunted.

  He narrowed his eyes on me, and I heard an amused chuckle from behind me.

  Casten.

  He knew this would be my fight.

  I would control every aspect of it.

  Adam would be along for the ride, so to speak.

  “Fine,” Adam said, holding out his hands.

  I punched them, taking a deep breath, before I launched right in to my attack.

  See, that’s the thing about me.

  People, or other fighters, expected a big man like me to be slow.

  I probably had fifty pounds on Adam.

  Normally, we’d be in different weight classes, but I knew Adam could take a punch.

  He’d been trained by Casten.

  But he’d never had to fight for his life.

  Deep down, Adam was basically a good guy, he just needed to learn to control his mouth better.

  And to stay away from my woman, I thought darkly.

  I switched off those thoughts and cast my mind back to a place it hadn’t been in well over ten years—since that last summer when I was twenty and spent a week with my father.

  It’d also been the very last lesson he’d ever given me.

  And I remembered every single bit of it.

  I’d taken that knowledge into the Air Force with me.