I hadn’t run a background check when I hired her. Shit, I never check a chick’s background when she goes to work for me. As long as she’s got a good rack and a halfway decent face – and bends over my desk, or gets down on her knees – she’s hired.

Plus, Fiona had waltzed right in on Jack’s say-so. I’d put her straight to work because I knew she was a… not exactly a wolf in sheep’s clothing. More like a bitch in sheep’s clothing.

But now I was figuring it might be time for a background check.

I knew there were tons of places on the internet you could do it, but I didn’t know shit about that. Plus, when you’ve got professionals on your payroll, why bother with the middle man? Get that good shit before it’s cut with baking soda and baby laxative and god knows what else.

So I moseyed on over to the Richards PD and went in to see my number one buttboy Dan Peters.

The desk sergeant waited just long enough to pick up the phone and let Dan know I was here, then waved me on through. Motherfucker knew what was what.

Dan didn’t look happy to see me, though he faked it well enough. “Lou! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Dan,” I said, and gave him a hearty handshake where we each tried to out-crush the other guy’s hand. I won. “I need a little help.”

“Well,” he drawled as he sat back in his chair, “I hope it’s not… too involved.”

“Not at all, not at all. I just need whatever information you can dig up on a girl I got workin’ for me at the Seven Veils.”

He laughed. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“They got websites on the internet for that.”

“So I’ve heard. But I wanted the professional touch.”

Dan sighed. “Alright… I’ll have one of the detectives run it through the – ”

“Actually, I’d prefer if you did it, Dan.”

He frowned. “Is there a particular reason?”

“My gut’s kind of worked up about this, and I trust my gut. But I’d rather keep it quiet in case… well, you know.”

That was pretty much code for In case I have to dispose of a body.

Dan nodded the tiniest bit. He knew the score. “In other words, I’d rather not know.”

“Let’s put it this way: I’d rather nobody know except you and me, if you get my drift.”

He leaned forward towards the computer on his desk. “Whatever you say, Lou. What’s her name?”

“Fiona Christensen.”

In a move I didn’t see coming, Dan frowned. “Fiona Christensen?”

“That name mean something to you?”

He snorted. “Yeah – she’s just the biggest pain in the ass I’ve had to deal with in the last twelve months.”

My alarm bells were going off like a fuckin’ fire station.

“In the last twelve months?” I repeated.

“Yeah – she’s the cousin of that…”

Here Dan’s voice dropped, to let me know we were being all conspiratorial – and that I owed him far more than I’d already paid him.

“…stripper of yours we found in the back alley last May.”

The alarm bells turned into air raid sirens.

“She’s the fuckin’ cousin?!”

“Yeah. Called every day for months and months, accusing us of incompetence, corruption, malfeasance, you name it. Fuckin’ pissy little bitch.”

Dan said it with a righteously indignant look on his face – but the thing was, every last word of it was true. Though Dan would never admit it, not even to himself.

True or not, this was not good. I had a broad with a vendetta, sleeping with my nemesis, working in my own goddamn place of business.

“You know anything more about her?” I asked.

“Hold on, I’ll take a look,” Dan said, and started typing.

If Fiona was just a regular chick – a waitress who’d read too much Nancy Drew as a kid – then it wasn’t that big of a problem. The dumber she was, the easier it would be for me to lead her off in the wrong direction.

Problem was, she wasn’t a regular chick.

“Yeah, I got a shit ton of notes on her here,” Dan said as he looked at his screen. “Address in LA, got her phone number – oh…”

The way he said oh and trailed off was not reassuring.

“‘Oh’ what?”

Dan sucked at his teeth and looked at me. “I forgot until now, but one of the things she kept threatening us with was she’s a P.I.”

P.I.

Private investigator.

This was… Jesus, this was bad.

I sat back in my chair and thought for a second about my options.

Some of them ended out in the desert with vultures and coyotes.

Dan kept prattling on. “Said she was going to start her own investigation and show us up if we didn’t do our job. Stupid bitch. I don’t think she’s anybody, though – just some little file girl at a strip mall joint. Nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about?

I’ll be the judge of that.

“What’s the name of the place?” I asked.

He peered closer at the screen. “Don’t know, but I’ve got a work number here.”

“Do a search.”

He shot me a look. He resented my tone – a biker and strip club owner telling the Chief of Police to do an internet search, like a common errand boy – but I was in no fucking mood to play nice and pretend he wasn’t my bitch.

You take my money, Dan, so bend the fuck over.

He finally turned back to the computer and did the internet search.

“Abrams Private Investigations… Sid Abrams. She’s not even listed on the site. File girl, I’ll bet. Or maybe a shutterbug. Is she hot?”

“What does that matter?”

“If she’s hot, she might be a honeypot. Bait for married guys getting a little on the side. Whore,” Peters snarled, like he’d already made up his mind what she did on the job.

As a corrupt and greedy chief of police, Peters was useful – but he could be stupid as fuck. Because that’s what writing off somebody without getting all the facts was: stupid as fuck.

Everything started to click into place. That kung-fu shit she pulled on the ass-grabber at the Veils last night… angling for a job in my club… shacking up with Jack within days of getting into town…

If she wasn’t on the PI website, it was possibly because this Abrams guy didn’t want people to know she existed.

Fuck.

This girl was trouble. She was smart. Good in a fight. She had PI training and a game plan, which she’d executed perfectly up until now. And she was determined to find her cousin’s killer.

She didn’t just have a dog in the fight, she had a goddamn Rottweiler.

What the hell do I do?

Options popped up lightning-quick, and I shot them down just as fast.

Kill her?

No. She’d probably told people where she was going and what she was doing. A drug addict getting shot in an alleyway is one thing, but a PI – and a relative – going to investigate and getting murdered? Beyond coincidence. Not even Peters could protect me if that shit got to the Feds.

Make her ‘disappear’?

No. Same problem. Plus, the media do love themselves a pretty little white girl who mysteriously goes missing. The story practically wrote itself: Los Angeles Woman Disappears While Investigating Cousin’s Death. Couldn’t take that chance.

Let her know that I know, and threaten her?

It would take her out of action temporarily, yeah, but it would just let her know she was on to something. And she’d know I was in on the murder. I didn’t see her giving up just because she couldn’t work undercover anymore.

Expose her to Jack?

Same thing. It would solve the immediate problem, but it wouldn’t necessarily break her. And it might raise some nasty questions with Jack.

Jack.

That stupid motherfucker, bringing a mole into the middle of my operation. The shithead didn’t even know what he’d done. Goddamn ignorant cocksucker was unfit to be the president of –

And just like that, the solution came into my head, wrapped up with a bow on Christmas morning, pretty as you please.

I just about jumped up from my chair.

Peters stared at me in alarm. “Lou? You okay?”

I must’ve looked like I was off in another world. In fact, I was. My mind was already assembling a checklist for everything that had to be done.

“Hm? Oh – yeah, I’m good, Dan.”

I started for the door.

“What about this PI bitch?” Peters asked.

“Don’t do a thing. And don’t tell a soul about her.”

Peters got that familiar look on his face – a cross between a stricken conscience and lip-licking greed. “You, uh… you got plans for her?”

“Yeah, but nothing illegal.” I thought of Jack, and chuckled. “Haven’t you heard? The Midnight Riders are legit now. We work inside the law.”

Motherfucker. Jack wanted to live by those words, he could die by them, too.