Chapter Three

Adrian

 

If anyone had pointed at Perrie Fox and told me she was a whore, I’d have laughed them out of the goddamn building. Hookers didn’t look like her. I knew that. I’d seen a fuck ton of them in the six months I’d been heading up the LVPD’s prostitution task force, and hundreds more in the years before that.

The only ones who came close to her kind of good looks had paid for their faces. And their tits, and their stomachs.

I’d seen them before the damn surgery.

But her? Shit. No, Perrie Fox was in a world she didn’t belong in, that much was painfully clear. Not only were her family rich as shit, but the way she’d reacted when I’d arrested her…

Motherfucker.

Perrie Fox.

Blonde hair.

Blrown eyes.

Curves for fuckin’ days.

I couldn’t get her out of my goddamn mind.

Not the way she’d looked standing at the bar while the jackass bartender tried to overcharge her. Not the way she’d laughed and pointed out the people she could recognize in a heartbeat. Not the way her face had fallen when she realized who I was and what was happening.

And I sure as hell couldn’t forget the way she’d broken down on the backseat of my car, sobbing hysterically as she tried and failed to catch her breath.

I’d have to be a cold-hearted motherfucker to have gone through with that arrest. ‘Cause as she’d cried, I hadn’t seen a hooker with a disregard for the law. I’d seen a single mother doing everything she could for her child, even if it didn’t make sense to me given who she was.

There was no damn way she was going anywhere but back to her house that night. I couldn’t take her away from her daughter. I’d once been where she was—single and struggling and desperate.

I wasn’t fucking cruel.

The only saving grace from last night was the fact she’d tipped me off about the woman in the red dress. That was the only reason my unimpressed partner wasn’t kicking my ass and telling the chief of police what I’d done.

I was the head of the fucking task force designed to rid the city of sex workers—something I was passionate about—yet I’d let one go. Just because she’d cried on the backseat of my damn car.

The worst part was that I didn’t regret it.

“A hooker crying in your fucking car doesn’t equal ripping up a report,” Sam said, sipping his coffee. “That bitch in red saved your ass last night. Without her, you know I’d have had to report you to the chief.”

I always loved it when he stated the fucking obvious. “Watch your language. Zac’s around. If he hears you, I’ll have to punch you.”

“And I’ll owe the kid five bucks for cussing.”

“Exactly. It ain’t worth it.” I sat down in the chair opposite him. “Don’t think I don’t know what I did wrong, all right?”

“I know exactly what you did wrong. You heard her last name and shit your balls right out of your ass.” He snorted. “I know, language. Can’t help it.”

I only just stopped myself from rolling my eyes. “He’s gonna hear you in a minute.”

“Stop using your son as a deflection because you’re a giant pussy.”

“Nah, Sam. If she’d been hysterical in the back of your car, you’d have let her go, too. Trust me. She didn’t care I was arresting her—she cared about her kid.”

“You’re too fuckin’ soft.”

“You swear too much.”

“Thirty bucks.” Zac slid into the kitchen in a mess of muddy feet and unruly, dark brown curls. He shook his head to push those wild ringlets out of his eyes and held out a dirty hand to Sam.

Sam shook his head. “I count twenty.”

“You used the p-word outside of a cat and I added one for luck to teach you a lesson.”

I rubbed my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.

“If you don’t pay up, I’ll make Dad give you a citation.”

Sam glanced between me and Zac. “This kid for real?”

“Do I look fake?”

“Zac. Attitude,” I said, shooting him a stern look. “Sam, you owe him twenty-five bucks. Call it even. Pay up.”

With a sigh, my partner and closest friend dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed my eight-year-old son twenty-five bucks in fives, proof he was fully expecting to pay up.

At this point, I wondered who was playing who. Zac had Sam pegged as the serial cusser, but Sam always had a stash of fives in his wallet. It was a mystery I was pretty sure I’d never solve.

Zac counted out each note slowly, then repeated it, just to make sure. “Thanks, Sam. Keep swearing,” he added, disappearing from the room in seconds.

“Go shower!” I yelled.

“I don’t wanna!” came the response.

“It’s shower here by yourself or Nan’s gonna do it for you!”

Zac poked his head back in the kitchen door. “Where’s the shampoo?”

“Second shelf.”

“Thanks.” He left as quickly as he’d briefly reappeared.

Of course, he did. There was nothing worse, in his eyes, than his nan bathing him. I’d seen him wash his hair in the sink to pretend he’d showered right before showing up.

“That kid.” Sam shook his head, but he smiled. “How do you deal with that every day?”

I laughed a little. “It’s just me and him, isn’t it? That’s how. His attitude might suck, but he knows respect.”

“Is that why you let the hooker go? Did she know respect?” Sam raised his eyebrows, but there was teasing in his eyes.

I gave him a flat, hard look. I wasn’t willing to discuss it. The more I thought about her, the more prevalent she became in my mind. I didn’t fucking care about her, yet I couldn’t escape the image of her crying.

Couldn’t escape the questions.

How old was her daughter?

Didn’t she have family to look after her?

What about the kid’s dad?

Why was she whoring herself out?

Who the fuck was Perrie Fox, really?

I knew the Fox family. I knew Benedict and I knew Damien—shit, everyone did. After all, they owned the places the sex workers frequented, but I didn’t know her.

Why? Why was she so different to her family? What set her apart? What was the reason?

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” Sam asked, slamming his coffee cup on the table. “I know that look. It’s the same one you got when we were younger and you thought about—”

“No.” I cut him off before he could say her name. “We’re not going there. One, Zac hates talking about her, and two, I just found a little bit of peace in my life that doesn’t involve her consuming every second of my thoughts after all these years.”

“By saving others like her?”

I got up and yanked open the dishwasher. He meant well, but that didn’t change the fact he was a damn bad listener.

Some things—some people—in life didn’t always need discussion. Dead or alive, I’ve learned that not everyone is worth being talked about.

She was one of those people. She’d been poison for the five years she’d been in my life, and she’d been poison ever since she hadn’t.

The only good thing that had ever come from her was my son.

“You still don’t speak about her, huh?” Sam was quieter this time.

“His choice,” I answered, referring to Zac. “I ask him from time to time, but he doesn’t want to talk.”

Thanks to my sister and her big mouth, he knew more than he needed to about his mother. The things I never wanted him to know, to be precise. Things he never should have known about her.

“Makes sense.” Sam’s chair screeched against the hard floor when he stood. He put his mug in the dishwasher next to mine and pushed the rack in. “I’m going to shower and shit. I’ll see you at the station to brief the guys?”

Nodding, I closed the dishwasher. “Get there early, wouldja? I have a question I want to ask the chief.”

He slid me a questioning gaze. “What?”

“Still figuring it out. Can you get there early or not?”

“Half hour good?”

“Perfect.” The sound of water running to the dishwasher ended the conversation.

“Daaaaaad!” Zac yelled from upstairs. “I need a towel!”

Sam burst out laughing and headed for the front door. “There’s my cue.”

I sighed as he left and went upstairs. A towel was sitting on the end of Zac’s bed, crumpled, but dry and clean, so I grabbed that to give to him.

“Zac?” I knocked on the bathroom door. “I’m throwing it in, all right?” I tried the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s locked,” came his reply.

“Can you unlock it?”

“I’ll get cold.”

“You should have remembered your towel then, huh?”

The shower water cut off, and I heard the tell-tale slap of his bare feet against the tiled floor as he ran from the cubicle to the door and got the lock.

“Uh, Dad?”

My stomach hit the floor like a brick. “What?”

“I can’t unlock the door.”

I banged my head against the door and sighed. “Hold that thought.”

 

***

 

Three hours later after successfully rescuing my forgetful son from the bathroom, I’d replaced the lock, delivered him to my parents, and managed to get myself ready for work. How I’d done it and still got here early was anyone’s guess.

It was a shame there was no time for coffee.

I felt as though that or a shot of whiskey was all that would get me through the conversation I was about to have with the chief.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Sam said, adjusting his shirt sleeve. “Wait—I don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“Listen to me.” I turned and grabbed his arm. “Just smile and nod with whatever I say, all right? I’ve got an idea that can get out of the shit we’re in with this assignment. Chief is at the end of his fucking patience with us.”

“That’s because Smithson decided to fuck the prostitute on the backseat instead of arrest her.”

He had a point. “Still, he’s gonna put an end to our project or move us off it if we don’t get our shit together.”

“Have I ever mentioned to you that you let your mouth go wild when Zac isn’t around?”

“That’s ‘cause I deal with fuckers like you. Let’s go.” I let go of him and turned down the hall to Chief Sandford’s office to the sound of Sam’s laughter.

I wasn’t going to argue with him, because he had a point on that, too. I made every effort to not swear around Zac, but when he wasn’t here, all bets were off.

“Sir?” I knocked on the ajar door of the chief’s office.

“Detective. Come in.” He waited until we’d both entered before looking up at us over the top rims of his thin glasses. “Detectives,” he corrected himself. “How can I help you?”

I nodded for Sam to shut the door and when he did, took a seat in front of the desk. “As you know, we’ve been struggling with our assignment.”

“I have noticed that between ten men, you only seem to be able to pick up one worker a night, if that. Smithson not included,” Chief said dryly.

The reminder of our failings was always nice. “I have an idea that might help us.”

He pulled off his glasses. Dark, calculating eyes flitted between both me and Sam, filling the silence with thick tension. “All right. Go. You have two minutes.”

Fucking hell.

“Last night, when I was in the Haas Hotel, I met a woman who, I believe, was a prostitute.”

His eyes narrowed, but I pushed on.

“We spoke for a while and she was able to positively identify another woman as a sex worker.”

“The lady Samuel booked last night?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam answered.

“Go on.” Chief nodded to me.

Sam’s eyes were hot on me as I continued. “Our struggle is successfully finding and identifying our targets. If we have someone to help us…”

“You want to bring this woman in as an informant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Paid or unpaid?”

“Your decision.”

The chief rubbed his hand across his forehead. “I have some questions, Potter. Number one being why in God’s name you let this woman go suspecting she was a prostitute.”

Sam shifted behind me.

“I couldn’t prove it,” I answered, looking him dead in the eye as I lied. “She excused herself to the bathroom and didn’t come back, which confirmed my suspicions.”

“Why don’t you arrest her now instead of using her as an informant?”

Goddamn, he was making this hard. “Because she was very amicable, and I don’t believe she was there by choice. I think, given the opportunity, she’d help us.”

“So, you’re going to sit around at the damn hotel all night and hope she shows up.”

“No, sir. I have her real name. The bartender carded her before I could purchase her a drink.” The second lie rolled right off my tongue, just as smoothly as the first.

“Name,” he barked, harsh and impatiently.

“Perrie Fox.”

He froze. Sam did, too. I hadn’t told him her name, and this was why. I knew the way they’d react on hearing her name.

Shit, I’d reacted that way, too.

“Perrie Fox.” Chief said it slowly, as if he were rolling her name around on her tongue. “Fox. Hmm. Are you sure this isn’t why she wasn’t arrested?”

I shook my head. “No, sir. Like I said—she went to the restroom and never came back.”

He ran his fingers over his salt-and-pepper colored beard and studied me. “I’m sure she did,” he said with all the dryness of a man who knew I was lying. “What makes you think she’ll help you and your team?”

I swallowed before I answered. “She has a daughter. She’s either an informant, or I’ll arrest her on the spot.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s ruthless. I like it.”

I forced a smile. “What do you think?”

“I think it doesn’t benefit our force at all to arrest a Fox, no matter who they are.” Bitterness tinged his tone. “Convince her to help you, Detective Potter. If you don’t, you’re off the assignment.”

My nod was short and sharp. “Understood. I’ll go and visit her tonight.”

He waved his hand to dismiss us. We both left quickly, closing the door behind us on the way out.

“You know,” Sam said when we got halfway down the hallway, “If he ever gets proof you just lied to him, you’re in so much shit.”

“I know.” I rolled my shoulders and opened the door to my office. “But he already knows. As long as I don’t fuck her on the backseat of a cop car, I don’t think he’s too bothered. She’s too useful for my lies to matter.”

I grabbed my keys and phone from my desk. The sheet of paper with her address was still in my car, so I locked my office door once again and with a raised hand in goodbye to Sam, headed out of the station to my car.

Would Perrie even talk to me? Maybe she’d take one look at me and decide that she wasn’t going to open the door. I was going in the unmarked car because I didn’t think she’d react too well to me showing up in a normal one.

Hell, she wasn’t gonna react well to me showing up at all. I was probably making a stupid mistake, but desperate times and all that shit.

I plugged her address into the built-in GPS and took the turn out of the parking lot it told me to take.

What was I doing? Aside from the obvious, which was something stupid. The last time she’d seen me she’d been in pieces and completely distraught. Now, I was going to show up at her house and ask her to help me.

There was something fucked up about that. What the hell was I even going to say to her?

“Hey, I know I just arrested you last night, but now I need you to help me arrest some of the other people just like you. Good news is, if you do, you won’t be arrested anymore!”

Fucking hell. I hadn’t thought this through—which was ironic, given that I’d done nothing but think about her since I’d watched her walk away from my car.

The neighborhood she lived in was familiar to me by name only. I knew the drugs squad were called here on a regular basis, and the homicide team had been out here once or twice. It begged more questions about this woman and why she was living a different life to the one she’d been given.

She was a goddamn Fox. Worth a shit ton of money. Why was she slumming it one level above homeless in a drug-infested, gang-infiltrated neighborhood?

A few minutes later, I turned onto her street. Trash fluttered down alongside the kerb, and I had to swerve slightly to avoid a beer can in the middle of the street. The houses I passed were run down and shoddy, in need of more than a deadbolt for protection.

Front lawns were either used as miniature dumping grounds or had nothing but old, tatted footballs and empty alcohol bottles in. It was hard to pick out the family houses from the ones used by addicts and gang members.

Hell, maybe they were all one and the same. Except for Perrie’s house.

Just like my shiny, new unmarked car stood out like a sore thumb against the older wrecks and rusted bikes parked on the street and up driveways, her house looked as though it’d been picked up and planted on this street from somewhere better.

It wasn’t perfect, but there were potted plants just outside the door, a stark brightness to the dull white the house was painted. An old slide lay on its side in the corner of the yard, next to a bright pink ball.

I pulled up behind the car in the driveway and killed the engine. Uncertainty tugged inside me—I needed a deep breath before I could drag myself out of the car.

A little face surrounded by wild, blonde curls peered out at me from a downstairs window. No sooner had I made eye contact with her than she disappeared from my view.

Well. There went any chance I had of backing out of this decision.

Straightening my spine, I approached the house and knocked on the light-blue door.

It swung open. Perrie Fox stood in front of me in a loose white tank and tiny red shorts, her hair pulled up into a scruffy ponytail, and her expression could only be described as one thing: thunderous.

She popped a hip and rested her hand on it, a movement that made her tits bounce under the low neckline of her shirt. “Can I help you?”

God fuckin’ damn it, no. I wasn’t here to think about her round tits, her full lips, or her wildly long legs. If I were, she most definitely could help me.

“Can we talk?”

She pursed her lips. “Give me one good reason why.”

I pulled my badge out of my pocket and flashed it at her.

Hard, narrowed eyes joined those pursed lips. “Give me five minutes.”

Then, she slammed the door in my face.

Yeah.

She was pissed.