The War King by Jeana E. Mann

Author:Jeana E. Mann [Mann, Jeana E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-943938-38-4
Publisher: Jeana E. Mann

Chapter 16

Rourke

Fifteen minutes later, I sat on the edge of a chair in Roman’s hotel study. The space between my legs throbbed to the point of distraction. Earlier, Roman had banged me against the shower wall with so much force and fervor that I’d thought the tile might crack. Now he sat behind his hotel desk, staring at his laptop, cool and reserved in a white polo shirt and dark jeans.

“Hey, boss.” Spitz knocked on the open door and entered the room. His gaze hit mine and flicked away. “Good evening, Mrs. Menshikov. I apologize for the inconvenience.” Although his words were polite, his lack of eye contact and flat tone suggested otherwise.

I lifted my chin and glanced at Roman. He drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at me. “If you need privacy, I can go to the kitchen. I’m starving.” Knowing Roman, his hotel room had been fully stocked with groceries and snacks.

“You’re staying.” Roman’s voice held a note of warning.

“He doesn’t want me here.”

“It’s not his decision.” Challenge flashed in Roman’s gaze. “It’s yours and mine.” His show of faith bolstered my confidence. He was handing me the opportunity to stand up for my rights as his wife.

I nodded. “I’ll stay.”

Spitz opened his mouth to speak, but Roman cut him off. “Unless you’re about to agree with me, this subject is closed.”

“Whatever you want is good with me.” Spitz lifted both palms into the air and claimed the chair to my right. His weary sigh contradicted his agreement. “Time is wasting and I’m eager to get to work.” Judging from the redness of his eyes and the scruff on his jaw, he hadn’t slept much over the past few days.

“You look like shit,” Roman said, iterating my thoughts. He put his computer to sleep and swiveled the chair to face us.

“Shit would be an improvement,” Spitz mused. “How about you? How’s that gunshot wound healing?”

“Fine.” In response, he touched his side. “What have you got for us?”

“Photos from a surveillance camera at the back entrance of Ms. Cunningham’s apartment.” As he spoke, he pulled a large envelope from his briefcase. He spread a series of grainy black-and-white photos on the desk. I leaned forward for a better view. He tapped the center photo. “There’s your problem.”

Roman groaned and shifted back in his chair, spreading his knees wide and swiping both palms over his face. “Are you fucking kidding me with this?”

“What? Who is it?” I squinted and grabbed the nearest picture. My guts twisted.

“When was this taken?” Roman asked.

“The day she died,” Spitz said, watching my expression carefully.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, hoping to hold back the rise of bile. There was no mistaking the face of the man standing next to a white limousine. Mr. McElroy had his hand Lavender Cunningham’s back, his touch unmistakably intimate, as they prepared to enter the car. As if this revelation wasn’t devastating enough, the third person in the photo was Everly.

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