Page 18 of A Match Made in Coven (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Eighteen

Backrooms, Backups, and Betrayals

SARAH MICHELLE

Sarah Michelle sighed heavily as she stared at her phone, the morning light filtering into the kitchen. Andromeda sat across from her, sipping coffee and raising an eyebrow questioningly. She pretended not to see.

With a few taps, Sarah Michelle composed a terse text to Lorcan.

It’s not safe to bring a civilian to interrogate a notorious criminal. I’m going alone

She hit send. It was for his own protection, not because of the disapproving looks and harsh words from her family at last night’s dinner.

Her phone buzzed with Lorcan’s reply.

Did you get as big a headache as I did from a family scolding after we were spotted together?

A reluctant smile parted her lips. Why did he also have to be funny?

You too?

She typed back.

Yep

It didn’t matter that he was being nice. As they texted back and forth, Sarah Michelle reiterated it was too risky for him to join her. He was a civilian, untrained. Something could go wrong.

Lorcan insisted she couldn’t go alone without backup. Period.

Is it because I’m a woman?

Sarah Michelle demanded, her temper flaring.

No, it’s because going solo is reckless for anyone

Lorcan shot back.

Her thumbs flew angrily over the keyboard of her screen.

It’s just a bunch of harmless humans. I can handle myself

If they’re so harmless, why can’t I come?

Sarah Michelle jabbed at her screen in frustration.

Because you’re not a cop, and if the situation goes sideways, you’d only be a liability

I’m a trained agent, I can take care of myself

I’m still not letting you go alone

Promise you’ll bring backup, or I’m coming

“Oh, for hex’s sake,” Sarah Michelle muttered under her breath.

Fine, I promise

She lied, planning to go by herself, regardless.

Tossing her phone down, she pushed back from the table.

Andromeda smirked over the rim of her mug. “Soooo, who ya texting, Shelly?” her roommate asked with faux-innocence.

“Oh, hex off,” Sarah Michelle grumbled, deliberately ignoring the question as she stalked out of the kitchen to get ready.

***

As Sarah Michelle pulled into the pothole-riddled parking lot of The Backroom, her gaze landed on the last person she expected or wanted to see. Lorcan Black, leaning against his sleek, expensive car, looking infuriatingly handsome and totally out of place in the seedy surroundings.

The midday sun caught his golden hair just right, making him even more attractive than usual, much to Sarah Michelle’s annoyance.

His fancy clothes and nonchalant demeanor clashed with the rundown bar with its flickering lights, graffiti-covered walls, and the thick stench of garbage and stale beer permeating the air.

Rough-looking patrons loitered near the doorway, casting suspicious glances at the newcomers as Sarah Michelle parked her sedan. Before exiting, she squeezed the wheel tight and braced herself for the inevitable confrontation with Lorcan.

He moved just as she got out of the car, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he sauntered over to her, hands casually tucked in his pockets. “Detective Callidora. Did your backup team get lost on the way?”

Sarah Michelle narrowed her eyes, her irritation spiking. “What are you doing here?”

Lorcan shrugged, his smirk never wavering. “Call it a hunch that you might not follow through on our agreement.”

“I don’t need backup,” Sarah Michelle argued, her pride bristling at his insinuation. “I’m trained to handle situations like this one.”

“Well, if you can go back on your word, so can I. I’m tagging along, whether you like it or not.”

Too bad she couldn’t glue his feet to the concrete so he couldn’t follow her.

Or even better, turn him into a garden gnome and leave him to decorate someone’s front yard.

But their argument was drawing unwanted attention.

Causing a scene was the last thing they needed right now—and anyway, if she left him out here on his own, someone would murder him just to steal his watch—so she reluctantly conceded.

Grabbing Lorcan’s elbow, she hissed, “Fine, but you let me do the talking. Got it?”

Lorcan grinned, gesturing toward the bar with a mock bow. “After you, detective.”

They neared the squat, ugly structure with its peeling paint. The heavy metal door was the only thing in good repair. Was it reinforced to keep out the uninvited? Or trap people in if needed? Were they about to step into a world of trouble?

But the door wasn’t locked when she tried it, so they pushed through.

A wave of smoke and noise assaulted them.

The smell of alcohol and sweat was overpowering.

The bar’s interior was as dark and drab as its exterior had suggested, dimly lit with a lengthy, sticky counter running along one wall.

Patrons were hunched over their drinks or playing pool in the corner.

Sarah Michelle’s trained eye noted at least five individuals armed with guns, but she had no way to alert Lorcan to the danger. They’d better ask their questions and get the hex out of there.

Despite his presence being a source of worry, she was glad he was here, which only made her resent him.

Together, they approached the bartender, a burly man with an array of tattoos and a scowl etched into his weathered face.

Flashing her badge, Sarah Michelle introduced herself. “Detective Callidora, Salem PD. I have a few questions for you.”

The bartender barely glanced up from his task, his expression unchanging. Sarah Michelle pressed on, undeterred by his lack of response. “I’m looking for a man named Silas. He’s the owner of this establishment.”

“Don’t know anyone by that name,” the bartender grunted.

Sarah Michelle glanced around the dingy room, taking in the hostile glares and murky atmosphere. The bartender thought he was a tough guy? Well, she was tougher.

Just as she was about to press further, two men emerged from a backroom. One of them, a greasy, middle-aged man with a large belly, was addressed as Silas by his companion.

“Mr. Silas.” Sarah Michelle turned her badge toward him, noting the usual confused expression that crossed his face—a typical reaction from humans when confronted with an enchanted badge. “We’d like a word, if you don’t mind.”

Silas’s eyes narrowed as he took in Sarah Michelle and Lorcan.

But he was quick to hide the displeasure as his lips curled into a sneer that he must’ve meant as welcoming.

“Why, I’m always available to aid our fine police force,” Silas said with exaggerated politeness, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“Why don’t we step into my office for a chat? ”

Sarah Michelle hesitated, every instinct screaming that following this man into a private room was a terrible idea—especially after noticing the not-so-subtle nod he’d given to one of his goons. But she couldn’t back down now. They needed answers.

Sarah Michelle exchanged a similar glance with Lorcan, who had remained true to his word and stayed silent throughout the exchange, hoping he’d understand that they had to stay alert.

He nodded as if he was on the same page with no need for words, and they followed the loan shark to the rear of the bar.

The “office” turned out to be little more than a glorified closet.

Though cleaner than the main bar, it was still unpleasant.

A desk crammed in the back was piled high with disorganized papers.

A faint smell of old smoke permeated the room, and the dim light from a single overhead bulb cast long, ominous shadows, making the entire place feel like a trap waiting to be sprung.

Silas settled into a chair that creaked under his weight, his eyes cold and calculating as he studied Sarah Michelle and Lorcan sitting opposite him.

“So, how can I help you?”

“I’ll cut to the chase.” Sarah Michelle took the lead, bluffing, “We’re aware you run the illegal gambling around town and also act as a loan shark.

But we’re not interested in investigating those activities.

We’re looking into Elijah Preston’s murder.

Answer my questions, and I won’t set vice on you. ”

The man nodded, never losing his sleazy smile, gaze darting to the closed door behind them.

“Was Elijah Preston a patron of your illegal casinos?”

Another nod.

“Did he owe you money?”

“Yes,” Silas oozed. Even his voice was oily.

“And now he’s dead.”

“Ah.” Silas leaned back, his unctuous smirk widening. “It’d be counterproductive to kill my debtors, detective. Dead men don’t pay their dues.”

Sarah Michelle didn’t back down. “Perhaps a beating went wrong?”

Silas examined his nails, his demeanor one of amused boredom. “I’m a professional. I know the difference between busting a kneecap or two and stabbing someone in the back of the head with antiques.”

The specific detail about Elijah’s death left Sarah Michelle stunned. How did he know? Silas laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “Part of my job is keeping tabs on my insolvents, including knowing when one of them ends up dead and how.”

Sarah Michelle’s pulse kicked up a notch.

Silas’s network of informants had to run deeper than any human thug had a right to if he could get info on a case run by Salem MPD—she’d understand if it were merely a human case, but they had enchantments to protect their files.

The news of Elijah’s murder was public, but not the specifics.

Wait, was Silas aware witches existed? Was he one?

She couldn’t detect any hum of magic coming from him, but something felt off.

Lorcan stiffened beside her as if he were having the same suspicions.

Silas knew more than he was saying, and he wasn’t afraid. Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that they were dancing around an untold truth, and Silas was leading the waltz.

He might have been honest—at least about not killing Elijah. But she wouldn’t take anything someone like him said at face value.

“Then you won’t mind if we take a look and ask around.”

Silas’s laughter was a sharp bark. He leaned forward, his greasy features illuminated by the dim light, making him look even more menacing. “I might mind. You see, detective, my operation requires a certain level of… discretion . And right now, your presence is bad for business.”

Then he moved surprisingly quickly for a man so large, reaching for something under his desk—a gun or some other kind of weapon.

Sarah Michelle instinctively pulled out the stunner gun at her belt.

Her fingers curled around the grip as she pointed the weapon at Silas.

Heart pounding, she didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.