Page 41 of Captive Audience

“It’ll only take a moment. I just need some information.”

“Asha, I really can’t?—”

“You owe me.” Boy, did this motherfucker owe me. “We both know your career only took off when I handed you the biggest story of your life on a silver platter. I let you slap your name on my research because I felt sorry for you. So don’t act like you’re too good to talk to me now.”

Gleeson exhaled loudly. “What do you need?”

Yes!“What can you tell me about the Beasts of Belfast that I won’t find on Google?”

Silence. “Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“They’re dangerous, Asha. You shouldn’t poke around in their business.”

“I know that, but this is important.”

“You don’t understand. I’m trying to protect you.”

“I can look out for myself. Does the name Rook O’Connell mean anything to you?”

He took so long to answer that I had to check the screen to make sure we were still connected.

“I…I can’t help with that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

More silence. Something didn’t sit right. Andrew’s reluctance went beyond any instruction byThe Inquirernot to associate with me, somewhere far darker. “One last question. How long have the Beasts been paying you off?”

The son of a bitch hung up on me.

I growled into my phone before slamming it face down on the sofa.

A golden glint caught my eye. I stared at the wedding ring, at my knuckle red from trying to yank it off in the Uber. All my efforts had only caused my finger to swell, making it even more difficult to remove.

I went to the sink, squirted dish soap on the band, and tried working it off. It still didn’t budge. At this point, it might be worth losing a finger to be rid of the damn thing.

There was a knock at the door. Probably a neighbor since the street-level buzzer hadn’t gone off. I looked through the peephole and reared back.

Two uniformed cops. A small Asian woman and a tall Black man.

Another knock, followed by a woman’s voice. “Ms. Sparks, this is the police. Open the door.”

I did as she asked, trying not to jump to rash conclusions. “Can I help you?”

The woman held a folded piece of paper in her hand. “Ms. Sparks, we have a warrant to search your premises.”

I took the warrant, my fingers clumsy, and choked out a laugh. “This is a joke, right?”

“Afraid not. Please stand in the middle of the room with Officer Briggs while I conduct the search.”

“A search for what?”

She didn’t answer. All I could do was watch her walk into my bedroom while the big cop stood beside me with thumbs hooked through his belt. His presence wasn’t aggressive, but having such a large uniformed officer in my tiny apartment made it feel like the walls were closing in.

I had a bad feeling about this, and my gut was rarely wrong. Except for the last twenty-four hours.

Sweat coated my palms. A dispatcher came through Briggs’s radio. Drawers opened and closed in my bedroom. I tried reading the warrant, but the frantic pounding in my skull made it almost impossible. I managed to catch a couple of details: the wordsstolen propertyand a photo of a man’s gold watch.