Page 21 of Omega's Fever
The file included six months of statements. The police’s view was that the Mercer money was channeled into another account of Kellen’s and the payment had gone into this account as a mistake, but it didn’t feel right to me.
Kellen’s incomings and outgoings were small. There were small cash deposits — his fighting winnings — and then payments for occasional other work. Sometimes he worked security at other nightclubs, at others he claimed he did manual labour for a construction company downtown and his pay slips appeared to support this. None of his previous attorneys thought it was odd that a crime boss spent his spare time doing shift work for minimum wage.
Kellen paid for clothes at a well known chain of thrift stores and his main grocery receipts were for a Chinese supermarket around the corner of his main address. He wasn’t living like aman who was raking in millions while supervising a complicated trafficking ring.
Why hadn’t his previous attorneys done anything with this? Any half way decent lawyer could pull it apart in minutes.
“You look like shit,” Kao observes from across our shared office. He’s been watching me for the last hour, pretending to work. “Seriously, Milo. You’re green.”
“I’m fine.”
I focus on the paper in front of me, on the witness statement from someone who claimed to see Kellen physically abusing one of the women in the club. Except looking back at the basic information on the witness statement, the witness wasn’t employed by The Pit until six months after the so-called incident occurred.
But I’m can’t challenge the statement in court. This is the witness who was killed in an ‘unrelated’ shooting. The whole thing stinks.
The words blur slightly before snapping back into focus.
I’m aware of Kao watching me. “I’m fine,” I say again.
“Sure you are.” He rolls his chair closer, the wheels squeaking against the floor.
“It’s a complicated case.”
“Right.” Kao picks up one of the witness statements from my desk. “So this has nothing to do with what happened at the courthouse? With your... what did you call it? Scent reaction?”
Scent reaction doesn’t cover the feeling of Kellen’s lips on mine, of his cock inside me. I swallow hard against another wave of nausea. The suppressants make me feel like hell warmed over, but I don’t have a choice.
“There’s more to it.” The admission comes out barely above a whisper.
Kao’s eyes widen. “More how? Like ‘lingering looks across the courtroom’ more? Or...”
“Or.” I can’t look at him. Can’t say the words out loud. But Kao’s always been too perceptive for his own good.
“Holy shit.” His voice drops to a whisper. “You actually... in the courthouse?”
Heat floods my face.
“Ohhhhh,” Kao’s voice drops to a whisper. “You actually fucked him. That’s why you went home to shower.”
“I didn’t...” But I can’t finish the lie. Not when my body still aches deliciously in places that remind me exactly what happened in that interview room. Thank god for the suppressants. My only choices right now are overwhelming horniness or horrendous nausea. At least the nausea won’t come with a side order of career suicide.
“In the courthouse?” Kao leans closer, voice pitched low even though our office door is closed. “Milo, that’s...”
“Completely fucking stupid?” I slam the file closed. “Yeah, I’m aware.”
“I was going to say hot, but that works too.” He scoots up closer to me, then wrinkles his noise. “What are you on?” Kao abandons pretense entirely, rolling his chair close enough that I can smell the lingering traces of his instant coffee. “You smell like a chemical factory.”
“Military grade suppressants.” I open the file again even if the words are blurring together into meaningless black marks on white. “Started yesterday.”
“Shit, Milo.” His face shifts into that particular expression he gets when he’s genuinely worried. “Those things are serious.”
“It’s temporary.” I don’t meet his eyes. “Anne told me to go on them. Just until the trial is over. “
“And how long is that going to be?” Kao shakes his head, and there’s something almost pitying in his expression that makes me want to throw something again. “This isn’t like college where you can slug energy drinks to make it through the finals.”
“I can control it.” The words come out sharper than intended.
“Right. Because you controlled it so well at the courthouse.” He softens the words with a gentle smile. He’s on my side even when he thinks I’m being an idiot. “Look, I get it. This isn’t exactly conducive to our five-year plan.”