Free Savage by Michelle St. James Page A

to the kitchen and put away the food, turning her attention to the conversation with Alexander Petrov. His questions about her father’s death had brought forth the questions that had been lurking in the back of her mind. Her father had been to the local pubs at least a thousand times in his lifetime without incident. Had his death ten days ago really been a random mugging? Or was there a chance the killer had been looking for something?
    But what? Her father was a janitor. He didn’t have anything of value. He rarely even had money in his pockets. And what would a thief want with a passport and hotel key card?
    She put the leftover food in the fridge and leaned against the counter. On the other hand, why had her father so carefully hidden the two things in his coat? Why not keep them in his wallet? Or better yet, at home?
    The more she thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. Maybe he’d been having an affair, taking trips to meet a lover. It was difficult to imagine, but she wouldn’t have blamed him given the circumstances. Still, she couldn’t be sure.
    And for some reason, she wanted to be sure.
    She thought about Farrell. He was a man of resources, and if Kate was correct, a man of some influence now. He would likely be able to help her trace the key card using the stamps on her father’s passport.
    She shook her head, disgusted with herself. Call it what it is if you want to see him, she thought. At least be honest with yourself.
    It was true. She did want to see him, although she knew nothing good would come of it. He was like a magnet, drawing her body in through some kind of gravitational force. Once she was in his orbit, it was nearly impossible to stay away, proving that she’d been right to do so all these years.
    But she did want to know about her father’s final days and weeks. Wanted to know what he’d been thinking. Why he’d been taking trips, carrying around a hotel key card.
    And Farrell Black was the only person who could help her.

11
    F arrell surveyed the man standing across from him, sensing his fear. They were at the club, Farrell in his chair behind his desk while Leo stood next to Bobby Powers. Farrell knew Bobby expected him to stand. It’s what most people did during a power play. An effort to level the playing field, to eliminate the advantage someone might have by standing over you.
    But that was bullshit. Farrell didn’t believe in power plays. You either had power or you didn’t. You were either in control or you weren’t. You could either back up your words with action or you couldn’t.
    And Farrell did.
    Farrell was.
    Farrell could.
    It didn’t matter whether he was sitting, standing, or laying down. He could end Bobby Powers with one well-placed blow, and Bobby knew it. The idea was tempting. He’d been on edge since he’d seen Jenna, all his feelings for her wound like a snake waiting to strike in the pit of his stomach.
    And Bobby had betrayed his trust. A bookie who was responsible for one of London’s most lucrative territories, he’d been stealing money from Farrell for weeks. Farrell didn’t like it when people stole from him, but what he hated most of all was when people underestimated him. When they assumed they could steal from him without consequence. Then he felt obliged to show them the error of their ways.
    “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” Farrell finally said. “Skimming money off the top, under-reporting on the bets you control, lying about it all… Those aren’t forgivable offenses in my world.”
    “I know,” Bobby said. He managed to keep his voice even, but Farrell saw the twitch of his shoulders, recognized the uncontrollable shaking that accompanies extreme fear. Bobby Powers was shitting his pants. “I’m sorry. I just… with the ex-wife and the support… I let it get away from me.”
    “Do you think I’m interested in your personal problems?” Farrell asked him.
    “N-No. You’re right. It’s not your