Free Even Villains Have Interns by Liana Brooks Page A

report, two
calls came from your area reporting the sound of gun shots. First
call was at nine-twenty-seven, the second at nine-thirty-one. The
second caller reported that they saw a gray sedan driving fast down
the street. A traffic camera in your neighborhood picked up a gray
sedan doing seventy at nine-thirty-three. Indiana plates. We ran
it, the car was reported stolen two months ago. No joy there.”
    “I was kidnapped?” That didn’t work. Delilah had
no reason to help him. No reason not to expose him.
    Not unless their flirtation meant more to her
than she was letting on. The drugs were clearing out of his system
fast now that he was awake and focusing. “I hate to ask, but what
was I wearing when I was brought in?”
    “Same thing you wore to the party last night;
black slacks, dress shoes, no shirt. Someone took it off and tried
to bandage you up. The pants were ripped at the hem.”
    His eyebrows went up. “Is that the usual MO for
an attempted murder? Wouldn’t it be easier to let me bleed to
death?”
    The detective shrugged. “The running hypothesis
at the station is that it was a case of mistaken identity. Most of
our violent crimes are related to domestic violence now. The girl
you were with, she’s not married is she?”
    “No, not that I’m aware of. No ring or
anything.” He’d checked the first time they’d met, and every time
since. Delilah wasn’t Chicago’s most eligible bachelorette, but she
was in the top ten and making the boys in town work for her
attention.
    “Can you give me her name so I can check it out,
just in case?” Morrow asked.
    “Um...” There wasn’t a good answer to that. “We
aren’t... We weren’t... This was not...”
    Morrow rolled his eyes. “You’re a politician,
Adale, not a saint. Just spill already.”
    “She doesn’t want to be in the spotlight. We
weren’t going public with the relationship yet. It’s too early. I
don’t want people harassing her.” Close enough to the truth.
Probably closer than the truth would sound. But Morrow didn’t look
like he was buying it. “I’ll call her when I get home and see if
she’ll talk to you.”
    A familiar face poked around the corner.
    Morrow turned and frowned. “Chief Wyte, good to
see you.” The detective glanced over his shoulder at Alan. “Do you
want visitors? He was out in the foyer when I came in this
morning.”
    Alan nodded to the chief of police. “Hello.”
Wyte had been one of Mayor Arámbula’s poker buddies. He was always
around when you didn’t need him, always subtly putting down the
people around him, always ready to schmooze his way into power and
money. “Coming to check on the walking wounded?”
    “I’m just being neighborly.” Wyte patted Morrow
on the shoulder as he walked past. “Great job, Detective. Why don’t
you take a break while I chat to my buddy here?” The snake oil all
but dripped off him.
    Morrow peered over the chief’s shoulder and
waited for a nod from Alan before he left. The detective was good
people.
    “Chief,” Alan said, refocusing his attention. “I
wasn’t expecting you to stop by.”
    “Really?” Wyte put a hand to his chest as if he
were hurt. “Come on, Alan. We’ve been friends for how long and you
didn’t think I’d come out to check on you?”
    “Have we ever spoken without Arámbula around?”
Alan asked.
    Wyte sighed. “You wound me. I know you like put
on the Man of the People act, but come on, Adale. We’re cool,
right?”
    There was a knock on the door and Alan’s side
burned when he sucked in his breath.
    “Delilah Samson.” Wyte moved in like a
heat-seeking missile.
    The steampunk Locke was nowhere to be seen in
the perfection of Chicago style that Delilah wore as her day
costume. Her dark hair was pulled up in an elegant twist and her
flawless skin was framed by a tailored purple suit so dark it was
almost black. He coughed to hide a snarl when Wyte reached for
her.
    “Chief Wyte,” Delilah held out her hand like