Page 85 of Ice Devil

Right there in black and white.

Walter Braddock, part owner of the Las Vegas Cruisers, which just happened to be the team the Hellions had been playing right before my world and Beck’s had been turned upside down.

The email was brief, a follow-up on an obvious previous conversation, but enough meat I could tell Matt’s soul had returned to the auction block.

We need to end the shifters’ reign. Either you can be a part of their downfall, thereby ensuring your success, or not. It’s entirely up to you. If you do your job, you’ll be rewarded.

Motherfucking asshole.

I didn’t need to read anything else lest I take a baseball bat to everything in Matt’s office for an appetizer, then dig his eyes out with a dull spoon for kicks before the main course arrived.

At least the man had been true to form, allowing his love of convenience to work to my benefit. With expediency came the understanding that everything could be easily traced, hacked, or altered.

That was something I would keep in the back of my mind, but which Matt had yet to embrace.

Poor fool.

That made the pain of betrayal easier to stomach. Sadly, what I’d discovered wouldn’t be enough to buy two minutes of Beck’s time. He’d never forgive me. Never.

I hit print and started searching for any corroborating information. Finding none, I was disappointed as hell and uncertain what I’d do with what I’d found. With no real smoking gun, well, it would be my word against Matt’s.

But what I’d found was a start.

Time to get the hell out of the office.

I’d need to play the situation carefully, refusing to act on my natural serial killer instincts. Which was what had been floating through my mind. I could easily cross the line, jumping into highly morally gray territory. What would a little bloodshed be among friends, colleagues, and lovers?

A snort was the answer.

I’d find a way. I was sly and cunning first and foremost.

I put everything back exactly the way it was, locking the door and making it to my desk before I heard a sound. Expecting to see the janitor, I grabbed my bag, shoving my laptop inside.

My skin began to crawl, which was the only way I knew the person roaming the shadowed office wasn’t interested in cleaning up after themselves. Cleanliness had never been Matt’s strong suit.

“Why look, the office gopher is still here.” I’d need to watch my mouth if I wanted to stay employed, but I also needed to maintain my bitchy side. Anything less and he’d suspect I was onto him.

Wow. Listen to Nancy Drew in action. Maybe I’d need to go back and re-read my favorite detective stories from when I was seven or eight.

He was suddenly hovering like the vulture he’d grown into, his massive form highlighted by the window near my desk. If he wanted to remain where he was, playing Lurch, then so be it.

“I’m very sorry about what happened. I was hoping to be here when you got back.”

“Of course. I’m certain you needed to go drink cognac with your buddies, gloating over destroying a career.”

“I didn’t destroy anyone’s career, Sloane. Beck did that to himself.”

I tossed in the last of my things, spinning around to face him. “Let me ask you a question. Did you have any idea Jesse and Kyle, the great pretenders, were going to use me to lure Beck in?”

“I already told you they thought the fit would allow Beck to feel more comfortable.”

“Comfortable? Are you kidding me? He was blindsided. So was I. Those bastards were paid to break him down, tossing out accusations that are ridiculous.”

“Weren’t those your questions?”

Was he kidding me? I was rarely speechless and maybe for Matt’s continued safety, it was a good thing I was flustered. “You son of a bitch. You helped set both Beck and me up.”

At least he had the good sense to allow his eyes to bulge out of his head, but I knew the little attribute. He’d pulled that a half dozen times around me when he’d been lying. “What are you insinuating? You had the questions in front of you.”