Anger locked his jaw hard enough that his words barely slipped out. “No, Mr. Vaughn. I do not.”
“There hasn’t been so much as a mouse fart about this operation anywhere online,” Vaughn said carefully, which was smart on his part. Drawing attention to the fact that they’d unknowingly hosted a fucking police detective last night wouldn’t win him any favors with Julian’s foul temper right now. “I can assure you, Mr. DuPree, the cops know nothing.”
“While your vernacular is quite charming, your statement seems a bit inaccurate,” Julian shot back. “Detective Moreno was here, after all, so she knows something. The questions that remain are how and how much.”
A bitter taste filled Julian’s mouth. Oh, but he detested the police. A useless lot, far too easily fooled, blackmailed, or bought off with the promise of having their cocks sucked. They were just as weak as the rest of the men who frequented his parties, either ignorant or swayed by overindulgence and depravity.
But not Isabella. No. She, it seemed, was searching for justice, and that simply wouldn’t do. He needed to teach her a lesson about what happened to those insolent enough to challenge his power. The question was, how to hurt her best.
A thought turned over in Julian’s mind, and he focused his attention on the second sheet of paper Vaughn had brought him. “Mr. Walker is a curious companion for our Detective Moreno, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I’m not really sure how fire boy plays into things,” Vaughn agreed, shifting his weight from one beat-up sneaker to the other over the edge of the cream and blue Aubusson. “It’s definitely not standard operating procedure for the RPD to let a civilian tag along on any kind of undercover operation, even if the dude was kind of a badass in the Army. His record’s cleaner than most surgical instruments, so chances are he’s not an informant or here for the party, either.”
Julian thought of Walker’s brutish flashes of overprotective temper as well as the way he’d taken Isabella’s mouth so savagely in the alcove outside the penthouse doors, and no, the man wasn’t in this out of forced obligation or for the thrill like Julian’s other guests. But why would Detective Moreno bring such unconventional protection when surely, she had a partner in the intelligence unit?
It was just one of the many questions that needed answers, and Julian was not a patient man. “Run everything you can on both of them, and don’t sleep, eat, or so much as pause to use the bathroom until I get a full report.”
“You’re the boss,” Vaughn said. “Anything else?”
Julian took a moment to think. The information he’d tasked Vaughn with finding would dictate how best to eliminate Detective Moreno and Mr. Walker, but in the meantime, he could still give that bitch and her guard dog the dressing-down they deserved for daring to think they could expose him, not to mention dole out some well-earned punishments.
A plan unfolded in Julian’s brain, dark and twisted and absolutely perfect. Yes. Yes. This would do nicely.
He checked the Patek Philippe on his wrist before sending his gaze across his desk. “Do we still have access to the holding facility on Oakmont?”
“The flophouse by the pier in North Point?” Vaughn straightened at the censure Julian had channeled into his stare. Really, was the terminology so difficult to remember? “Uh, yeah,” Vaughn said. “That…facility is still vacant.”
“Excellent. Have Franco escort Angel there immediately. Oh, and instruct Charles to find Mr. Marcus and bring him as well. We’ll also need some pharmaceutical supplies to use as an accelerant for a fire.”
Shame, really. Now he’d have to replace one of his whores and find a new source for his heroin. But there was no sense in dirtying his hands on two separate occasions, and perhaps Angel would be encouraged to speak freely if she saw firsthand what happened to anyone who double-crossed him.
No matter if she wasn’t. Julian had a cure for insubordination, and he intended to use it until that dirty, drug-ravaged whore begged for mercy either way.
Vaughn’s brows popped in obvious surprise. “You want to set the place on fire? Don’t you think the cops will get suspicious when the RFD calls in the bodies?”
“The police are imbeciles who won’t see anything more than a drug dealer and a prostitute who were stupid enough to cook methamphetamines without proper ventilation,” Julian said. “The deaths will be ruled a sad accident, and will barely be a blip on the news outlets in three days’ time.”