Chapter Four:
Emma cinched the belt of her trench coat tighter around her middle as she was waved in through the back door of The Brig. The bustier she wore beneath, which was clearly meant for someone a little less endowed, was damn near suffocating and bit into her flesh. While getting ready, Emma had imagined all the ways she could pay Liam Jones back for this humiliation while preparing herself for the bawdy comments the younger Jones was sure to throw her way once he got a look at her in this get up. To say nothing of the lecherous looks she was sure to endure from the players who would probably spend as much time studying her tits as their cards.
Waiting in one of the backrooms, as instructed, Emma breathed in a fortifying breath then released it in a controlled manner to help calm her nerves and temper. Degrading as it was to spend the evening as nothing more than eye candy, it really wasn't any different than a honey trap. While the men were all distracted by her body, Emma could use the time to observe certain members of the Jones Family enterprise while also collecting information from those who wished to gain greater access to the men in charge.
Lively yet hushed voices preceded the entrance of two women, both dressed in an outfit identical to the one Emma wore. One was blonde and slight of frame, probably around Emma's age, while the other looked younger, barely twenty-one if Emma had to guess, with unruly waves of auburn hair. Their conversation stopped when they took notice of her, but their smiles and enthusiastic demeanor remained.
"You must be Cuffs!" the blonde stated, stepping forward and offering her hand. "I'm Tink and this is Wendy."
"Cuffs?" Emma replied with a perplexed tone, until she remembered Will's remarks the other day about giving her an alias. Rolling her eyes, Emma took the woman's hand and corrected, "It's Emma, actually. Call me Emma."
"Nice to meet you, Emma. Thanks so much for stepping in and helping out tonight."
"Didn't really have much of a choice, but you're welcome."
Her muttered utterance made both women's brows pinch, as though taken aback by the prospect she wouldn't be thrilled at the opportunity to parade around a room full of mob men dressed like a Playboy bunny. Before either women could respond, another figure joined their little trio.
"You're all here then? Good," Felix said, eyeing each of them with a bored expression. "I'll take you downstairs to the supply room."
Emma cast a wary look to the other women. "Supply room?"
"It's where they keep the poker chips, cards, that sort of stuff," Wendy told her as they followed Felix down the stairs that led to the basement and down a dark and narrow hallway towards a room with a solid metal door and keypad.
Positioning himself so none of them could see, Felix entered the required number sequence. A soft beep sounded and a deep thud released in the lock, allowing him to open the door and usher them inside.
"You know the drill," he said to Tink and Wendy. "Make sure she gets what she needs. I'll be right outside."
Leaving the door open, Felix situated himself as a sentinel just beyond the doorway. Emma was about to follow the girls across the room when a series of punches, stifled cries, and a deep, angry, muffled voice drew her attention to a closed door at the far end of the room. It was clear, given the sounds escaping, that someone was being thoroughly worked over, but the lack of concern or interest from the other women told Emma this was not an uncommon occurrence.
Stepping up beside Tink, Emma turned her attention to the task at hand and tried to tune out the beating happening in the next room while the pixie-esque blonde instructed her in what all she'd need for the evening. A few moments later, things grew quiet and Emma couldn't help but glance over when the door finally opened.
Emerging in dark grey slacks, rolled up sleeves, and a double shoulder holster was none other than Killian. Wiping his hands haphazardly with a handkerchief, he pocketed it so he could reach up and begin unbuttoning his shirt, the front of which was spattered with blood. His red stained hands stilled, as did his steps, when he caught sight of the trio of women, and something Emma couldn't quite name flashed in his eyes when they landed on her.
"Ladies," Jones said gruffly before passing them, exiting the room and disappearing into the dark hallway.
A tense silence permeated the room, heavier than the one that had lingered over them when they'd first entered, and it was another long beat before the women resumed their task.
"Woah," Tink murmured low, whispering conspiratorially under her breath, lest Felix - still stationed outside the door - overheard. "Someone must have royally fucked up."
"Right?" Wendy replied. "I can't remember the last time the Captain got his hands dirty like that. He usually doesn't bother unless it's personal."
"Oh!" Tink exclaimed in a hushed tone. "I wonder if someone finally caught Walsh?"
"Oooo, maybe."
"Walsh?" Emma inquired, drawing the girl's attention back to her as they all continued to gather their supplies. She'd been curious as to what the man had done to cross the Jones family, but with all that had happened after his execution, she hadn't had the opportunity to broach the topic with Killian. Especially with how strained things had become between them.
Hoping this might be her chance to learn a bit more, Emma innocently inquired, "Who's Walsh?"
"He used to work for the family," Wendy told her, "Part of the bootlegging operation, I think."
"Yeah," Tink affirmed. "He worked at the distillery, but was caught cooking up a little something extra on the side, and selling it out of one of the distribution centers. Elixir of the Wounded Heart, he called it."
"And what? Jones was pissed about not getting a piece of the action?" Emma asked.
The two women shared a brief but heavy look before Wendy stated. "No. He was pissed when he found out it was a date rape drug."
An old bit of intel Graham had shared with her more than a year ago, when he warned her about a new drug making the rounds and wanted her to be extra vigilant during her honey traps, came to the forefront of her mind. "EWH?"
"You've heard of it?"
"Yeah, I, uh… a friend of mine told me about it awhile back, but I thought it wasn't around any more."
"It's not," Wendy said. "Or, well… it isn't supposed to be. After the Captain found out, someone warned Walsh and told him to leave town before the family could… you know. Though, the Captain did make it clear if they ever caught Walsh, or his drugs, back in Storybrooke, they'd kill him." Leaning in, Wendy lowered her voice further and added, "I heard, someone tipped the Captain off a few weeks ago that Walsh was back in town after there was an assault reported and EWH was found in the poor girl's system. The Jones family put a bounty out on Walsh, and the Captain is looking for him personally."
"Heard where?" Emma asked, keeping her tone light so the women would think she was simply asking out of a natural curiosity born from their gossip session.
"One of the guys," she said, waving off the question as though it weren't an important detail.
Before Emma could press her for any further information, Felix returned, barking at them to hurry up and report upstairs. The three women finished their tasks in relative silence, then followed their overseer to the top floor of the building.
It wasn't exactly a secret that the Jones Family held a weekly, high stakes poker game at the pub, but access was so limited Emma had never been able to gain entry. Not that she had the funds to buy in on the really big nights. Those nights could cost players upwards of fifty to a hundred grand. However, there were many nights where the family catered to those who were a little less flush with such cash, allowing them a chance to network and size up the competition whom they gambled with every day in their usual course of business as criminals.
When Emma arrived at the poker room with Tink and Wendy, there were only a handful of other people present. Two doormen, one watching the back door that led to the fire escape, while the other was positioned at the top of the stairs, a bartender and waitress, who was dressed similarly in her own bustier and heels, and Felix, of course, who kept a keen eye on the dealers as they organized their tables.
"We'll be opening the doors in fifteen minutes," Felix announced, after the tables were all set and ready to go. "You can take this time to freshen up, grab a smoke, whatever. Just be back at your table in time to greet the players."
Before stalking off, he flicked his unfriendly gaze at Emma and shook his head in disapproval. It had not escaped her attention that the man did not seem to approve of her being there, or anywhere connected with the Jones' business, but she couldn't quite work out why. Was it the bounty hunter thing? She knew her line of work didn't exactly make her popular within the seedier sect. If Emma had to guess, there would probably be a number of people in attendance tonight who'd had a deal go south because of her, catching and hauling in a member of their crew or a key asset they were depending on for their own payday. Bounty hunters straddled a line within the gray areas of law and justice, loyal only to the bounties they sought and not at all unwilling to get their hands dirty in the process. Was that the reason Felix, and a few others, had been less than welcoming towards her? Did they question her loyalty to the family, or… was there another reason her presence set him on edge?
After visiting the ladies room, Tink and Wendy ordered themselves a glass of wine (the only drink they'd be permitted that evening), then took their glasses out onto the fire escape for a quick cigarette. Perched on one of the bar stools, Emma sipped from her own glass while her thoughts returned to the moment downstairs when Killian had emerged from the backroom, flecked with blood.
If Tink and Wendy were to be believed, Killian's involvement in the punishment being doled out in the bowels of The Brig was personal. Who could have provoked such a reaction? Did it have anything to do with the rat problem she was currently investigating? Was Killian, even now, back in that room dispensing his own brand of justice with his fists? Did he prefer for his strikes to be bare knuckled or did he use brass ones? Was it only punches that had caused the front of his shirt and the edges of his rolled sleeves to be saturated with his victim's blood? Was there a place within the basement he used to clean himself up afterward, ensuring no remnant remained on his skin? Skin that had glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration, collecting in the hollow of his throat and along the tops of his collarbones, visible as he began to unbutton his shirt, revealing more of the dark chest hair he liked to show off.
Emma violently shook herself and took a deep, calming breath in an effort to slow her now racing heart. Downing the remainder of her wine, she closed her eyes and willed away the ache throbbing between her legs, mortified with herself that the sight of Killian Jones, splattered in someone else's blood with that ever present aura of danger surrounding him had worked her up into such a state. Intending to splash some cold water onto her face, Emma stood and made her way towards the ladies room, only to run straight into the man who currently had her blood sizzling in her veins.
"Sorry," Emma muttered, looking anywhere but in the man's eyes, allowing her to take in the fact he had indeed washed up and changed his suit. An observation that had her cheeks heating up as though she were a teenager with her first crush. Straightening her spine, Emma flicked her gaze up to his. She was a grown ass woman and could damn well act like one.
Unfortunately, she had momentarily forgotten she was currently dressed like a grown ass stripper. Fortunately, Killian's slow perusal of her form gave her the necessary time to pull herself together. Sort of.
She could feel the heat of his gaze, raking over her as he purred, "Swan… you look-"
"I know," she quipped, earning her a raised brow and lop-sided grin. "But I'm a little worried as to what this bustier is doing to my spleen. Your brother can't judge a woman's size for shit."
Sweeping his eyes over her cleavage once more, Killian cheeked, "Your discomfort is a cross I'm willing to bear."
Emma huffed and rolled her eyes, a playful smile teasing her lips even as his expression became more serious.
"I'm sure I don't have to warn you of the attention you'll likely receive this evening," he said, stepping a bit closer. "We like to provide our clients with… pleasing aesthetics while we take a healthy cut of their winnings, but that doesn't mean we tolerate any untoward behaviour. You'll be sure to let me know if anyone says or does anything I might consider bad form?"
Emma knew it wasn't really a question, but she nodded anyway.
"That's a good girl," he cheeked, before reaching out and brushing a section of her hair back over her shoulder.
Emma rolled her eyes and spotted the mottled skin beginning to bruise along the back of his hand. "You should put some ice on that," she told him, stilling his actions as his eyes captured hers and his Adam's apple bobbed.
"Aye," he replied, flexing and fisting his hand with a slight grimace pulling at his features. "Hyde is already seeing to it."
Crossing her arms over her chest Emma asked, "You gonna tell me who you've got locked away in the basement?"
A tumbler appeared on the bar beside them, filled with Killian's prefered drink. He raised it to his lips and said, "I don't know what you mean."
Emma hummed a dubious sound at him. "Wendy and Tink seem to think it must be personal if you're the one doling out the punishment," she countered. "They think it's Walsh, but you and I both know better. It wouldn't be someone you suspect of… engaging in rodent activities, now would it?"
"I assure you, love," Killian replied. "The person I am currently hosting has nothing to do with your assignment for me." Polishing off the rest of his drink, he set the heavy tumbler back on the bar and instructed, "You'd best get into position." Emma gave him a relenting nod, but before she could leave the bar, Killian wrapped his hand around her bicep and pulled her in close. "Keep your wits about you, Swan," he murmured into her ear, his hot breath sending a shudder of delight down her spine. "Let me know if you overhear anything of interest, yeah?"
Emma wasn't sure if he meant regarding their current rat problem or just in general, but decided she'd keep her ears open either way. Settling into her seat, she waited for those assigned to her table to arrive, exchanging chips for the token they'd received upon paying the buy-in. As expected, most of the men swept over her with an appreciative glance, some more indecent than others, but so far all of them she deemed harmless. That is, until the final man arrived.
"You're new, aren't you?"
"Yup," Emma answered with a curt pop of the p, pushing his chips towards him. "Just filling in for the night."
Looking over his shoulder to ensure his action would go unnoticed, the man placed a hand over top hers, keeping her from being able to pull it away, and said, "Maybe if I play my cards right, I'll get to fill you later, huh?"
Emma scoffed, disgustedly, and wrenched her hand back. One of the other players leaned over and warned the man, "Keep that up and Jones'll have you filled with lead. You know how he is about his girls."
Emma swallowed back the indignity of the man's lewd comment, as well as being referred to as anyone's girl, then had to push back against the unexpected flare of jealousy the second man's words implied. Jones' girls. Were they referred to as such simply because they worked for the Jones family, or did they have a more personal connection with Killian?
For the second time that evening, Emma admonished her thoughts and set her focus back on the task at hand. It was none of her business if Killian was sleeping with any of the women associated with his business. She didn't care. Besides… he wasn't the only Jones. Maybe they had meant Liam. Possibly even Brennan.
Get it together, Emma! Who cares if Killian is fucking other women?
Unfortunately, she did. Apparently. Which was starting to become a huge problem.
Doing as she was told, Emma kept her wits about her, attentively listening to the conversations happening around her while each hand was dealt and played. As the night went on, most of the men at her table seemed to forget all about her, allowing alcohol and the occasional winning streak to loosen their tongues a bit. Boasts of jobs they'd pulled, mentions of deals they had in the works, not so subtle name dropping or fishing for information that might give them a leg up in their criminal pursuits, all part and parcel of a gathering that included the underbelly of society, from thief to bookie to fence to money launderer.
While interesting, nothing any of them said was of particular use to Emma, but she'd take the braggart comments over the lascivious ones her revolting suitor, Keith Nottingham, kept sending her way whenever the Jones' men were otherwise occupied from overhearing him.
"Here, darlin'," Keith purred, sliding a chip her way after winning a pot that knocked two of his competitors out of the game. "A little something for you."
"Thanks," Emma quipped, tossing the chip aside and opening a fresh pack of cards. She highly doubted she'd be allowed to actually cash it in once the night was over.
"You might want to tuck that away for safekeeping," Keith murmured, his eyes dropping down to her cleavage.
"What?" Emma replied with a terse tone and irritatedly raised brows. "You expect me to slip it between my boobs?"
The man's tongue ran over his teeth is a way that made Emma cringe. "I've got something else I'd like to slip between those tits."
Emma's hand balled into a fist, and she was nearly out of her seat when the man beside Keith elbowed him in the ribs. "Knock it off," he admonished. "Jones is watching us, and word is he's in one of his moods."
Her head snapped towards the bar, and sure enough, Killian's gaze was set firmly on their table, or more to the point, on her. The clench of his jaw was visible even from this distance, as was the tight grip he had on his refilled tumbler. It seemed he wasn't too keen on the attention she was getting anymore than she was, and in spite of all the logical reasons as to why she shouldn't, Emma wouldn't deny she liked the idea he was jealous. Sinking her teeth coyly into her bottom lip, Emma picked up the poker chip Keith had gifted her and made a show of tucking it away within her bustier, shaking out her curls and giving the remaining players a saucy smile before shuffling the fresh deck and dealing out the next round.
Casting furtive glances his way, Emma tracked Killian as he made the rounds, visiting the other two tables and making light conversation with various participants while also keeping her in his sights. Fixated as she was on the game and Killian's movements, Emma almost missed the all too nonchalant conversation that was happening at her own table.
"Either of you seen or heard from Berkley lately?" Jefferson, one of Jones' associates asked. "I haven't seen him around for a few weeks."
"You didn't hear?" Keith replied in a hushed tone that grabbed Emma's attention. "He's laying low. Seems he got in some hot water with the Mills."
"What kind of hot water?"
"Don't know," Keith shrugged in a way that had Emma convinced he, in fact, did know. "I heard his pal Claude, who works directly for the Mills organization, got himself… exterminated, if you know what I mean, and Berkely's gone to ground since he had a lot of dealings with Claude. Probably doesn't want to end up in the same mouse trap."
Exterminated. Mouse trap. Was Keith saying this Claude guy was a rat? Was the Mills family dealing with their own rodent problem?
"Gentlemen," Killian greeted, stepping up beside Emma's seat and bracing his hand against the back of her chair. "How are we this evening?"
A mixture of replies were sent Killian's way which he accepted with a gracious smile before turning his attention towards her. "Everything going alright, Swan?"
"Fine," she said, dealing out the requested cards as the men continued betting on the current hand. Betting that became more aggressive, each man wishing to show off in the hopes their gambling might impress the Captain, until each of them had gone all in, leaving Jefferson the winner and poised to move on to the final table.
"Well done, mate," Killian congratulated, slapping Jefferson on the back while Emma stacked and organized his chips for him, all under the leering eye of Keith who hovered nearby. Killian placed a hand at the small of her back after she straightened up, and she stepped into his personal space, hoping to send a clear signal to her unwelcomed admirer while intently listening to what Killian had to say. "That's you all done for the night," he imparted. "But perhaps you'd like to stay and join me for a night cap?"
"A night cap?" Emma questioned with an inquisitive and somewhat accusatory raised brow.
A chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he reached up to scratch behind his ear. "I didn't mean it like that," he said. "You've made your position on the matter quite clear, I just thought we might take the opportunity to discuss… your performance this evening."
His pointed look told her all she needed to know of his intentions. He wanted to hear whether she'd overheard anything of interest, anything he should be made aware of.
"Perhaps some tea?" he offered. "Instead of a nightcap?"
"Sounds good," she said with an amenable smile, turning back to the table so she could finish clearing it while he headed towards the bar. "Have them leave the tea bag in it," she called out after him, unaware of Keith's approach until he was practically plastered along her side.
"I like a bit of tea baggin', too," he whispered into her ear while pawing her ass.
"That's it," Emma snapped, grabbing his wrist and wrenching his arm behind his back before slamming his head down onto the table, hard.
The sound of handguns being unholstered and cocked into position filled the room, and when Emma's eyes flicked up she saw no less than half a dozen pistols aimed at the man she had pinned against the poker table.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Keith pleaded. "I was just-"
"Being a complete dick," Emma grit out, snarling in the man's ear. "They are the least of your worries. Let me show you what happens to people who touch things they shouldn't."
Employing a maneuver she'd learned years ago, Emma twisted and yanked on Keith's fingers in a sharp backward motion until she heard the tell tale snap of bone that had the man screaming out in pain. Releasing him, Emma stepped back as Keith crumpled to the ground, holding his hand gingerly against his chest.
The sea of gun-toting henchmen parted when Killian made his way to crouch before the sniveling man, his own gun brandished and held casually within his grip. "You're fortunate Miss Swan knows how to handle herself," he said in that overly civil tone, tinted with an edge of menace. "Because I don't think you'd have prefered the method I initially considered in handling such an infraction."
"Pl-Please, Mr. Jones," Keith stammered. "I didn't mean to-"
"To what?" Killian questioned, cocking his head to one side with his brows scrunched together in mocked curiosity. "To manhandle my employee? To take liberties in the face of my generosity?"
"I-I'm sorry. It won't… it won't happen again."
"Oh, I know." Killian replied, darkly. "I'll make certain of that."
Hauling Keith up onto his feet, Killian shoved him towards Hyde. "Take him downstairs."
"No!" Keith screamed, his cries for mercy drowning out when one of Killian's men shoved a gag in his mouth before dragging him out the door.
Killian holstered his gun then addressed the room. "Apologies for casting a pall upon the evening. Please," he said, gesturing to the bar. "Enjoy a round on me and continue the game."
Emma stepped into his path when he turned and placed a hand against his chest. "What are you going to do to him?"
"Swan, you are done for the evening. I suggest you-"
"No," she clipped out, a little louder than she'd intended.
Killian features hardened. Grasping her arm he led her towards the door, gritting out between his teeth, "Not here."
They made their way down the stairs and into one of the back offices. Closing the door firmly behind them, Killian released her arm and took a moment to compose himself. "I can't have you questioning, or flat out defying, my orders in front of others," he stated, his anger still grating against his words.
"And I don't need you handling anything for me," Emma shot back. "I already dealt with him, you don't need to-"
"Of course, I do!" Killian shouted. "You may be capable of handling a scumbag like Keith Notthingham, but what of the other girls? I have to send a clear message that such behaviour will not be tolerated."
"So, this is about protecting Tink and Wendy, and not some personal vendetta because he got handsy with me?"
"Aye," Killian replied. "This isn't the first time Keith has made comments, or propositioned one of our girls with his vulgarity, but it is the first time, to my knowledge, that he's been physical. His behaviour is escalating, and it's high time he were dealt with."
"So, this isn't just about me, then?" Emma questioned, still dubious. "Because I can take care of myself, you know?"
"Aye. I do know," Killian drawled. "I've seen you in action almost as often as I've seen you dressed in these delightfully provocative outfits."
"The outfit wasn't my idea," Emma reminded him.
"And making an example out of Keith isn't mine," Killian told her.
Emma balked at that revelation. "It's not?"
"Jefferson was texting both me and my brother under the table throughout the evening, keeping us apprised of all the man said to you," he explained. "Even if Nottingham hadn't," his fists tightened at his sides and his tongue angrily swiped across his lower lip, "grabbed your ass, he would have still found himself with an invitation to spend a few hours in the basement."
Emma relaxed her stance and released a heavy breath of relief. While she would love nothing more than to have the man continue to suffer for his misdeeds, she didn't need anyone to do that job on her behalf. Knowing what he had coming to him was because of a long list of offenses made it easier for her to step aside.
"Okay then," she relented. "Just… make sure you take care of that hand."
"We'll have Whale come attend to his hand once we're done… conversing with him."
"No, I meant your hand," she said, flicking her gaze down to his right hand, the bruises even more evident along the backs of his knuckles. "Whoever you pounded on earlier might have been worth the risk of breaking a few bones, but Keith isn't."
"Not to worry, love," Killian said, sauntering towards her. "My men are already dishing out some hospitality on Mr. Nottingham. No need for me to get my hands involved. Especially when I can think of other ways I'd like to keep them occupied."
Emma sucked in a startled breath when he slipped two fingers down the front of her bustier, her skin igniting from the contact point of his touch. Retrieving the poker chip she had put there earlier, he skimmed it up her chest and neck, his fingertips lightly grazing the raised flesh of her cleavage. His eyes darkened and fixed their gaze on her mouth when she slowly wet her lips before pulling the bottom one between her teeth, her entire body tense in anticipation.
"I think you earned this tonight, don't you love?"
With measured steps, he moved backwards towards the door, keeping his eyes on her until he had to pull them away in order to open the door and instruct the muscle waiting outside. "Cash this in for Miss Swan, and make sure you grab her coat before you return."
"Yes, boss," the hulking man said. "Do you want Hyde to wait for you before they get started downstairs?"
"That won't be necessary," Killian told him. "I have no need to question the man, and I've said all I have to say."
The guard nodded then left to go do his captain's bidding as Killian closed the door. "Now… where were we?"
It was now his lip caught seductively between his teeth as he raised his brows. Judging by the bulge Emma could make out at the front of his trousers, the charged moment they'd shared had affected him just as much, but he was waiting on her to make the next move. As much as she would love to shove him up against the door and feel his lips and hands on her again, Emma remembered a much more pressing issue that needed to be resolved first.
"I think you should question him," Emma said.
A flicker of disappointment flashed in Killian's eyes, and he crossed his arms and ankles as he leaned against the door as though her rejection hadn't affected him at all. "Oh? And why's that?"
"Because you need to ask him about the potential rat problem the Mills' recently discovered."
"What?" Pushing off from the door, Killian walked forward. "The Mills family? Keith mentioned something about them having a rat problem?"
Emma repeated the quick exchange Keith and Jefferson had earlier about a guy named Berkley, and the language Keith had used to describe what had happened to Berkley's friend, Claude. "I got the feeling Keith knew more than he was letting on, but if I'm right, and the Mills' had someone working against them on the inside, then-"
"Our infestation may not be an isolated incident," Killian finished, running his hand over his scruff as he processed everything Emma told him.
A knock rapped against the door and Killian called out for his man to enter. Handing over an envelope full of cash and Emma's coat, the man excused himself once more after Killian told him to go down and tell Hyde to wait for him.
"While your duties have ended for the evening, it seems my night is not over," Killian sighed, carding his fingers through his hair.
"Do you want me to stay?" Emma asked. "Come down to your… interrogation room and help you question-"
"No," he blurted out a bit too quickly. "No. I think it best we continue to keep your true involvement a secret. No one will question my interest in the inner workings of another crime family, but your involvement will raise everyone's suspicions, making it harder for you to suss out our guilty party."
Emma knew there was more to it than that, some other reason he didn't want her involved in Keith's interrogation, but she couldn't really refute the reason he gave her. Killian held out the envelope containing her tip, then opened her coat for her to slip on. His fingertips grazed her neck when he pulled her hair out from beneath the collar of her trench, and she had to swallow past the arid feeling his proximity caused in the back of her throat.
"I will get you in touch with Jefferson, though," he murmured, turning her back around to face him. His eyes followed the motion of her hands as she buttoned the coat and tied the belt securely around her waist. "You can ask him what he knows about this Berkley fellow."
"Won't he want to know why I'm asking?"
Kiliian huffed amusedly, and smirked, "Jefferson doesn't ask questions. Just tell him you're asking on my behalf, needing to verify some things Keith said during the evening. It'll give you a chance to build a rapport with him in case you need him later in your investigation."
"He's a facilitator, right?" Emma asked.
"Aye," Killian confirmed. "He's a useful fellow. Like Smee, he has the uncanny ability of acquiring hard to find objects as well as connecting people for mutual benefit. If you need information about anyone not fully employed by the family, he and Robin are your best resource."
"I've yet to meet this elusive Robin," she reminded him. "I still have questions about his file."
"All in due time, love," Killian assured her as he placed his hand against the small of her back and led her towards the door. "Arlo will walk you out," he said, nodding towards the giant of a man who was still standing guard outside the office. "And I'll be in touch about Jefferson."
"What about Keith?" she inquired one last time. "How far is your hospitality going to extend?"
Killian pressed his tongue along the back of his teeth and considered her question for a moment before answering, "I suppose that will depend on how forthcoming the man is, but rest assured, he'll still be breathing when he leaves later tonight. Our main objective is to make an example out of him, and besides… he may be a deplorable man, but he's an excellent bookie, and business is still business."
Emma rolled her eyes and scoffed, even though she understood this was the way things worked. It's not as if she thought the man's actions warranted a death sentence, but one never knew what consequences crossing an organized crime family might warrant in the family's eyes.
Pocketing her envelope of cash, she took out her car keys and gave Killian a look of understanding. "I'll leave you to your business then… Captain."
~/~
The rattle of her cell phone vibrating against the surface of her nightstand jarred Emma awake. With a groan she reached over and pawed at the infernal contraption, knocking it off the nightstand and onto the floor.
"Dammit," Emma cursed, now precariously hanging off the bed in order to retrieve the still buzzing cell. "Hello?" she answered, trying to keep the grogginess out of her voice.
"Emma? It's Officer Booth at the Storybrooke Police Department."
She nearly gave herself whiplash sitting back up in bed. "August? What's up?"
"There's been a homicide and Detective Humbert wanted me to-"
"A homicide?" Emma interjected. Why would Graham be notifying her about a homicide… unless.
"Shit. Tell me it isn't Keith Nottingham," she blurted out without thinking.
"Um… no, ma'am," August replied. "You've been tracking a guy by the name of Flynn, right? Also goes by Greg Mendel?"
Tendrils of dread crept up Emma's spine as she confirmed, "Yeah."
"Well, Detective Humbert wanted you to know you could stop looking," August told her. "His body was found in a dumpster down by the waterfront early this morning."
Emma's chest heaved with quickened breaths. "What happen-"
"It appears he was beaten to death, but we have to wait for the autopsy report to come back to say for certain," August answered. "We'll need you to come in and make a statement, but have a lead to follow-up with first… Maybe it's something you could help us with?"
Something in the man's tone struck Emma as strange, as did his request for her assistance which Emma felt certain was coming from the officer and not his superior.
"What lead?"
"A matchbook was found in Flynn's pocket," he said in a lowered tone, as though he were trying to keep others from overhearing him. "From a bar called… The Brig."
Everything snapped into place, and Emma realized August was calling her, not because Graham had told him to, but because he needed her to warn Killian that evidence found at the scene would lead the police back to the Jones family. It had completely slipped her mind that August was on the Jones' payroll, and he probably couldn't risk reaching out to Killian or anyone else directly tied to the organization while the precinct was crawling with additional manpower called in to work the case.
"Got it," Emma replied. "I'll come in and give my statement after I follow up on that lead."
August's relieved sigh crackled over the line. "Thanks, Emma."
When the line went dead, Emma sat in bed with her phone clutched tightly in her fist for several minutes. Owen Flynn had been beaten to death with a matchbook from The Brig found in his pocket. No wonder Killian had kept the identity of the man he had locked away in the basement a secret from her. He had to have known how angry his interference would have made her, but it was nothing in comparison to the flames of fury currently licking their way up her spine. How could he have been so colossally stupid?
Tossing her cellphone aside, she threw back the covers and went in search of the secure phone Killian had given her. A frustrated growl rumbled over her lips when the call went to voicemail and she rushed to throw on some clothes so she could make it to The Brig, hopefully before the police arrived.
"If you're listening then you'd better prepare yourself for trouble," Emma muttered into the empty room when she exited her bathroom, knowing at least one listening device had been planted in her bedroom. "And I'm not talking about Graham!" she shouted, snatching up her bag and keys before slamming the front door behind her.