“Don’t insult me,” Kennedy snaps. “It’s over, you son of a b***h. We have sworn statements from Sophie Gonzales, Lucy Carter, Lana Perego, Alana Petty—the list is repulsively endless. All their stories match the profile.”
“What profile?” Rob asks, eyes darting around the room. “Are you seriously accusing Hargrove of—”
“Exactly. Rob, talk some sense into this f**k,” Hargrove snaps, glaring at Kennedy. “He’s clearly been bought by the Russian bastard.”
“I cannot be bought,” Kennedy hisses. I can tell from the disgust in his face that he means it. He’s as straight-laced a cop as Rob is. He just wasn’t quite so blinded by emotion.
“Sophie Gonzales is my goddaughter!” Hargrove insists. “Just talk to her parents. She was a bridesmaid at my goddamn wedding!”
“Oh, I know,” Aleks says, steppin
