Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Jean-Michel
“So”—Marie, sets her tablet down—“that’s the best we can figure for why Duarte countered how they did.”
I rub the throb between my brows, lean back in my chair.
Easy to counter when they know how far we’re willing to concede.
“The question is can we recoup this deal or should we bail now and move on to something else?”
“We absolutely should not waste any more time on this deal,” Marie says. “It’s a time suck, it’s messing with our employees, and it was going to take an age to be profitable before. With the terms they’ve proposed, it’s even further out of reach.”
“We can negotiate the terms, can get a better deal, and make our way back to profitability,” Ted, my head of legal, counters.
“We definitely can,” Suzanne says, and I look to her.
She’s been working on this since yesterday, and I can see that means she’s another one who didn’t get much sleep.
“We can make it profitable. We can use this information and negotiate our way to a better deal.” But on the heels of that, she shakes her head, sighs. “The question is if we want to. I, for one, don’t want to work with people who aren’t aligned with our core values. I’ve done some digging”—she opens up her laptop, navigates through a couple of screens—“this is just a couple hours’ worth of searching and these are the connections I’ve already found to Angela.”
I watch as she scrolls through the list of contacts—advisors that work with both Angela and Duarte, IP addresses that can be traced back to the law firm Angela is working with, an obscure article that mentions a known associate of Angela’s and a middle manager at Duarte’s company.
Threads.
More slender connections between Angela and my life.
More spider’s silk tying us together, a fragile web for her to navigate freely as I try to keep her away from those stuck in it, from those I care about.
I want to throw up roadblocks, barriers between her and everyone I hold dear.
But putting up those thick walls means that I won’t be able to see what dangers are lurking on the other side.
We need time to keep digging.
We need to find something that we can pass along to the authorities so she’ll leave us alone forever.
“Keep them on the hook a little longer,” I say, glancing toward Suzanne. “And while that’s happening, keep digging but do it quietly.” I look at Marie. “Any resources Suzanne needs are hers.” Then to Ted. “She’ll report to you and you pass on anything pertinent to Agent Athena Phillips. You have her contact info?”
I have it—because Attie is with Cam, one of my players on the Eagles, but also because Attie’s boss and Pascal are tight. It’s how we learned the FBI has been trying to bring down a group of bad actors based in the area who are involved in human trafficking and digital crimes. And Angela seems to have a hand in all of that and also none of it. The evidence connecting her to the group is thin, at best, and won’t hold up in court.
If we act too soon, we’ll be right back to this shit—her free to fuck up my life.
So, patience.
Moving forward deliberately. And smartly.
Which means I need to let my team do their thing.
“I have her info,” Ted says.
“Good.” I stand up. “Run this shit to ground. Pass along the information.” My gaze goes to Marie’s. “And when we’re done wringing Duarte for everything they’ve got, we need to be ready to move to an alternate company.”
“I’m on it.”
Her mouth is curved, her expression determined, and I see it.
That fire inside her, the one I spotted years ago, the one I’ve carefully fed and stoked, waiting for the right time to let it loose on the world.
That time is coming.
Just…not quite yet.
“Right.” I rap my knuckles on the table and start for the door. “I’m out of here and, unless the building’s burning or the nuclear holocaust is upon us, I’m unreachable for the rest of the day—and even then, I’d better not be your first call.”
“No,” Marie says, mouth quirked, “that would be 9-1-1.”
Funny. Smart as a whip.
But not nearly as sweet as my Tiff.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Tiff says a couple of hours later as she pulls her little beat-up sedan to a stop in front of her parent’s house.
“It’ll be fine.”
I study the home, noting it’s an older style ranch on a decent-sized lot. A two-car garage faces the street and the wide, white rolling door with panes of glass running along the top takes up most of the home’s curb appeal. The rest is hidden by the covered porch, old-growth trees that have gone way beyond shade and now need a good cut, lest a branch breaks off in a storm and lands on the roof that’s seen better days.
Hell, it’s seen better decades .
Yet, I can tell this is a house that’s been loved and cared for.
Not recently.
But beneath the leaves on the lawn and the weeds in the planter beds and the dust on the bottom of that white two-car garage door, I see flowers and a bird feeder. A rope swing and carved initials into the trunk of one of those oak trees. A wreath on the door and a cheery mat on the porch.
“Jean-Mi?”
I turn from my study of the house. “Yeah, baby?”
Her throat works for a moment. “I was thinking…”
“Thinking what?” I press when she doesn’t go on.
“Just that…” She nibbles her lip. “Let me go in first and tell them I have someone with me?”
My immediate reaction is absolutely fucking not .
But as I study her face, I know I need to table that thought. She’s given a lot. She’s given too much.
And she’s asking me for one small thing.
I reach across the console, touch her cheek. “Okay, buttercup.”
“It’ll only take a few minutes,” she says as though she hasn’t heard me. “I swear, I’ll be right back out.”
I cup her jaw. “Go on, then.”
“I—”
“Baby, go .”
Her mouth curves. “Orders.”
Before I can taste her smile, she opens the door, hurries around the front of the car, and I watch her pick her way up the driveway, along the walkway, bypassing the ramp covering the two stairs there, and disappearing inside.
I have every intention of letting her have those minutes.
I fucking do.
At least…
Until I hear the shouting.