Jack's Devotion

Chapter Seven

Jack

" I 've been thinking."

"Did it hurt?" Madison asks, tying her hair up in a quick bun.

"Smart ass."

She grins at me, laughing quietly. "Just thought I'd ask."

I swat her on the ass as I pass by on my way to the closet. "I think we need to loop Dillon in on the situation."

She wheels around to face me, anxiety written all over her face. "Why?"

"Because he can help us."

"Or he'll tell my dad that I'm back and my dad will try to finish what he started before I disappeared," she mutters, her tone black.

"Baby." I reverse course back to her, pulling her into my arms. "Dillon isn't going to tell your dad a damn thing. He can't stand him. And we need him on our side."

I've spent the last two days trying to help put the pieces in place. Asa Steele is watching her father. Leia Bayliss at the paper is spreading the word about the press conference. I've even asked Gerald for a meeting about a possible board position. The prick is supposed to meet me this morning to discuss it. He was falling all over himself when I called him yesterday.

But before I meet him, I'd really like for Dillon to know what the fuck is going on. Blindsiding him with all of this doesn't sit well with me. He's a damn good cop, and he actually gives a damn about Madison. He should know that she's safe. And he should know why he's spent the last seven years searching for her, putting up posters about her, and questioning people about her.

I know she's scared. She has every right to feel that way. Coming back here to face a man who wanted to have her killed? That's the bravest shit anyone can do. But she isn't doing it alone now. She has me and Drake and Asa Steele looking out for her. And we aren't going to let anything happen to her.

I won't fucking survive it if it does. I've been a hypocrite for a long damn time, trying to get Drake to live his life when I've only been living half of one myself. I never realized how true that was until she was in my bed the other night, sleeping in my arms. I felt alive in a way I hadn't in years. I wasn't bored and unsettled. I haven't felt that way once since I found her in the pool house. I feel…at peace finally. Like all the pieces are where they're supposed to be and I'm not going to crawl out of my skin if I stop moving for five minutes.

For once, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing. And so is she. I'll move heaven and hell to keep her right here. To keep loving her—and I do fucking love her. I knew that shit days ago. I'm even more certain of it now.

But to keep her safe, I need Dillon on our side. Because he's the one who can ensure her father spends the rest of his miserable life in prison where he belongs. And he can ensure whoever the prick tried to hire to kill her goes right down with him.

"What if he finds out?" she whispers, unable to hide the worry in her voice. "He knows people, Jack. He has a way of finding things out around here."

"And Dillon has a way of keeping things from being found out," I murmur. "Trust me, baby. I've seen that man move mountains to keep secrets that needed kept. This town functions because of him. He won't put you at risk."

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, clearly torn.

"He never stopped looking for you, you know. All those posters all over town? He's the one who puts them up. Every few months, he's out there with a fresh stack, replacing the ones that have faded or torn." I tip her chin back. "He deserves to know you're alive."

Her shoulders slump, her expression crumbling. "Okay," she whispers. "We can talk to him."

I brush my lips across hers, tugging her closer to my body. "You're so damn brave, baby."

"Only because you're here."

"No, you were brave long before that, Madison."

An hour later, Dillon is shocked speechless when I let him into the house and he sees Madison standing in a shaft of sunlight in the living room, wringing her hands together.

"What the fuck?" he mutters, glancing between me and her, fury burning in his dark eyes.

"Hi, Sheriff Armstrong," she whispers, bravely lifting her chin when I know she wants to squirm and fidget. Hell, she probably wants to hide right now.

"Jack, I swear to God, if you tell me that she's been here this whole time, I'm going to shoot you in the kneecap before I kick your ass," he growls, glaring at me as he stomps deeper into the room.

"What the fuck? You think I've had her locked up here for seven years?"

"Have you?"

"For the sake of our friendship, I'm going to pretend you didn't ask me that," I growl, crossing my arms.

"You know damn well I have to ask. She's been missing for seven damn years. And now she's standing in your living room, and you asked me to slip through the goddamn back fence like you've got something to hide. So yeah, I've got questions." He plants his feet apart, placing his hands on his belt loops to hit me with a no bullshit look. "A whole helluva lot of them."

"I haven't been here the whole time," Madison hurries to say. "I, um, I've only been back in town a few days."

"How many days?" Dillon pins her with a hard stare.

"Nine days."

"And how long have you been here?"

"Nine days."

Dillon shoots me a look that would make lesser men shrivel. Lucky for me, I'm not lesser men. And he's been looking at me the same damn way for years.

"In my defense, I didn't know she was here until four days ago."

"Jesus Christ. She's your rat infestation?"

"Rat infestation?" Madison's brows furrow in confusion. "Wait. Are you telling me there aren't rats in the pool house?"

I shrug.

"Jack!" she cries, glaring at me.

"I did what I had to do to get you in the house."

"Uh, you lied to me too, asshole," Dillon says.

"Yeah, you lied to him too," Madison says.

Jesus Christ. How did this turn into them ganging up on me?

"I called him about someone in the pool house," I explain. "Once I realized it was you, I might have told him it was a rat infestation to keep him from sending anyone out to investigate. You didn't want him to know you were back."

"Oh." Madison looks slightly mollified. "Well, I guess I've been called worse."

"I wasn't calling you a rat infestation, baby," I murmur. "And who the fuck is calling you names? Tell me so I can handle it."

"Ah, son of a bitch!"

Madison and I both turn to look at Dillon, only to find him staring at us like we're the ones shouting in the middle of the living room. "You two are sleeping together."

"How do you possibly know…?"

"I'm the sheriff, motherfucker," he growls, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of course I know. I get paid to put shit together."

Madison blushes, avoiding his gaze.

"Our business is our business, Dillon."

"Does her father know?" He paces around like we're stressing him out. How us fucking is giving him stress, I don't know. Maybe he needs some business of his own.

"Fuck no," I snap. "And you aren't telling him."

"Then I suggest one of you tell me what the fuck is going on here. Because seven years is a long goddamn time for someone to disappear." His gaze shifts to Madison before softening slightly. "What happened, sweetheart? Where have you been?"

She glances at me, anxiety written all over her face.

"Gerald Laurent was planning to have her killed to seize ownership of her company and to gain control of her trust fund," I answer for her, reaching for her hand. She clings to my fingers like I'm a lifeline. "She heard him hiring someone to run her off the road, so she packed her shit, cleaned out the safe, and disappeared. Her birthday is on the 3 rd , at which point she gains control of the company and her inheritance. He's trying to have her declared dead on that date so both fall into his control. She came back to stop him."

He rocks back on his heels, staring at Madison. "Is this true?"

"Yes." She licks her lips. "And before you ask if I'm sure I heard what I heard, the answer is yes. I very plainly heard him telling whoever he was talking to that he needed me dead, and he needed it to look like an accident. He wanted him to run me off the road by the cliffs so my car would flip over the edge and I'd…" She swallows, her throat working convulsively. "Well, you know what happens to people who crash there."

"Jesus," Dillon mutters, yanking his hat off his head to scrub his hand through his dark hair. "Did you confront him about what you heard?"

"Absolutely not. It was the week before my birthday. As soon as I turned eighteen, I ran. I've been living in Los Angeles." She glances down at her feet. "Under an assumed name so he couldn't find me."

"Do you have any proof, sweetheart?"

"That he wanted to kill me? No. But I have evidence that he's been embezzling from the company. I also have proof that he's been involved in a few other unsavory financial practices."

"Do I want to know how you got your evidence?"

"I struck up a friendship with Lydia in finance." She shrugs. "She thinks I'm a grad student doing my thesis on the marketability of perfume. Bellange uses ethically sourced materials in every step of production, so I gushed over how they were a natural choice for a paper like mine. She sent me all kinds of records she probably shouldn't have sent."

Dillon closes his eyes, muttering to himself.

"She didn't technically break any laws," I point out. "The company is hers, so any records from the company are legally hers as well."

"Yeah, I know," he mutters. "I'm just trying to figure out how I'm going to explain this shit to a judge."

"You aren't."

He cracks an eye open, looking at me.

"At least, not yet."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because we're holding a press conference at the end of the week to tell the world she's still alive. And we want her father there when it happens. She has a few things to get off her chest before you lock him up and throw away the key."

"Like what?" Dillon growls, his eyes narrowed on her.

"I just think the world should know why he's in such a rush to have me declared dead. That's all," she says, shrugging innocently. "And since he intended to ambush me with my murder, I don't see why I shouldn't ambush him with the fact that I heard everything."

"Was this your idea?" He glares at me.

"Why do you think every bad idea is automatically my idea?"

"Because I know you." He sighs. "At least you admit it's a bad idea."

"Oh, it's a fucking terrible idea. It'll be a shitshow, for sure. And that's exactly why it needs to happen. He can't squirm his way out of it in front of the press. He won't admit to a damn thing. But he won't be able to deny that she's alive and well and clearly of sound mind. There will be no snatching her company from her or trying to have her declared dead or whatever other bullshit he might attempt. He'll realize he lost in the most public way possible." I grin. "You can lock him up and throw away the key afterward."

He snorts, shaking his head. "Just like that, huh?"

"Not exactly. We need you to figure out who he tried to hire to kill her so you can lock his ass up, too. Can you run the phone records?"

"From seven years ago? Hell no. I'm a cop. Not a wizard."

"How about from three days ago? Madison was…" I barely avoid using the word stalking. "Handling business. Once she was finished, he immediately called someone else. There was shouting. It was ugly. She took a photo to timestamp it."

She pulls her phone out, scrolling to the photo in question before passing it to Dillon. He glances at it, then at her, then at me, then back at the phone. "Yeah, I can run this," he mutters, handing the phone back to her. When she grabs it, he doesn't immediately let it go. "No more stalking him, Madison."

"I wasn't stalking him," she protests. "I was haunting him."

"Right." His lips twitch. "Well, don't do that shit either. If he sees you, he may try to finish what he started. You haven't kept yourself safe all this time just to unravel it now because you're pissed." He holds her gaze. "You have every right to be mad as hell but be smart about it. Revenge won't do you a damn bit of good if he kills you, sweetheart."

She shifts from foot to foot before reluctantly nodding. "Understood."

He releases his grip on the phone, allowing her to pull it back to her chest. His eyes come to me. "You have anyone watching the prick?"

"Asa Steele."

"Good," he grunts. "I'll run his phone records, see what else I can dig up. What time is the press conference?"

"Noon at my office on Friday. His is on Saturday."

"I'll be out front after yours ends. Hopefully with a warrant and handcuffs." He glances at Madison again. "I need everything you've got on him."

Madison nods before scurrying off to grab it.

"How's she doing?"

"She's a fucking warrior."

"How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"Don't bullshit me, motherfucker," Dillon growls. "We both know you looked for her after she disappeared. And we both know why you made the donation to her fund."

"It wasn't like that, Dillon."

"Maybe not," he says softly. "But had she not disappeared, we both know it would have been sooner or later. So I'm asking…how are you doing?"

"I want to fucking kill him," I growl, my hands clenched into fists. "Is that what you want to hear? Because it's the truth. She lived in her goddamn car for almost a year, doing shit she shouldn't have had to do just to survive. And all the while, that prick was here, living it up on her company's dime."

"Good. Hold onto that when you meet him today. Remember why the fuck you're doing what you're doing. And no matter how badly you want to do it, don't go for his throat," Dillon says. "That isn't what she needs from you. She needs to do this her way. So you're going to swallow all of that shit, and you're going to help her do it her way. Once he's in cuffs, you can have two minutes with him to handle it your way."

"He might not survive."

"He will. You'll make sure he does because she needs to see him in prison more than she needs to see you choking the life out of him."

"Goddammit. It really pisses me off when you're right."

"I know." Dillon grins, slapping me on the back. "That's what makes it so fun for me."

"How the hell do you know I'm meeting him today?"

"This is Silver Spoon Falls, Jack. I know every fucking thing in this town."

"You didn't know Madison was back."

He shoots me a scathing look. "Oh, believe me. I'm well fucking aware. And I blame you. A rat infestation, you asshole? Really?"

"You didn't believe me when I said I had a ghost."

His exasperated sigh is an exact match for Drake's. Spooky, really.

Two hours later, my assistant shows Gerald Laurent into my office. He's smiling like he's on top of the fucking world. If Madison calling him the other day rattled him, there's not a trace of it on his face as he glances between me and Drake.

"Jack! Drake!" he says like we're old friends.

I want to put my fist through his face.

I think Drake knows it because he places his hand on my arm, discreetly reminding me to chill the fuck out.

"Laurent," I mutter. "Good to see you." Fucking not ever, asshole. I hope you die in a hole.

He strolls across the office like his shit doesn't stink, and I want to wrap the damn cord from the blinds around his throat. I bet he'd squeal like a little bitch. Probably cry, too. A lot louder than Madison cried in that closet, listening to him plot how he was going to get her company.

"Take a seat," I mutter, waving at a chair across from my desk. I don't offer him a drink. I don't want him here long enough to finish one.

He sinks into the proffered chair, crossing one leg. His gaze drifts to Drake. "I heard congratulations are in order."

Drake grunts.

"Good for you, Whitlock. I always wish I'd had more, but it just wasn't in the cards for us." He sighs. "Magdalena was diagnosed with cancer before we got around to adding more to the brood."

"That's right." I snap my fingers. "The anniversary of your daughter's disappearance is coming up soon, isn't it? She's been missing for what is it? Six years now?"

"Seven," he says.

"Anything new happening there?"

"Nothing." He expels a beleaguered sigh. "Truthfully, I gave up hoping a long time ago. If she were still alive, she would have come home by now. She always was a mousy little homebody, and didn't like to go out much. We'll never have answers, I'm afraid."

You lying sack of shit.

"So what happens?" I ask, one hand clenched into a tight fist beneath the desk. "She's just forever listed as missing? You never get closure? That'd drive me fucking insane."

"Actually, they're planning to officially declare her deceased after her birthday," he says. "It doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things. But I suppose it's the only closure we'll really have. There will be a memorial service."

"Without a body?"

Drake kicks me under the desk.

"I'm sorry. I just mean…that has to be fucking hard," I say.

"You have no idea."

He's so goddamn wrong about that, it's laughable. And the fact that he thinks I don't know why he wants her officially declared dead is insulting. Doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things? Right. It just means that everything her mother left her officially becomes his. But I guess he wouldn't want that bandied about yet. Can't look like he has ulterior motives, now can he?

Jesus Christ, he's a fucking prick. He makes all the right expressions, sighs in all the right places, but there isn't a single ounce of emotion in his voice. We might as well be discussing the weather instead of the daughter he hasn't seen in seven years, one he supposedly misses and wants home.

Did he ever care about her at all? Did the fact that he never knew where she was haunt him at all? Did he miss her? Worry about her? Or has he spent every minute of the last seven years praying that she never showed back up, relieved that she was gone?

I hope, for her sake, that he worried about her even if he's incapable of actually showing it. I hope he missed her. And, even knowing that's not the case, I hope like hell she never hears any different. She deserves to believe that the man who birthed her actually gives a shit about her, despite what he wanted to do seven years ago.

If any part of her still believes there is anything good in this asshole, she deserves to be able to hang onto that little flicker of hope. Not because he deserves it. But because she shouldn't have to spend the rest of her life knowing that her only parent left alive doesn't care about her in the least.

"So we should get to it," I mutter, ready to get him out of here before I really do find a reason to put my fist through his face. "Drake is stepping back from the company. With a baby on the way, his focus is elsewhere at the moment. I need someone to fill his role on the board. I'm interested in you."

"I'm honored, Jack," he says, pressing his hand to his fucking heart like I just asked him to a dance or something. "You know I've always held this company in high regard. Being able to serve on the board would be a true honor."

"I'm not an easy man to work with," I warn him. "You may hate me before all is said and done."

"Highly doubtful." He shoots me a smile that doesn't make me want to punch him any less. "Your people speak highly of you. You may expect a lot, but you give a lot in return."

"Doesn't every CEO?"

"Every good one," Drake mutters from beside me. "Some are users and abusers and utter shit."

Gerald laughs like he's cracking a joke. I guess he is. He's talking about him. Like usual, Gerald is just too stupid to realize he's the butt of this particular joke.

"If you're up for the challenge, we're putting together a press conference for Friday to announce Drake's departure from the company," I say. "I'd like you to be up there with me. It's a good opportunity to let the rest board know where I'm throwing my support for his replacement. If the press picks it up, they'll be less likely to argue much."

"I'm free on Friday."

"Good. The conference is here at noon. It won't take long. Once that's out of the way, the real work can begin." Like putting you in cuffs and dragging your sorry ass off to prison, you miserable prick. I reluctantly reach across the desk to shake his hand.

He rises to his feet, still smiling like he's on top of the fucking world. "Out of curiosity, why me?"

"A man with the dedication it takes to spend seven years hanging missing posters and running a company that fell into his lap in the way yours did is exactly the kind of man I need here," I lie.

"It hasn't been easy," he says smoothly. "But we make do with the lot we're given, Whitlock. Anything less would have been a disservice to her memory."

"Understood. I'll be in touch."

He eyes me for a minute, smiles again, and then ducks out of the door.

I wait until it clicks closed behind him to turn to Drake. "I cannot fucking wait to see that motherfucker in handcuffs," I growl.

"Me either," he agrees quietly.