Chapter 9 Brooks #2
We sit at the enormous table in the dining room, despite the fact that there are only two of us, and I fight to make small talk with my father while we work our way through some of the most delicious steak I’ve ever had.
To my surprise, he’s willing to talk business with me, going through some of his biggest shipments to date and saying that he has some new business ventures on the rise.
He’s grooming my brother, Beau, to take over, and that’s taking up most of his time.
No, he’s not thinking about getting remarried, though he is shopping for a wife for Beau.
I don’t want to hear about that, though. I go back to the new business ventures.
“Brand new?” I ask. “Or just ventures that you’re expanding to be bigger?”
The shock passes through his eyes so quickly that I almost miss it, and then it’s replaced by a sly, crafty look that closes his face off to me.
“Brand new,” he says. “Things I’ve never tried before but want to get into.”
Liar.
“What sorts of things?” I ask, taking a drink of my wine. How far will he go with this lie? Does he have a cover story already made up, in case someone asks?
But evidently we’ve reached the end of sharing time, because he brings a hand down sharply on the table. “That, my dear, is none of your concern. You left the family, in case you’ve forgotten. Which means our business dealings are none of your... well, business.”
His mouth quirks at his own joke, and I have to fight to keep myself in my chair. God, I hate the man. I hate his arrogance and condescension and the unreal, overwhelming belief that he’s better than anyone else.
I hate that he can sit there looking suave as you please, like nothing is wrong, when he’s facing the daughter he very nearly killed with his fists.
And a part of me hates myself for sitting across from him and playing nice, when all I want to do is slit his throat.
But needs must.
I lean onto my elbows and pin him with a stare. “Maybe I want to come back into the family. Come home and take my rightful place.”
He tips his head and stares at me like he’s trying to see through the lie, and I think for a moment he won’t believe me.
He still hasn’t asked why I’m in town or who I’m here with, and I’m sure it’s eating him up not to know.
He’s got to realize that I wouldn’t just come down here and show up at his door, asking to be let in like some sort of Orphan Annie.
Or maybe he doesn’t.
“That sounds like quite a plan,” he says, bland and unreadable. “And I’d be happy to have you. Why don’t we start with a reintroduction into our world? The family is having a ball tomorrow night. Why don’t you join us? I’d like to introduce you to some... people.”
I frown. Did I imagine the emphasis on the word ‘people’? The pause? The crafty glint of his eye? Is this a trick? A trap?
Even if it is, can I afford to turn it down? Because if he’s behind the kidnappings, I need a way into his organization. And a ball where I’m presented to his contacts might be just the ticket.
“That sounds lovely,” I reply. “Though if it’s a ball...” I let my voice fade away, leaving the implication that I didn’t exactly bring a ball gown with me to New Orleans.
Instead of replying, my father snaps his fingers and looks behind me. I turn to see his butler coming in, carrying a large box.
“A welcome home present,” my father says smoothly.
I glance at him, confused, then take the box from the butler and open it. Inside, I find a deep green satin ballgown. And when I look at the tag, it’s my size.
My heart drops into my stomach and I look up to see that my father is grinning. And it’s not a nice grin.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he says smoothly. “At Under the City. Nine sharp.”
He stands and walks out of the room without saying goodbye, and I watch him go, my skin crawling with the knowledge that he did know I was in town. And that he knows what size dress I wear.
And that my favorite color is green.
I give myself a full five minutes to feel off balance about the whole thing, and more than a little terrified. Then I hear him go upstairs to his room, and grin almost as widely as he did.
Moments later, I’m up and hustling toward the office he keeps on the first floor. And the computer he has in there. As long as his passwords haven’t changed, I can be in and out in ten minutes, max.
***
It takes me twelve, but it’s worth the danger of the extra two minutes.
The idiot has the file sitting in plain sight on his desktop, and it has more information than I could have hoped for.
I don’t have time to upload it to the cloud so I can look later, but I take as many pictures as I can–names of girls, locations, and timelines–and then zero in on something he has on his calendar for today.
A sight highlighted with a code that I’ve seen attached to the names of other girls in the file.
That code has to mean a girl is going to be either picked up or dropped off.
And this time and date comes with an address.
I walk as quickly as I can from the house, trying to look both elated about the dress–which is actually beautiful–and like I’ve just had a lovely dinner with Dear Old Dad.
The truth, of course, is somewhat different. Because he might not have wanted to tell me anything, but that doesn’t mean I’m out of the game. I’ve got an address and a time, and that’s really all I need for now.
I’m going hunting. And my dad’s operation is the target.