Chapter 9 #2
“Wait, wait. You want me to work for him?” I lean in with this question and lower my voice.
I get we’re supposed to be discreet here, but I feel pretty good that grandma and grampa enjoying the daily soup four booths away aren’t secret spies.
Then again, I thought Parole Officer Steve-Mike was just a disgruntled federal worker.
“Rowan, this has been in play for months. Your arrest for the vehicle gave us an opportunity to put a few things in play. What did you say the last time we met? Owing your father means you must spend a lot more time with him than you’d like.
Well, all we’re asking is that you take advantage of that time and get as close as you can to his business deals. ”
I chuckle softly, but it grows louder the more I think about what he’s asking.
“Why are you so amused?” he asks.
I rest my palms flat on either side of my empty mug, smiling up at our waitress as she stops by to top me off.
“Mike,” I use his new name. “I think you’re overestimating my father’s opinion of me.
He likes showing off the idea of being a family man, but I’m not the guy he’s going to invite to the table to really learn the business.
If anything, the only reason he updated the trust I signed a few days ago was for tax purposes. I’m sure it’s a write-off, or—”
“Or a way to make you and your brother take the fall?” He quirks a brow. The twist he offers lands in my chest with a thud.
Before I can open my mouth with more questions, he pulls a second folder from the leather satchel next to him and drops it in front of me.
The buzzing in my limbs is less from excitement now.
This burn is from dread, and my fears are confirmed as I flip the cover open and see the stamped copy of the document I signed a few days ago.
“It’s not a trust agreement, Rowan. Your dad is setting you and your brother up to take the fall if his house of cards comes tumbling down.
And if you want to keep your ass and your brother’s out of federal prison, I think you’ll find a way to make your dad’s opinion of you rise.
You could say your future depends on it. ”
Fuck. I could. Because it fucking does!
I flip through a few pages, catching my signature in the key spot along with the words that read a whole lot more like a partnership agreement than an inheritance document. I knew something was off about these. The date alone, now so obviously a hire date.
“My guess, which comes from a lot of years working cases like these, is that you’ll see your dad’s firm put out a few press releases in the coming months with a lot of that false information.
And I am guessing you or your brother will be sourced on those press releases.
And then when securities blow up and inevitably come crashing down while your father conveniently shorts them—”
“Anyone that looks too hard will think Caleb or I rigged the system,” I finish his case for him.
“Exactly.”
I close the second folder and push it across the table just as I did the first one.
“Are you even a parole officer?” I lift my gaze, which now feels heavy with the weight of the world.
“To everyone that matters, yes. I am a parole officer. And our weekly meetings will continue. I’ll be your point. As Steven.”
I draw in a deep breath that burns my now quivering lungs.
I’m not one to be afraid of things. I’ve almost flipped my car drag racing out in the desert.
I’ve taken cash from dudes I’ve hustled at pick-up basketball who could easily have kicked my ass or stabbed me.
I took my share of beatings and gave them right back when I was in juvie.
But this shit now? It has me feeling off my game.
There’s a lot riding on it. Caleb might be a shitty brother, but he’s still my little brother.
I can’t let him go down for my father’s criminal behavior.
He tried this same shit with our mom, right before he cheated on her.
I protected Caleb from those things back then, which, upon reflection, I shouldn’t have guarded him against so closely.
Now he idolizes a man who is capable of horrible things. And he hates me.
And then there’s Saylor’s mom. I wonder if she knows just how deep her poor decisions have dug her. Allison has her faults, but I don’t think federal financial crimes are on her rap sheet. Trusting the wrong men? Definitely. But fraud? From what I know about her, she seems to play by the book.
“Want to take a look at the car?” He flashes a wide grin. He’s barely taken a bite from his sandwich, so my guess is he’ll stick around here after I leave, playing up the role-playing he’s taking very seriously.
“Guess I should see what I’m buying,” I groan.
He snags the satchel and folders from the booth, and I slide from my seat to follow him toward the exit.
In any other scenario, I would be doing back flips on my way out to the parking lot right now.
He wasn’t lying—the price is a good deal.
This is going to make us a nice profit. And apparently, I’ll be using the money we’re giving him on partying with the assholes I hate.
“You all need a check?” The waitress catches us on our way out, and Mike-Steven flashes a toothy grin.
“No, no. I’m not leaving that sandwich alone for long. I’m just going to get my buyer his keys and settle up. I’ll be right back.”
He winks at her, and I swear she blushes when she says, “Alright, darlin’.”
I don’t open my mouth until we get to the back end of the car.
“Witnesses, huh?” I’m assuming this keeps his cover and mine intact. The need for a cover has me wondering just how bad my father’s associates truly are—or how dangerous he is.
“Nothing unusual about two people making a private car sale, should anyone mention it to your dad. And you’ll have the car, and I’ll have the money for it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m not meeting with the feds,” I mumble.
The curt way he clears his throat and proceeds to pop open the trunk indicates I should keep my mouth shut about what’s really happening and follow his lead.
I realize exactly how serious this all is when I spot the recording gear and wired vest in the trunk.
I’m getting him on tape or digital, or whatever the fuck they do for audio now, in his own words.
I swallow hard while Mike-Steven proceeds to talk about the spare tire and jumper cables, as well as the jack and a few extra parts from the engine rebuild.
Meanwhile, he shows me exactly how the recording system works with his hands hidden deep within the well of the trunk.
It’s a lot like the movies, and I’m a technical guy, so when I tell him, “I got it,” I mean it.
Handing me the keys and a copy of the registration and a pre-signed bill of sale, he offers his other hand for a shake on the real deal we’re making. We grasp hands and lock eyes for a beat, and in that moment, the earth’s gravity feels like it’s pulling me down twice as hard.
“Pleasure doing business with you . . . Rowan. It is Rowan, right?” A few people are walking by in the parking lot, so I play along.
“Yep,” I confirm. “Thanks again, Mike. If we have any questions, I’ll be in touch. I’m sure she’ll run just fine, though.”
He smiles and nods, with nothing in his expression indicating that anything more than a normal private car sale occurred.
He’s inside before I even get the driver’s side open.
I crank the engine and feel the roar turn into a violent purr around me.
This car is a work of art, and I wish it weren’t a Trojan horse.
But it is. And that makes me hate it just a little.
It takes me a solid thirty minutes to get it locked down on the trailer, and I’ve worked up a decent sweat by the time I climb back into the cab.
I’ve also built up a pretty good appetite, and the lukewarm coffee left me feeling awfully thirsty.
There’s no way I’m going back into that diner, though, so I pull away from the scene where my life experienced a major shift and slowly make my way deeper into town to the gas station where we used to load up on snacks before we went to the lake when I was a kid.
At first, the silver Toyota with the hood propped up right outside the station's front doors doesn’t strike me as strange at all.
There’s a lube shop on the north side of the service station, and a lot of people end up with battery emergencies when they climb to this elevation.
I’ve seen this scene dozens of times. But I’ve never been quite this lost in my thoughts, and I’m practically standing next to Saylor when I recognize her.
“Are you following me?” I’m only half joking, because what are the odds that she’s here right now? Plus, it’s been a strange morning, so I’m half expecting her to flash me her FBI badge.
She jumps at my question, though, and I feel bad when her hand flattens on her chest.
“You scared the shit out of me, but man am I glad to see you,” she says.
I nod toward the open engine bay as she twists her hair up into a tie, her neck moist with sweat. Fuck, did her AC fail? It’s not as hot up here, but it’s not exactly cool.
“I can’t get it to start,” she sighs.
“Let me take a look.” I lean over the engine and feel around for a few obvious solutions, but nothing seems disconnected, and everything feels dry. The compressor I installed looks fine, too.
“Give it a crank for me,” I direct her. She skips to the driver’s side and gets in. A few seconds later, there’s a lot of clicking, but nothing more.
It’s her alternator, which is not something I can pick up here and snap in to send her on her way.
“Well? What’s the diagnosis?” She rests her palms on the side of the engine bay and blows up at the few loose hairs trying to stick to her forehead.
She’s wearing a university T-shirt and tight little shorts that hug her ass.
My guess is she was up here for a visit since she’ll be coming here in the fall.
“Looks like you’re riding home with me. Good thing I brought the big trailer.” I hold out my hand for her keys, and she hands them over with a groan before folding her hands along her forehead.
“Geeze, my company that bad?” I tease. I know for a fact it’s not. And I’m not that disappointed to be riding home with her next to me for the next two hours. I’m not looking forward to my brother’s reaction, but given the shit day I’ve had, this seems like the universe making good on a few things.
“Can we make a stop first? And, like, soon?” she asks.
I stop before getting into her car and meet her gaze across the roof.
“I have a meeting with a dean, and I need to see my coach. It shouldn’t be more than an hour or two tops. And you’d be saving me.”
Two tops means three tops. I know how those estimates work, and I’ve known Saylor long enough to know that she’s not quick about anything.
Not wanting to make her feel bad by blatantly pulling my phone out to check the time, I mentally run through the math and figure it’s about one in the afternoon.
With any luck, we’ll be hitting the road by three, but more likely four, which lands us coming into town in the thick of rush hour.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I say, deciding to take a little more from the universe than I deserve. Fuck it, though—I deserve a whole hell of a lot after today.
“What kind of deal?” Her eyes narrow with suspicion, so I let my smirk grow.
“We hit the road in the morning,” I say, tilting my head to the right, toward the Timber Lodge Resort, which, if memory serves me correctly, is a lot more lodge than resort in room amenities.
She sucks in a long breath and holds her gaze on the lodge’s sign as she hums, “Uhm.”
“I could really use a shower, so I’ll check in after I drop you off. Plus, it’s fish fry Thursday, and I mean . . .” I hold up my palms, and her mouth inches slowly into a grin. Soon, she’s laughing and nodding.
“Fine, we can stay. I mean, who can turn down a fish fry in the middle of the desert, right?” We both laugh at what is sure to be the worst fish fry ever fried.
I send Saylor into the store with my debit card to grab me a few snacks and drinks while I load her car up on the back of the trailer.
She skips out, and I take the drinks from her before she pulls herself up into the truck.
The coconut scent of her lotion or shampoo mixes with the engine oil coming from my arms and hands.
I can’t help but feel like I’m sullying her simply by sitting this close to her right now, but then my mind drifts to taking a shower with her and ruining her in a whole different way.
By the time I pull into the main campus lot, my cock is so hard that it’s threatening to bust the zipper on my jeans.
I’m going to need a cold shower when I check in, if I can make it that far.
Thankfully, a text from my brother interrupts my imagination by the time I return to the lodge parking lot.
CALEB: Dad wants to know if you’ll be joining us for drinks at the Guild House tomorrow.
I smirk to myself and cradle my phone in my lap as I type.
ME: If I get back in time. In Flagstaff for the night.
I had a hunch he would know Saylor was up here for school. He still keeps tabs on her, and he talks to Allison throughout the day at the office. My suspicion is confirmed in seconds.
CALEB: Is Saylor with you?
I chuckle as I push my phone into my back pocket without responding, then lock up the truck before heading into the lobby to reserve a king room with an extra-large shower.