Chapter 25
I’m beginning to wonder if Saylor and I are the only people left on earth. It’s been too quiet for hours now. She fell asleep with her body tucked into mine, and I don’t want to wake her by moving. The faint smile on her lips makes it seem as if she’s having happy dreams.
My phone has buzzed in the pocket of my jeans several times at this point, though.
Either someone close to me has died or our garage has caught on fire.
Whatever the impending bad news is, it can’t be my fault.
I’ve been here, practicing my speech and sorting through the best way to tell Saylor I love her too.
I’ve never said those words, not to a woman, and not like this.
I manage to slip my arm from under her head and pillow, and it takes me a few seconds to wiggle the feeling back into my fingers before sneaking out of bed and snagging my phone from the floor.
The notification preview reads Parole Update, so I step into my boxers, then make my way out of Saylor’s room and halfway down the stairs so I can call Mike-Steve and see what’s so important that it requires multiple calls in the middle of the night.
I press his number as I sit on the steps, looking over my shoulder while covering my mouth to keep my voice low.
“Rowan, where are you?” Mike-Steve’s voice is loud, and my instinct is to cover my phone and shush him.
“I’m not at home,” I whisper, abandoning the steps and heading into the den so I can close the glass doors.
“I don’t need the details on all that. But I need you to get to your dad’s office, or his home, wherever he is, and fast.”
My heart begins to hammer in my chest; my eyes fixed on the dark living room on the other side of this glass door I keep fogging with my breath.
I guess I knew there was a certain urgency to get evidence on my father’s securities fraud for the district attorney’s office.
I just didn’t anticipate I’d be deployed in the middle of the night like I’m Tom Cruise in some spy movie.
Especially while the woman I’ve fallen for is asleep a few dozen feet away, oblivious to my final massive secret—the only one I simply couldn’t tell.
“Okay, he won’t be in the office now. He’ll be at home, but I’ll get over there.
Do I need to wear the wire? What’s the play?
I feel a little bit like I’m flying blind.
” I begin to pace around the tufted rug that cushions my steps along the hardwood floors, and my hand grips my hair as a physical ease to my stress. None of it is working, though.
“Yes, you’ll need to wear the wire. And the key is to get your dad to say something about the news release going out about AirTek’s latest AI breakthrough about to blow the company’s stock up.”
I shake my head, my mind not alert enough at this hour to lock in on every word he’s saying.
I scan the wooden desk near the window for any paper and pen and find a golden one perched in a crystal stand with Saylor’s mom’s name engraved on it.
It was probably some dumb reward my father gave her for serving him so well, and servicing him. Such an asshole.
I pull the pen out and slide open the top drawer in search of a notepad. Instead, though, I find what looks like a press release from AirTek about AI.
“Did you get that, Rowan? They’re putting that news out today. We have a solid source at AirTek, and that tech isn’t ready yet. Not even close. So if that news gets out and the stock goes up . . .”
“Yeah, I got it. I’ll get to my dad’s. I’ll get what you need.
” My chest is burning as my eyes scan the very news release he’s talking about.
I’m not sure what to think, but I know what I’d like to.
I think my father is removing himself from his crimes, the same way he did with our mom. Just as he plans to use Caleb and me.
“Great. I’ll monitor when you get there. This could be over fast, Rowan. If you can get him to talk, keep him talking. The more we get on record, the stronger the case.”
His ability to remove emotion from the facts is impressive. I suppose mine is too. This is my dad we’re talking about. Yet, I’m about to wrap him up in a bow and hand him over to the feds. And the only tinge of guilt I have is the fact that somehow Saylor’s mom might be involved.
“Okay,” I mutter, and Mike-Steve ends our call.
I’m frozen in the leather office chair, my feet flat on the floor as I sit on the very edge of the seat and flatten the paper I found in Allison’s desk.
I didn’t hear her come in last night, and I haven’t slept at all.
I would have noticed, which means separate from how this press release got here, it’s been here for longer than a day.
I flatten my palms on either side of the page and pour over the words without the pressure of holding a phone to my ear.
Everything reads legit, not that I know a damn thing about how a tech company rolls out a press release.
But there’s something funny about the number on the PR company listed as the contact.
It’s familiar, a six-oh-two area code just like ours.
And the first three numbers are ones I’ve seen often, pretty much on every business card ever issued from Brogan-Tackerly.
But it’s more than that. I feel like I know this number.
I type it into my phone, following my gut, and as I close in on the final number, my contact list pulls up my worst fear. Allison Kelly.
“What are you doing in here?” Saylor’s voice breaks through the thick silence I’ve cultivated, and I jump back into the chair and gasp.
“Are you . . . working?” She slides closer to the desk in her socks, her long T-shirt barely grazing the tops of her thighs. I wish I was simply in here making a call to Mig or writing Saylor a love letter. Anything but what I’m actually doing.
“Is that my mom’s?” Her brow dents as her gaze moves from the press release to my face.
I should probably be a better liar. I’ve spent years doing it, keeping the fire a secret, and the affair.
But there’s something about Saylor’s eyes, the way they feel as if they’re looking right through me, reading my story for what it is rather than the rewrites I wish people would see.
I swallow hard.
“Rowan?” The way her voice cracks and her head tilts breaks my heart.
“I can explain.” And I guess I can, but fuck is it going to get messy. And it’s only going to hurt her more.
“I’m listening.” Her hands are balled at her side, her arms straight as arrows as she sways on her feet.
My long, deep breath does little to settle my nerves, and while I want to look Saylor in the eyes, I’m finding it hard for my tongue to work when I do. I drop my gaze to the press release and my phone, Allison’s contact pulled up on the screen, and I shake my head.
“It’s such a fucking mess,” I mumble.
“What’s a mess, Rowan. I’m starting to worry.” She steps a little closer, her fingertips now clinging to the edge of the desk as her eyes hold onto mine. I wish I could hold on, too.
My gaze drops again, along with my shoulders, my body sagging in defeat.
“Turns out my dad is guilty of insider trading, and probably a host of other federal fraud charges.” My mouth sours, and I know that taste isn’t due to my dad. It’s for Saylor. It’s all for Saylor. Everything I feel is for her.
“Okay, well . . . that probably tracks.” Her voice conveys lightness, and I admire her effort to make this into a joke. But it’s too serious. And again, it’s only heavy because now it touches her—Saylor’s world.
I lift my gaze, and I must not be bluffing very well, because Saylor backs up a step when our eyes make contact, and she utters, “Oh.”
She moves to the chair a few feet behind her, her hands gripping the arms as she slowly sits down.
I chew at my lower lip as I mentally organize my words. There are so many working parts to this now, and I’m not sure where to begin.
“The day I ran into you up north? When I picked up the car?” I begin.
Saylor nods.
“The guy who sold it to me was my parole officer. Except, it turns out, he’s not really my parole officer. He’s a federal investigator. And my entire parole was a decoy just to get me under the feds’ thumb.”
Her brow puzzles with confusion, and I shake my head in frustration.
“I know. I’m not explaining this well. But just hear me out.
When I met him up north, the car sale was a cover.
I didn’t know until then, and he unloaded all this evidence they have on my dad while we pretended to be talking about a classic Corvette in a Flagstaff diner.
Saylor, they want to put him away for years. And they gave me this wire to wear—”
“You’re wearing a wire?” she blurts out.
My crooked smile and short laugh are automatic as I pat my bare chest.
“Oh, fair point,” she says in a hushed tone, easing back into her seat.
“It’s in my car. It’s always in my fucking car.
It feels like I’m driving around explosives, and it’s always on my mind.
And I keep trying to figure out how to say the right thing to my dad when we’re alone to get him to spill the truth on tape.
And it sucks because he tricked Caleb and me into signing a deal that makes us part owners. ”
“You . . . and Caleb. He tricked you?” I feel foolish as she puts it so plain.
“The truth is, I was so busy sparring with my brother and chipping away at his ego that I didn’t pay attention like I should have.
I thought we were signing documents for his will.
And I knew something felt weird, but then Caleb signed and taunted me, and my father was pushing, and I just .
. .” I hold out my open palms to show my regrets.
I gave in. I reverted to being that little boy my father used to yell at, the one who wanted him to approve of me, to keep my brother out of trouble.
And even now that Caleb resents me, I’m still trying to save his ass.