Chapter Thirty
Brock laid the contracts on Mitchell Robinson’s desk. “They’re all there,” he said.
Finally. He was almost done with this man. He couldn’t wait to get home and find Sam a doctor.
He didn’t like scaring that family, but he did what he had to do. With the money Mitchell paid, he could take time off to plan for the future. Find a job that didn’t entail him to put his life—and his family—on the line.
Mitchell was going through the contracts one by one, nodding as he put each aside. Brock watched the rain pound on the deck outside the huge windows. If he never saw another raindrop it’d be too soon.
“Did you have any trouble at the McKenna house?”
“No, sir. She was preoccupied and led me right into the house to use the phone. The Coulter contract was sitting on the desk under the phone. I was discreet, slipped it right under my clipboard. There was so much going on that I don’t think they’ll even notice it’s missing.
She’ll probably think someone accidentally threw it away or that she misplaced it. ”
Clive stepped into the room. “Rick Perez is on the phone for you, Mitchell. One of the McKenna girls is missing.”
Mitchell picked up the phone on his desk. Brock couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but he froze when he heard Mitchell say, “Hello, Sheriff, what can I do for you?”
The McKenna girl.
The redhead Rena had taken with her.
Brock needed to be calm. He’d leave her tied up in the Coulter house, they’d find her in the morning. Just like the family he’d left behind. All he wanted was to leave Cooke County tonight, no matter how bad the storm. He regretted taking this job and regretted ever knowing Mitchell Robinson.
Mitchell listened for a long minute, looking straight at Brock. Brock forced himself not to react, and not to look away. “I see, Rick. I’ll definitely be cautious … Hmm. Yes. Of course. How is Greg?” Brock couldn’t read his expression, but Mitchell had a good poker face.
This was fucked. Brock needed his money and he needed to get out of here now. Was Mitchell going to hold this over his head? Was he going to gyp him on the money he owed him?
Brock’s fists involuntarily clenched, and he forced himself to relax.
“Let me know what I can do for Greg’s girls. Anything … Yes, we’re hunkered down for the night, good to hear that the flooding seems to be isolated. Thanks, Rick.”
Mitchell put his phone down on the receiver. He stared at Brock. “There’s a lot you haven’t told me,” he said, voice low and angry.
“I brought you the contracts. Pay up, and I’m outta here.”
“Do you have her?”
Brock didn’t respond. He didn’t trust Mitchell. Hell, for all he knew he had a recording device under his desk that he could edit to make Brock look guilty and Mitchell innocent.
There wasn’t an innocent bone in this man’s body.
“Fuck,” Mitchell said.
“Pay me what you owe me, and we’ll leave tonight.”
“What does she know?”
“Nothing.”
They stared at each other. Clive looked from one to the other and said, “What the hell is going on?”
Mitchell opened his desk and took out a large manila envelope. He threw it at Brock. “Don’t come back.”
Brock left without another word.
“What the hell, Mitch?” Clive said. “What is going on?”
“Don’t play ignorant,” Mitchell said. He was angry at Brock Jones for shooting Baldwin and grabbing the McKenna brat, but he had all four contracts back, and that’s all that mattered.
He walked over to his fireplace and burned each and every one. He turned, a smile on his face until he saw Clive’s expression.
“Oh, please,” Mitchell said. “You knew we had to get the contracts back.”
“Because your bimbo screwed everything up!”
“I’m sending Nicole to Europe. We’re through, she just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Avery McKenna is missing. The police are involved. It’s going to come out— Dammit, Mitch, Rick Perez isn’t an idiot. He’s going to put two and two together.”
“How? And even if he suspects something fishy, there is no evidence. None. I paid Brock in cash. I have no connection to him on paper, never been seen with him other than in front of you.” Mitchell looked pointedly at his brother. “Do I have to worry about you, Clive?”
Clive shook his head. Mitchell took it as a sign he was on board, but his brother was annoying him more than usual.
“Grow a pair,” Mitchell said. “This is business. If it weren’t for me, Dad would have run the ranch into the ground.
As it is, until we launched Verdacorp, we were in the red.
Now, we’ve even exceeded Grandfather’s vision.
If I didn’t save our land, you would be repairing cars down in Dallas for snobs, and you damn well know it. ”
“At least it would be honest work,” Clive snapped.
Mitchell slammed his fist on his desk. “Our father squandered his legacy on booze and women. I saved it. Me, not you, because you have no business sense whatsoever.” He might have gone a bit too far, so backtracked just a bit.
“We make a good team, Clive. I have the business sense that Grandfather had, and you are good with people. They like you.”
“You don’t. You have no respect for me, or for the people we’re screwing over.”
“Don’t go soft on me now, Clive,” Mitchell said, his voice now a warning. “This deal is too important to blow right now.”
“Blow? We don’t have a deal if Ellen McKenna doesn’t sign over those two hundred acres.”
“I’m not letting one woman screw this up.”
“What are you going to do? You can’t force her to sell.”
“Then you need to do a better job convincing her to make the trade. I’m giving her the moon, Clive—eight hundred prime acres for two hundred. It’s a steal, and I’m not happy about it, but it’s the only option on the table right now. You need to get it done.”
Did he sound panicked? Maybe. A little. He needed that land.
Presley was working on a forgery, but right now, it wasn’t good enough.
But if Ellen went to court it wouldn’t matter—because what judge would think Mitchell was lying when clearly Ellen was getting the better end of the deal? At least on paper.
“I hope this is worth it, Mitchell,” Clive said as he opened the door. “I really hope you can live with yourself.”
He shut the door firmly. Mitchell hoped Clive didn’t do anything stupid.
No, he wouldn’t. He was as guilty as Mitchell. And if Mitchell went down, Clive would go down harder.
His phone rang and he wanted to ignore it, but caller ID told him this wasn’t a call he could ignore.
“Hello, Jeanne. Just today I was finalizing the menu with the caterer for your fundraiser,” he said, putting fake enthusiasm into his tone. “This is going to be your best event yet.”
“I’ve heard,” she said. He noticed she was losing her Texas drawl, at least when she wasn’t speaking publicly in the district. Five short years in DC was already stripping away her roots. “Perry says we’ve already brought in eighty thousand, and we’re getting more RSVPs each day. I’m thrilled.”
“You should be, last year we only raised fifty thousand.”
“Thank you for all you’ve done,” she said. “But I wasn’t calling about the fundraiser. I trust you and your people. But Davis told me the land hasn’t been notarized yet. I can’t hold up the bidding on the project anymore. The proposal has to be complete by Monday.”
“It’s in the process. My proposal stands as I wrote it.”
“But the paperwork isn’t in order. We’re friends, Mitchell, I’ve really gone all out for you this time, but as I told you last week, I can’t ask for another extension.”
“I’m not asking for one,” he said, his voice calm and cool, but he was seething inside. “I’m not pulling out, the land is mine, I just have to cross the t’s and whatnot.”
She sighed, spoke to someone on the other end of the phone, which irritated him.
If it weren’t for him, Jeanne Culvers would never have been elected.
She thought running on her grandfather’s name was enough to give her the win!
Hardly. He cleared the field for her. He raised money for her.
He owned her, and she damn well knew it.
But he didn’t say that. Instead, he said, “Trust me, Jeanne. You really don’t have a choice, do you?”
She didn’t say anything.
He smiled without humor. She thought she was the politician? She was nothing but a prop.
“I’ll talk to you later. Have a nice weekend,” he said and ended the call.