Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Thorn
Angela Rosseau née Dubois waltzes into my apartment just after dark falls wearing sunglasses, a deep brown trench coat, and the expression of a woman who finds everyone and everything around her disappointing.
So, it’s business as usual then.
She’s also carrying a briefcase.
Pascal scowls. “Do you live to torture my security?”
A careless shrug as the sunglasses come off, as her coat is hung on the rack. “It’s better if I keep them on their toes. Them getting comfortable means allowing holes in your perimeter.”
“Holes I could plug if you told me how you keep getting in.”
She pats him on the cheek. “A girl can’t give away all her secrets now, can she?”
“Meow?”
Angela stares down at her. “What do you want, cat?” she asks, but she doesn’t just stare down her nose at Violet. She crouches, scratches her beneath her chin.
“Meow,” Violet says contentedly, rubbing her head against Angela’s arm.
The latter winces and straightens, and I squint at her well-fitted silk blouse, able to just make out the outline of a bandage on her ribs as she sets the briefcase on the counter and pushes it toward me.
I look up at her, lift my brows.
“Your father is dead.”
River’s fingers convulse around mine.
“Good,” I say, and they convulse again.
“I stole that from his office before they could secure it, but it’s locked.”
“And you’re telling me you didn’t open it?” I ask then shake my head at her expression. “Right,” I mutter. “Correction: you couldn’t open it.”
“I could force it,” she says, “but I’m not sure what’s inside and don’t want to damage it.”
“So, you want me to try.”
“If it has something to stop all the blackmail material coming out, won’t it be worth it?”
Of course it would be worth it.
The question is why Angela wants me to open it.
I narrow my eyes at her. “And what’s in it for you?”
“Nothing.”
River makes a tiny sound—not quite a laugh but close enough.
Angela’s gaze cuts to her. “Something amusing?”
“Just level with us, Angela,” Pascal says before River can speak. “We all know you don’t have a charitable bone in your body.”
“Careful,” she murmurs. “I could just take this with me and disappear again.”
“But you won’t,” I say.
She lifts a brow. “No?”
“You want me to open it, yeah?”
A terse nod.
“So shut the fuck up and let me do just that.”
The room falls quiet and I draw the case closer. It’s made of heavy steel—heavy enough to be bulletproof.
Or tamper-proof.
I touch the built-in screen on top and it flashes to life, asking for a five-digit code.
Angela huffs impatiently.
“What?” I mutter, tapping the keyboard. No numbers. Only letters. But five of them? Christ, it could be anything.
“Want to get a move on?” she prompts. “Because we only have so much time before this shit goes public.”
“Well, I’m open to any ideas. It’s not like dear old dad and I were close before or after I left.”
“I’ve tried the obvious,” she says, ignoring me. “Yours and your mother’s names. Sergio, for obvious reasons, his rank, his company’s name, all the nicknames for and names of the women he’d been with that I knew of. The projects he was head of. Hell, I even tried everyone on the Board.”
Sighing, I stare at the screen, hoping it’ll come to me.
I turn to Pascal. “Maybe we should just bust it open.”
River reaches past me, types on the screen.
N-R-O-H-T.
My name.
But backward.
“That won’t—” Angela begins, but River just hits enter and my lungs hitch when the case makes a whirring sound and pops open.
Silence surrounds us.
Then Angela slowly opens the lid.
Inside are three hard drives and a folded sheaf of papers.
Pascal sets his laptop down next to them, plugs one in and gets to work.
“Christ,” he whispers. “Are these for real?”
Angela nods as she looks over his shoulder. “Considering what it took for me to get them, I have to believe so.”
Pascal turns the computer my way. “It’s blackmail material,” he says and starts clicking through the files.
“A list of judges, shipping contracts for big corporations, political donations made by private security executives, photographs of officials with prostitutes, offshore money trails for pharmaceutical CEOs.” His expression hardens.
“Shit that will make people panic if it surfaces.”
She picks up the papers, starts reading through them. “And these drives hold copies of only a few choice files, apparently. His exit strategy.” Angela’s lips twitch. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
I wonder what her exit strategy is…and what lengths she’ll go to keep it safe.
“Where are the full drives?” Pascal asks.
Angela sets the papers down one-by-one. “An old Jardin Logistics facility. A courier route hidden through one of Thorn’s subcontractors. And in a private data vault the Lyons think I don’t know about.”
“I don’t understand,” River says.
“Don’t understand what, little hen?” I ask.
“If they release all of this then…what will they have left?” She shakes her head. “It’s kind of hard to blackmail people if you don’t have any blackmail material left.”
My brows drag together because…I don’t know the answer to that—to any of it.
“You think it’s a ruse?” Angela asks.
“I don’t know.” River nibbles at the corner of her mouth. “What do you think?”
Angela’s quiet for a long moment. “I think it doesn’t really matter what their motivation is. We need to recover the complete drives so we can take away any leverage they think they have.” She stands. “I’ll secure the one in the data vault. You guys need to take care of getting the others.”
“It’d be better if we worked together,” Pascal begins.
Angela snorts. “You know that’s not going to happen.”
“Okay,” he says. “Safer then. For you,” he adds when she just walks to the rack and shrugs on her coat.
“I’ll be in contact when I have it locked down.”
“If not safer for you,” River interjects, “then how about for Chrissy? If you get hurt she’ll—”
A laugh that contains absolutely no humor. “Then she’ll be far better off.” She slips on her sunglasses. “Inform the FBI, get them on the trail too, and I’ll be in touch soon.”
River takes a step toward her. “Angela—”
“Don’t do that,” she snaps.
“Do what?” River asks.
“Don’t look at me like you’re concerned.”
“I am concerned. Why are you doing this?” River moves over to her. “We could all work together—”
“No.” The sharp sound has everyone freezing. “It’s not safe for any of you.”
Heavy quiet falls.
“Don’t do that either,” Angela snaps.
“Do what?” River asks again.
“Don’t act like you care what happens to me.”
River’s mouth twitches. “What if I do care?”
Something slices through her expression. “No, you don’t.” She says it like she’s warning River off.
A sigh. “Fine, I don’t care.” A beat. “Same as you, Angela.”
Angela’s expression is so affronted at that accusation—that she might actually care about something—that I want to laugh.
“Focus,” she orders. “Make sure Attie gets enough to move legally and that Jean-Michel and Chrissy and Rory get enough to protect the charities. Lock down your financial channels and loop in Brooks and Briar. And you”—she glares at me—“stop avoiding your past and use it to strike the death blow.”
I nod. Because she’s not wrong.
“And what about you?” I ask. “What protections are you putting in place for yourself?”
“I’m always useful.” She turns for the elevator with that non-answer. “And I’ll continue to be so.”
River’s hand finds mine, holds tight. “No,” she says firmly.
Angela pauses, rotates back. “Excuse me?”
“You warned us,” River says. “You got us all of this.” She sweeps a hand out at the case, the paper. “Now let Attie and the others handle the rest so you can keep yourself safe.”
Angela stares for a single heartbeat. Then laughs, shakes her head. “Anther sweet girl.” Her eyes come to mine. “Keep her safe.”
“Don’t,” River begins.
Angela’s amusement fades. “The Lyons exist because they understand how to hurt people. If we destroy the files but leave the people who know how to rebuild them, this shit all starts again.” Her eyes cut to me. “Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next year. But eventually we’ll be right here again.”
I hate that she’s right.
River clearly does too by the way her shoulders slump and she leans against me.
I hold her close.
Angela nods approvingly. “You’ll receive a text from Sergio soon. Don’t listen to it.”
My stomach tightens. “What will it say?”
“It doesn’t matter so long as you keep River safe,” she says.
“I will.”
Angela looks between us and something weary crosses her face, as though she’s exhausted, beaten down, at the end of her rope. Then it vanishes, as though she’s carefully tucked it away. “Get the drives.” A beat. “I’ll do my part.”
Pascal shakes his head slowly. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“I’m playing the only one they’ll believe.”
“Because you’re the bait?” River accuses softly.
Angela smiles faintly as she jabs at the button for the elevator. “I’ve been called worse.” Before the doors close, her gaze locks with mine. “Be ready.”
Then the doors shut, and she’s gone.
“You think she’ll be okay?” River asks.
I stare at the closed elevator thinking that Angela Rosseau has survived more than most people can imagine.
But survival and okay are not the same thing.