Chapter 2 #2
She shakes her head. “That’s completely understandable, sis. Do you have Leith’s contact info?”
“I can find out from Stennis.”
Skye shudders. “That guy gives me the creeps.”
“You and me both.”
An hour later I’ve wrangled Cargill’s number from Stennis. I begged off from going on a date with him by saying I have a cold.
I call Cargill, and he answers on the first ring. “Leith.”
I clear my throat, wiping my clammy palm on my jeans. “Hello, Leith, this is Iona, the woman who?—”
“I remember you.” A smile tinges his tone, as if I’m fulfilling his expectations. “How can I help, Iona?”
“I wondered if I might meet up with you about something important.”
“Concerning?”
“A potential case.”
“Hmm.” I imagine him scraping a hand over his sexy five o’clock shadow. “I’m rather busy at the moment.”
“Of course, I’m sure you’re always busy! I mean, with all you have going on?—”
“Why me?”
“To explain it, I’d need to go into detail about the case.” I chew a nail, hoping this suffices.
“My man Draven will come pick you up in exactly thirty minutes.” He hangs up, leaving me open-mouthed and round-eyed.
“I’m riding in style to Leith Cargill’s estate in Lenzie!” I say aloud.
Skye tackles me, hurrying me back toward the bedroom. “We need to get you ready. You can’t go in jeans and a tee.”
Half an hour later, clad in a pink sundress with green-and-orange birds of paradise splashed across it, I blow a goodbye kiss to Skye and climb into the back seat of Cargill’s Ferrari SUV.
The whole ride there I gnaw my lower lip and jiggle my knee. Rationally I know the worst that can happen is he says no. But emotionally his rejection would feel like I’m being shot down in my quest for justice.
Draven pulls up in front of the converted farmhouse, springs out, and opens my door. I follow him into an airy entrance hall where vases spill over with fresh white peonies and sunlight drenches the black-and-white check tiled floor from a clerestory.
He leads me along the north wing past potted fig trees and kahili ginger plants to an ajar door, tapping on it.
“Come,” Cargill’s dark voice bids.
My heart leaps in my chest as Draven pushes the door open and nods me in.
Littered with books, wood-paneled, and subdued in tone, the room is no doubt Cargill’s study.
He turns from a shelf where he holds a large tome, his biceps bulging under the heft of it.
Wearing a dark-grey button-down shirt that’s open at the top, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he’s the epitome of off-limits, bronzed perfection.
His tall stature and commanding stance are worthy of a poem.
And the way his broad, solid chest tapers to a narrow waist makes a damp spot form in my panties.
Hypnotized by his strong, veiny forearms, I become aware he’s asked me a question.
“Whisky, Iona?”
“No, thank you,” I rasp.
He strides to a credenza, helps himself to a glass, and pours a drink. “Have a seat.”
I wish I could stand or, better yet, pace. But I fold myself in a wingback, smoothing out my dress. Having come all this way, I now feel incapable of stating what I want. I’ve only ever spoken of That Night to Maw, Skye, and Dr. Hsu, yet I have the feeling Cargill will demand every last detail.
He settles in an armchair across from me, resting an ankle over the opposite knee. His intense gaze bores into me, relentless, as he takes a slow sip of whisky.
“I’m—I’m trying to locate someone and bring him to justice,” I begin.
Coolly observing me, he doesn’t help me out.
I take a breath and continue. “I thought perhaps you could help, because you have a lot of underworld connections and, as you said, you conduct a great deal of in-depth research.”
“You can’t afford me, Iona.” The hint of a smile plays about his lips.
Stupefied, I falter, “But I have plenty of mon?—”
He holds up a palm, wearing a bored expression. “Your money is no good here.”
Crestfallen, I recall he’s richer than Croesus. “Then how can I pay you?”
“If you’re really serious about locating this man and bringing him to justice . . .”
Leaning forward, I hang on his words, afraid to blink.
Will he have me do him a favor so we exchange services?
His middle finger brushes back and forth over the chair arm as his hands curl over the edges. “Marry me.”
A nervous laugh escapes me. I wait for him to crack a smile or elaborate on his joke, but his features are unyielding and his gaze stony.
“Wait, me? As in marry? You?” I’m about as coherent as a fortune cookie.
He darts up a brow, silently challenging me to doubt his words.
My brows pull into a frown. He’s serious. “Why?”
“I need a wife to lend credibility to my enterprise continuing as a lawyer in the Syndicate.” He turns his glass around on the arm rest. “Too many people think I’m a loose cannon, liable to bow out of the Crew on a whim.
I certainly don’t need the Syndicate anymore.
But a wife will anchor me, convince my associates I’m invested for the long term.
” His lips curve in a wry smile. “A man with a vulnerability depends on the organization for protection. And a lawyer relies on the trust of his clients.”
“Why me?” My voice comes out cracked.
Resting his elbows on the chair arms, he steeples his fingers. “You suit me, Iona.”
I’m flabbergasted. “I do?”
A shrewd glint lights his flinty eye. “You’re canny,?7 hard-working, and easy on the eyes.”
It begins to dawn on me he really is serious.
“Leith, I’m flattered. I really am.” I worry my hands in my lap. “But I’m sure someone else will suit you far better.”
He pulls his shapely lips together sternly. “Are you questioning my judgment, Iona?”
“N-no,” I falter.
“Then what objection do you have?”
“I—I have a five-year plan, and marriage isn’t in it.” I roll my lips. This is the only reason fit for his consumption; the rest makes me look pathetic.
I’m shy of men, unable to be close to them.
I’m broken by my trauma.
I’ve never even lived on my own, much less taken on the kinds of responsibilities expected in marriage.
“It is now,” Cargill amends, dragging his scorching gaze over my body.
Snapping my thighs together, I try a different tack. “Any woman would want to marry you. You can have whomever you want.”
A subtle smile pulls at his lips. “And I choose you.” He surges from his chair, prowls to his desk, and picks up a calendar, circling a date. “Two weeks from today, Saturday June twenty-second, will do.”
My heart ping-pongs against my chest wall as I hop to my feet, abandoning politeness. “I can’t marry you, Leith.”
In an alternative universe, one in which I hadn’t been through That Night, I’d leap at the chance to marry him. He’s brilliant, experienced, and dommy, not to mention hotter than the whole Scottish men’s rugby team combined. But my trauma makes all the difference.
And in the end, I still hope to have a marriage based on love.
With smooth, suave strides he saunters over, stopping opposite me. A frisson rolls down my spine as he uses his middle finger to tip up my chin, his gaze searing my skin. “I always get what I want. Right now that’s you, Iona.”
Swallowing, I fixate on his lush lips. “You don’t want me.”
Pique flashes across his face. “Do you presume to know what I do and don’t want?”
I can’t tell him I’m defective, though I am. I pity him for taking me at face value. “Trust me, Leith. I’m no good for you.”
His gaze roams over my hair, nose, and lips. “Trust me, Iona. You are.”
“What about love?”
Mirth dances in his eyes. “It’s overrated.”
I give a slight shake of my head. “I can’t.”
Rolling his tongue in his cheek, he places a hand at the base of my back. “Come.”
He leads me to the sofa, seats me, and hands me his phone. He’s brought up my Instagram account, only it has two thousand fewer than my nine thousand followers, and its profile picture is slightly different from mine.
“What happened?” I frown up at him.
“This is a fake account I set up. I did the same on TikTok. Neither is active—yet. If you do as I say, they’ll both remain inactive.”
Blackmail!
“And if I don’t?” I ask, breathless.
“I’ll erase your current accounts and replace your identity with this one, convincing your followers you’re someone else.” He slides his phone from my hand. “That’s just the start, Iona. I can steal your identity, lock, stock, and barrel.”
He speaks in the casual tone you’d use to announce you’re picking up your car from the car wash.
Outraged, I shoot to my feet, instantly falling back on the sofa, he’s so close and towers so far above me. “I’ll report you to the authorities!”
An amused smile slants his lips. “Whose side do you think they’ll take? The Syndicate has them all in our pockets.” He perches on the coffee table, caging me in with his thighs. “Now what do you say, Iona?”
I lift my chin. “I’m glad I found out who you are before committing to anything. I still say no.”
Bookstagram and Booktok are my whole livelihood, but I can still use my contacts to promote books.
He cocks his head. “As I say, this is just the beginning. I’ll have your mother put in prison for life for having committed euthanasia.”
I stiffen, and my heart screeches to a halt. “How did you know?—”
“I have eyes and ears close to the ground.” He slides his tongue over his lower lip, and if I weren’t so terrified of him I’d be aroused. “And that’s not all.”
I feel as if I’m watching an accident in slow motion, unable to look away. He’s just threatened to put Maw in prison for life, but I have to know the worst.
“Your stepfather, Lowden Garvie, deliberately approved an alloy that would later prove to be cancerous—a nickel alloy used to construct the walls of a major residence. He falsified the metallurgic reports to make it look as if it was safe.”
My brows slam down. “He would never do that!”
Cargill goes on, impervious to my outburst. “The public project is now on the desk of the Leader of the Council. I can have it doctored so it looks as if Lowden is guilty. The counsilor owes me a favor and will gladly add in a few critical terms here and there under my direction. Lowden will be tried and summarily thrown in prison.”
Chills skitter down my arms. I feel in the marrow of my bones that Cargill could and would do all this, causing untold misery for my family.
He examines his nails. “Last but not least, your dear sister Skye, soon to be my sister-in-law.” A lethal smirk curves his lips, and icy tentacles grip my chest. “I’ll lure her with a job that looks innocuous but will really be a trap.
She won’t know what hit her. I won’t leave a single member of your family unscathed.
And I’ll use the full heft of the Syndicate to bring about your ruin. ”
“Why?” I ask hoarsely. “Why are you persecuting me?”
“Because I can.” He reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, confident in my submission. The electricity from his fingers shocks me in more ways than one. “Because I enjoy others’ discomfort.”
“You’re a sadist?” Somehow putting a label to him makes me feel an iota less wretched.
His smile crawls higher. “If you wish.”
Trembling all over, I ball my fists in my lap. “You’re despicable.”
He looks down his nose at me, his Adam’s apple appallingly sexy. “And you’re forgetting what you came here for. If you play your cards right, I may help you with that.”
Even this sounds like a veiled threat.
“I withdraw that request, if you’ll let me go.”
He leans forward, brushing his lips to my ear. His sultry whisper makes me quiver from head to toe. “Never.”
His mountain scent envelops and intoxicates me, and I involuntarily breathe it in.
He strokes his thumb over the divot behind my ear, making my heart skid off the rails. “You’ll learn to obey me in all things, Flame. As you’ll soon find, submission is far preferable to defiance.”
“I’ll never submit,” I croak, thoroughly under his spell.
I can hear the smile in his voice as he breathes in my ear. “Oh, but you already have, Iona.”
1?busy
2?packed
3?hasty glances
4?place
5?counter
6?stupid
7?smart