Only the devil, p.18
Only the Devil, page 18
“Indeed it does.” He signals the waiter for more wine. “I imagine you understand that better than most. You mentioned your uncle earlier,” he says casually, as if commenting on the weather. “Alvin Reed, wasn’t it?”
My pulse slows, and awareness sharpens—the hum of the air conditioning, the cold creeping into my skin. I never mentioned my uncle. Not once during this entire dinner. Not ever. “I...didn’t mention him.”
“Didn’t you?” His eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “I could have sworn... Well, perhaps I read it somewhere.” He cuts another piece of meat with surgical precision.
My fingers tremble. I grip my thighs to steady them and to dry my palms. “How do you know about my uncle?”
“Daisy.” His voice is patient, like he’s explaining something obvious to a child. “You’re part of my executive team now. Of course, I know about your family. Your uncle’s unfortunate losses, his...disappointment with certain investment outcomes.” He leans back in his chair. “I hope you understand that your new position comes with certain expectations. Loyalties, if you will.”
“What kind of loyalties?”
“The kind that recognize opportunities when they present themselves.” He gestures around the expensive restaurant. “The kind that appreciate the difference between a guaranteed executive salary and the empty promise of a lawsuit that will never survive summary judgment.”
The room feels like it’s tilting. “You hired me to shut me up.”
“I hired you because you’re talented.” His smile is sharp now, all pretense dropped. “Whether you remain employed depends on how you choose to use that talent.”
My skin prickles, and I nod, a perfunctory act of obedience, but my mind races. Fuck. He knows about Uncle Alvin. How much does he know? My fingers twist my rings.
Does he know I’m his sole heir? It’s something which means nothing, given he didn’t own real estate, and he lost all but a small amount of retirement. He must assume I’m driving the ball on the class action lawsuit, but I’m not. I haven’t met with any of the other victims. Noah has. But he’s been using Reed’s name to begin discussions. Why does Phillip care so much? How dangerous could the class action lawsuit be? Does he anticipate it will cost him more than twelve million?
The salary, the signing bonus, the convenient timing—it’s all starting to look like a perfectly orchestrated social engineering attack. And I fell for it like a rookie clicking on a phishing email. What other exploits has he been running while I thought I was the one doing reconnaissance?
CHAPTER 23
JAKE
The tracker shows her on the move at 7:32. Brooklyn Nine-Nine plays on mute on the monitor, and I flick the mouse periodically to stop the screensaver from kicking in.
I have some updates to share with her. After she left the office for her friendly dinner, I overheard a conversation between Jocelyn’s interim replacement and an employee. I’m no accountant, but the gist was clear—something wasn’t adding up.
I went back to the tapes, but we don’t have surveillance in every office. After watching the corridor tape, I’m almost certain Jocelyn’s replacement was alone, talking to someone on speakerphone. The quality of the audio recording isn’t fantastic, but I sent it on to Quinn to see if she could make anything of it.
That the accounting reports don’t add up tracks with our suspicion about why Jocelyn was murdered. Perhaps she discovered something she wasn’t supposed to and planned to alert the authorities, or maybe she refused to sign off on the books.
The dot on the map arrives on our street. Dinner wasn’t lengthy, and she’s coming straight back, which means he wasn’t hitting on Daisy. Which, I’ll be honest, is exactly what I expected from the prick. Or maybe he hit on her and she told him off. Yeah, that’s more my girl’s speed.
I considered camping out down the street from the restaurant, but there was no point. Doesn’t mean I haven’t been tracking her location.
I mute the TV and listen for her footsteps on the stairs outside. Something’s different about tonight—I can feel it in my gut. The same instinct I trusted to keep me alive overseas is now telling me Daisy’s about to walk through that door with news that changes the landscape.
I turn the volume back up, not wanting to look like I’ve been sitting here in the dark obsessing over her location. Which, let’s be honest, is exactly what I’ve been doing.
Within minutes, she enters, locking the door behind her.
Her lips are pursed, her skin is pale, and the whites of her eyes are pronounced. Instantly, I’m prickly, but my ass stays rooted to the sofa.
She’s safe. I’ll wait. My read on the situation could be off. This isn’t my typical op. And, as far as protective details go, this one’s spiraled into fucked all territory.
“I’m going to change.” She walks right by me to the stairs. “Then we have to talk.”
“Roger that,” I say to her retreating back.
I flick the show back to mute. Normally, I love that show, and this episode is a classic, but the noise irritates me, which makes little sense, as I’m not in the field. There’s no danger lurking. I don’t need to keep an ear out for an approach or a chopper.
Earlier today, I gave a sitrep to Hudson and told him all’s good. My risk assessment had been low immediate risk, but when pushed, I told him the company is shady as fuck, and that can put any employee with morals at risk.
Daisy reappears at the top of the stairs. She’s changed into sweats, a tee, and chunky socks. The black eyeliner and blush are gone, so I’m guessing she washed her face too. I’ve been camping out in this condo with her for weeks, and I’ve never known her to need to wash her face within minutes of walking in the door.
“Everything okay?” I ask, but hearing the words, I sound like a tool. Clearly, everything is not hunky-dory. “Did he try something with you?”
The thought of that man putting his hands on Daisy against her will unfurls something that goes way beyond protective instincts. My skin heats and itches, and a powerful urge to wrap my fingers around the suit’s throat surges.
“No. Not exactly.”
She plops down on the end of the sofa and crisscrosses her legs so both legs are on the cushion, and twists to face me.
“Let’s hear it. No need to sugarcoat it.” If he touched her…
“He knows about my connection to Reed.”
My chest tightens. How the hell did he find out? Her shoulders are rounded, gaze downcast, and her big toe wriggles the oversized sock.
“And? Did he threaten you? Your mom?”
“No. He’s too smooth for that.” Her dark brown eyes peer up at me before quickly flicking back to her lap. “I’m not sure when he discovered my connection to Reed, but if I were to guess, it wasn’t until after he offered me the CTO slot. But maybe it was before. Maybe that’s why he offered it to me. He’s probably heard that someone’s still gathering names, that efforts to build a case haven’t completely stopped.”
“Did he fire you?”
“No, quite the opposite. Reviewed my obligation to the firm. Expressed his faith in me.”
“But he didn’t threaten you?”
“No.” She rubs the back of her fingers under her nose, and I notice the goosebumps along her arms. I lift a throw from the armchair and toss it to her, and she quickly pulls it into her lap, then wraps it around her shoulders.
“Want me to turn down the AC?”
“It’s fine.” She chews at the corner of her lip, and I nudge her knee, urging her to spit out whatever’s going on in that head of hers.
It’s not ideal that he’s made the connection, but if he’s confident he owns her, it’s not really a risk. Then it hits me.
“You’re taking the position. For real.” She knows he’s sleazy and there’s a damn good chance he’s guilty of murder, and yet she’s gonna do it long-term. “Is this what soul searching looks like on you?”
She sniffs and presses a shoulder into the sofa cushion.
“You know, I always prided myself on being someone who didn’t care about money. I never wanted to spend thousands on clothes, shoes, or handbags. I once knew this girl who bragged about her six-hundred-dollar sneakers, and I thought she was a moron. Logos on handbags. Belts. Always thought it was silly. A waste. I never wanted a fancy car. Hell, I didn’t get my license until I was twenty. I took pride in being above all that. And here I am…”
“Thinking about it?” I fill in the words for her because I can. I get it. When I gave Hudson the situation report earlier, I didn’t tell him he should pull me, that it wasn’t a good use of the client’s funds.
She closes her eyes, and I notice how long and full her lashes are and how she has a scattering of freckles, ever so light, along her cheekbone.
“It’d be easier, you know, if someone in my family had cancer and I had this way of justifying it.”
Her eyes open, and she doesn’t exactly smile, but there’s a hint of amusement in the tilt of her lips.
“That’s not the case, huh?”
“No. I mean, my mom’s an idiot, but I make enough to support her.”
“She can’t be too much of an idiot. She gave birth to you. You’re brilliant.”
She snorts. “I swear to god I question sometimes how that happened. Like if she’s actually my biological mother. But she is. I had a DNA analysis completed, so there’s no doubt. I’ve decided I just take after my dad.”
“What was he like?” She’s mentioned her mom, but never once her dad. I didn’t dig, as I expect it’s not a pretty story.
“Dad? Not good. Not bad. Once again, nothing extreme or dramatic that I can use to justify being an ass as an adult.”
I smile at that. I’ve got a stellar set of parents, but I ran across plenty of men over the years that I’d bet money had grade A assholes for dads.
“We’re not close, but he doesn’t ask me for money.”
“Like your mom?”
“Eh, she doesn’t ask as much as she just needs it.”
“You’ve been taking care of her for a long time?”
She nods like she’s lost in thought. Her eyebrows lift, and she speaks, but she sounds distant, like maybe she’s having a conversation with herself. “Mom thinks I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I should take my lottery ticket and move on. It’s not like I’d be breaking the law. If he’s actively breaking the law, an investigation will eventually uncover it. I’d just be receiving a lotto ticket every two weeks in the meantime.”
“Huh.” Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know why she’s so down. She’s got a conscience—and she’s warring with it. “With two lame-ass parents, I’m guessing your Uncle Alvin filled in the gaps.”
Her lips scrunch, and I know I’m right. I’m not the brightest, not nearly as brilliant as the sexy coder across from me, but I’m pretty fast on the uptake.
I reach for her hand. The battle she’s fighting is one that she’s gonna have to wage alone. But I’ve got a good sense where she’s going to net. She’s just gotta get there first.
I stretch out on the sofa, positioning her to my front with the blanket over her. She’s chilled, and while I can’t fight this battle for her, I can hold her and keep her warm.
She curls against me, resting her head on my outstretched arm, and I press my lips to the back of her head. She rolls, so she’s facing me.
We sit there, taking each other in, inches away from each other.
“There’s no future to the class action lawsuit. It’ll never see the inside of a courtroom.” She’s solemn, and it feels like she’s talking to herself as much as to me.
“That’s not why you’re doing this.”
“But he knows my connection. I’m not going to get anything now. I’m exposed.”
“But he wants you to stay?”
Her upper teeth sink into her lower lip as she slightly nods. “He really wants me to build the tool. You know, the one monitoring what short sellers are doing. Picking meme stocks that are about to explode. Or nose dive. It’s not illegal. But it’s scammy.”
“He’s not a good person?” I phrase it like a question, but I know the answer.
“No, he’s not. And while he didn’t threaten me, the fact he brought up my connection at all… He’s scared of that class action lawsuit, which makes me think he’s guilty in a way that he knows he’ll lose in court—if it ever sees the inside of a courtroom.”
“Do you think he’d kill?”
Her lips purse. She closes her eyes and lifts a shoulder. I’ll take that as a yes.
“And you’re still thinking about leaving ARGUS? Staying at Sterling indefinitely?”
Her dark eyes open, and I can see she’s torn. There’s a war going on inside her tonight. I know damn well what she should do, but there are some battles it’s best to side-step.
“Thank you.” She speaks so softly she more or less mouths the words.
“For what?”
She never answers, instead choosing to reach between us, her fingers finding the hem of my shirt. Her touch is tentative at first, then more sure as she slides her palm up my chest.
“Daisy.” Her name comes out rough, full of bottled-up tension, bottled because that’s not what I sense she needs.
“Don’t.” She shakes her head, her dark eyes fierce. “Don’t make me think about it right now.”
I understand. The weight of the decision she’s facing, the moral compromise—it’s all too much. And sometimes the only way to quiet the noise in your head is to get lost in something else entirely.
Her lips find mine, urgent and desperate, and I taste the remnants of her internal war. She’s using me as her escape, and I’m more than willing to be used. If that’s what she needs, I’m game.
I shift, pulling her fully against me, the throw falling away as her legs tangle with mine. She makes that soft sound in the back of her throat that drives me crazy, and my hands find the curve of her waist beneath her T-shirt.
“Jake, I need—” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t need to.
I know what she needs. The same thing I need when the weight of keeping her safe feels impossible. The same thing we both need when the world gets too complicated and the lines between right and wrong blur.
Each other.
Her fingers work at my shirt with practiced efficiency, and I let her strip it away, let her map the scars on my chest with reverent touches. When she looks at me like this—like I’m something precious instead of broken—I can almost forget about this mess, about Sterling, about everything except the way she feels in my arms.
“We don’t have to talk,” I murmur against her temple as she presses closer. “Not tonight.”
Relief flickers across her features before desire takes over completely. Tomorrow she’ll have to decide whether to take Sterling’s blood money. Tomorrow we’ll have to figure out if he’s a killer and what that means for her safety.
But tonight? Tonight we have this. Tonight we can lose ourselves in each other and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
Her hands slide down to my belt, and I know we’re both choosing the same escape. The conversation about the job and what comes next? It can wait.
Right now, there’s only us, and the desperate need to feel something good in a world that’s gotten too messed up for either of us to navigate alone.
CHAPTER 24
DAISY
The woman approaching in leggings and a billowy, waist-length tee could blend in as any young suburban mom, but as her long blonde ponytail swings beneath her solid black baseball cap, she reminds me of the actress who played Barbie. She weaves her way through the cafe and a few heads turn, which I’ve heard isn’t ideal for an operative. Perhaps she believes the black baseball cap draws less attention, but for this woman, that tactic is a fail.
Jake set up this lunch meeting with his colleague, saying that if a Sterling employee saw him meeting a woman at lunch, it might raise questions, but that if asked, I can just say I’m meeting a friend. Given I eat lunch with male friends and think nothing of it, I thought he was showing his ass-backwards Southern colors, but now that I see his colleague, I better understand his position.
If these are the women KOAN hires, then ol’ Rhodes really didn’t stand a chance when they targeted him. Of course, he’s so happy these days that if you didn’t know about his girlfriend, you’d assume he’d developed a THC habit.
Brie doesn’t slow as she approaches, her sneakers silent on the café’s worn hardwood. She bends for a hug, and I catch a whiff of floral perfume. I raise my arm for a slow pat, wondering what the eff she’s up to, when she says into my ear, “Smile like you know me. And like me.” Her breath is warm against my cheek, and I force my lips into what I hope passes for genuine affection.
Then she backs away and takes the chair opposite. I followed Jake’s advice and picked a table in the back, away from the windows, and selected the seat where I can see if someone I know enters the café. I had to drive Jake’s car to get to this location, so the chances of someone from work entering are slim, but not a nonzero sum. Still, there’s nothing suspicious about meeting a friend for lunch.
Brie Anderson lifts the utensils—wrapped in a paper napkin—unrolls it, and places it on her lap with the poise of a lady who lunches.
“I love your haircut,” she gushes so warmly I brush my fingers over my hair to remember what exactly I did with it today.
This woman isn’t what I was expecting. Maybe because Jake is so rugged and rough around the edges. He’s someone who could blend in when needed and become less recognizable with a clean shave or a haircut, but he’s strong and I can also easily imagine him in fatigues with a big gun and a scope.
“Thank you for meeting me.” She smiles while twisting to scan the room. Something tells me she’d prefer to be in my seat. “We order at the counter, right?”
