Page 70 of Veil of Lies

Michael: Your father wants to see you.

That surprised me. I hadn’t heard from Michael since the story broke.

Me: When?

Michael: You’re on the list for Saturday.

Me: Why doesn’t he just call me?

To my intense irritation, Michael left me on read. The guy was such a dick.

I pushed my phone back into my pocket and tried to concentrate on what Professor Chan was telling us, something about interest rates, but it was hopeless. All I could think about was seeing Dad.

Brax threw me a sideways look. He’d kept me at a distance since he found out who I was, but still chose to sit next to me in class. There was no more flirty banter, but at least his presence kept the other students away. Although a few of them still went out of their way to whisper shitty comments before and after class, knowing the professors wouldn’t hear them.

I ignored him. I was too busy trying to figure out the logistics of a trip to NYC. Getting past the press pack would be my first hurdle. Then I needed to catch a flight, as I didn’t fancy hiring a car after the incident with Harley.

This would be the first time I’d seen Dad since his arrest. I had tried to visit before, of course, but he had refused to see me. Eventually I’d given up and relied on updates from Michael.

It had hurt, but I understood to a degree. I was under no illusions as to what life in a federal correctional center was like. Hardly a bed of roses for sure. Dad wasn’t some hardened gangbanger. He was a lanky, mild-mannered guy with a brain the size of California. If some tatted dude with a grudge wanted to pick a fight with him, there was no way he would be able to stand up for himself.

Michael had assured me he was safe, but I had my doubts. Prison wasn’t at all safe. Even if he wasn’t currently being held in a supermax, he might be after the trial. It didn’t bear thinking about. No way would Dad survive that.

The lecture ended and Brax followed me out as I worked out the logistics of my visit in my head. I’d have to call Michael later, ask him to book everything. I didn’t have the cash to cover flights and a hotel.

“Everything OK?” he asked as we headed to the library.

I looked up in surprise. He’d barely spoken to me since we crossed the line in the apartment.

“Yeah. Dad wants to see me, so I have to go to New York this weekend.”

His brows shot up. “Are you sure that’s wise given…”

I knew what he meant. The car accident had been a recurring topic of conversation, as well as the break-in. Neither the police nor the college security team had found anything amiss. No evidence of another vehicle, no security camera footage of an intruder. No witnesses either. Whoever was responsible was clearly no amateur.

The dean felt it was all a storm in a teacup. He’d gone to great lengths to assure me this was probably some prank by a disgruntled student with a vendetta. I’d pointed out that it was too much of a coincidence when someone else had tried to kill us, even if the police believed it was an accident. They’d even accused Harley of driving under the influence, with zero evidence.

“I’ll be fine,” I snapped as I pushed open the library door. The scent of old books soothed me. I loved this place. It was one of the few rooms where people mostly left me alone.

“You shouldn’t go alone,” he continued as we reached our usual table.

“Go where?” Quinn piped up curiously. His laptop was open, lines of code covering the screen.

It was all meaningless to me, I still had no clue what he actually studied other than it was something to do with computers. He thought it was hilarious the way my brain scrambled anything to do with technology and had almost laughed himself into a coma when he realized I thought Java was coffee-related.

“New York, the Metropolitan Correctional Center. Dad wants to see me. I’m on the list for Saturday.”

Quinn and Brax exchanged a look I couldn’t decipher.

“What?” I asked with narrowed eyes.

“We’ll come with you.”

“I can’t, I have to go home this weekend,” Brax said with a frown. “Harley doesn’t have plans though.”

Quinn snorted. “Of course he doesn’t. The poor guy follows Stella around like a lost puppy.”

“No, he doesn’t, we’re just hooking up,” I stated. Not that I really believed that, and from Quinn’s laughter, neither did he.

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