Page 73 of Unlocking Melodies

Jimmy squeezed my hand before letting go. “Play nice, you two. And remember – Mrs. Henderson's surveillance team has excellent hearing.”

As if on cue, we caught sight of Winston the pug attempting to look casual while obviously reporting back to his tactical team.

“Your backup is showing,” Gary commented dryly.

“Welcome to Oakwood Grove,” Jimmy laughed. “Where privacy is just a theoretical concept.”

I watched him head back toward the house, the easy affection in his goodbye kiss still tingling on my cheek. Every protective instinct I had screamed to keep him close, to shield him from whatever game Gary was playing.

Instead, I turned to his father. “Shall we walk?”

Gary's answering smile was perfectly pleasant and completely false. “After you, Mr. Cole.”

Gary fell into step beside me as we walked toward the back pastures, putting deliberate distance between us and the ranch house. His expensive loafers looked ridiculously out of place on the dirt path, much like my own Italian leather shoes.

“I was wondering when you'd come for this chat,” Gary said, his New York accent more pronounced than it had been at the diner. “Figured you'd have questions after meeting with Ramirez.”

The casual mention of Ramirez made me stop short. “You knew about that?”

“Kid, I've been in this game a long time.” He gestured vaguely at the Morton Hotel's direction. “People talk. Especially when they're being paid to. I also know that you’ve been looking into me. Which is quite flattering if you ask me.”

A horse nickered somewhere behind us, the peaceful sound at odds with the tension building between us. Through the trees, I could just make out Mrs. Henderson's surveillance team attempting to look casual while power-walking the perimeter fence.

“The Morettis,” I said finally, watching his reaction carefully. “That's who you're working for now.”

“Working for, running from – the line gets blurry after a while.” He stopped, turning to face me fully. “But you already knew that, didn't you? Probably had your corporate investigators dig up everything the moment I showed up.”

“Why come back now?” I kept my voice steady despite the anger simmering underneath. “Why put on this whole performance with childhood photos and convenient redemption stories?”

Gary's laugh held no humor. “You think I wanted to come back? To see my son look at me like a stranger?” He shook his head. “Some debts don't give you choices, Mr. Cole. Something tells me you understand that better than most.”

Once we were well beyond the ranch house, I stopped walking. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pasture, making everything look deceptively peaceful.

“I know about the gambling rings,” I said, cutting through the pretense. “The connections to New York. Ramirez filled in some interesting blanks about your debts.” I watched his face carefully, looking for any crack in his performance. “What I don't understand is how deep your involvement goes.”

Gary's expression remained frustratingly neutral, like he'd practiced this conversation in front of a mirror. “You'll find nothing on me, Mr. Cole,” he said, his voice smooth as expensive whiskey. “Because there's nothing to find.”

“Really?” My corporate patience was wearing thin. “So Jimmy getting attacked, losing his memory – that has nothing to do with your connections?”

“You think I wanted this?” For the first time, real emotion cracked through his facade. “My own son looking at me like I'm a stranger? Having to show him photos of his mother just to see a spark of recognition?”

“Then explain it to me,” I pressed, my frustration finally boiling over. “Explain why he's paying for your choices. Why he's been dragged into whatever game you're playing.”

Gary turned away, staring at the distant tree line. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, almost vulnerable. “All I want is to reconnect with my son. I made mistakes. Big ones. But I'm trying to make things right.”

“By working with the same people who had him attacked?”

“It's complicated.”

"It always is with you, isn't it?" The bitterness in my voice surprised even me. "Just like it was complicated at Rosewood, when he was working three jobs to cover your debts."

A flicker of genuine regret crossed his face. "I can't change the past, Mr. Cole. But I can try to protect his future."

"By lying to him?"

"By being here." He met my gaze directly. "Can you say the same?"

The words hit like a physical blow, but I pressed on, my voice dropping dangerously low. "What do you know about the money laundering? Through the music venues?"

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