Page 79 of Torched Spades
Smirking, I sit back in my chair. “I have an aversion to jail.”
“And I have an aversion to extortion.”
My amusement fades. “Say what you mean, Cromwell. I don’t like rhetoric.” I’m also not stupid. I don’t make a habit of swimming straight to thrown bait.
After a few moments of silence, Cromwell’s thumb rakes across his forehead, the brief show of bravado draining out of him. “This medical center is privately owned. We have a board.”
That’s when all the bells and whistles go off in my head. “And let me guess who sits at the front of the class, banging his gavel.”
Fucking George Reese…
My focus remains on him even though my mind is already spinning a hundred miles an hour. “So, I’m all ears,” I say, too pissed to keep dancing around this. “What does the chief of police have against rehabilitation?”
“He and I are both family men,” Cromwell stammers. “Fathers who believe in protecting their children over their integrity.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He lowers his gaze in defeat. “He paid me a visit this morning andsuggestedit would be in my best interest to not give in to your threats. He knows you’re, um,involvedwith his daughter.”
Fuck.
How the hell could he know? From what I overheard at Imperial Diner, all Reese has gathered is that I was seeing Becca on a professional level. Hell, Ledger said himself that... I trap the card between my index and middle fingers, my blood starting to boil.
Jack Ledger.
It seems Becca’s ex and I have even more overdue issues to discuss.
I catch Cromwell’s rounded eye. “Well, we appear to be at an impasse, Eli. He’ssuggestedyou keep me away from Dr. Brennan, and I’msuggestingyou send me back. What are you going to do?”
“He’s the chief of police, Mr. Malone.”
“True. I can see how that would sway your decision,” I say, tucking the playing card into one pocket. I draw my phone out of the other and start scrolling through my photos. “However, I don’t think George has copies of this.” I toss my phone onto his desk, watching a vein in his temple hammer into the side of his head.
It’s amazing what one can learn in a ten-minute internet search.
“How did you get this?” he demands shakily. “I only have this on my personal…” His eyes track to where his open laptop sits on his desk. “Hacking confidential files is illegal, Mr. Malone.”
Ignoring him, I lean forward and swipe left to reveal a more damning photo. “Did you know your girlfriend, Jennifer, is studying to be a lawyer at Brown? Too bad she’s only a freshman or she could help you out of this marital conundrum you seem to have found yourself in. By the way, I pulled your tax returns. You’re worth quite a chunk of change, aren’t you, Eli? I’d move that into a money market account if I were you. Keeps it safer from the MRS.”
“Do you mean the IRS?”
“No.”
Once my intentions sink in, he shakes his head. “You can’t do this!” he insists, and I’m disgusted to see his eyes are brimming with tears.
“Oh, correction,” I say confidently. “I can do anything I want. Fortunately, so can you. Make the right choice, and your bank account and indiscretions remain intact.”
“He’ll kill me.”
“Not as creatively as I will.”
I appreciate a man who recognizes defeat when he sees it, and judging by Cromwell’s sagging posture, he’s waving more than a few white flags.
“I want your word, Malone,” he says weakly. “Keep my name out of this, and I’ll see that Becca has no choice but to reinstate you as a patient.”
Instead of answering right away, I leave him sitting in silence for a few seconds just to watch him squirm. “Fine,” I agree. Then, picking up the picture frame, I add darkly, “But I wouldn’tsuggestfucking me over.”
I’ve never seen anyone’s face turn so pale while still breathing.
