Page 92 of Pulse
“Good. I just left your father’s office.”
“How did it go?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds calmer than I feel.
“He’s a very interesting man. Not what I expected.”
That doesn’t answer my question, Ford. “That’s lovely. How did it go?”
He chuckles. “He was very welcoming, much more than I would’ve expected from a man going through the legal battles he’s currently embroiled in. We sat down over coffee, and I told him about the stalking and the emails. I stopped short of accusing Alexis. I just threw some crumbs down and watched to see how he dealt with them.”
“Dammit, Ford. You’re not getting points for storytelling here. Spit it out,” I say.
He laughs. “Okay. He?—”
Ding!
Troy bristles, his shoulders stiffening. “Hold up, Landry.”
I glance out the window. There’s a car parked in the driveway. I can see enough of the wording on the side to recognize the local pizza parlor we ordered from a while ago.
“It’s just the pizza,” I say. “Want me to get it?”
Troy looks over my shoulder toward the road. He nods warily. “Yeah. I already paid and tipped them. Grab the pizza and lock up behind you. Hang on, Landry.” He swipes around on his phone. “There. The security system is off. I’ll reset it as soon as you close the door.”
“Thanks,” I say, kissing his sternum before heading downstairs.
My nerves are jumbled.What happened in Ford’s meeting? Saying he’s a very interesting man isn’t exactly helpful.Is my father angry with me that he had to meet with my boss? Or will he appreciate they’re not leaving any stone unturned?
Does he have any answers or not?
I swing open the door. “Hey—Oh my God.”
Troy
“I’ll wait until she’s back to go into the details,” Ford says. “But I have to admit one thing. Dahlia was right. He’s much different in person than they portray him online.”
“Does that surprise you?” I ask, pulling two towels out of the linen closet and putting them in Lincoln’s bougie towel warmer. “When is the media ever right about someone? Claiming people are decent human beings doesn’t sell subscriptions.”
“You’re so right. And they’ve made a pretty penny selling the story that Joseph Dallo is an asshole in bed with the cartel and planning on ruining humankind.”
I laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about it. “So what’s your gut reaction?”
“Oh, I have more than a gut reaction.”
My ears perk up. “What does that mean? Do you know who’s behind all of this?”
“Yes and no.”
Fury greets me like an old friend. “Who the fuck is it?”
A car horn blows outside, which is an odd occurrence in this ritzy neighborhood. It goes off again, this time followed by an engine revving and a crash.
“What is that? Hold on, Ford.”
I peer out the window, curious but also … unsettled.
Headlights sweep the shrubbery just before the pizza delivery car bolts down the driveway. The car jumps the curb, clipping the light pole at the bed where the driveway meets the road.
“What the fuck?”
