Page 59 of The Older Brother
I slip my phone out of my crossbody bag to check my messages. There’s nothing there, though. My mom usually sends some form of apology after we have blowouts like the one we had. We haven’t gone at it like that in a while, though. Not since I mentioned potentially transferring from the private school to the nearby public one my sophomore year. I wanted to see what life was like with a bigger class size, with football games that happened under the lights rather than Saturday afternoons. I wanted to ditch the uniform and maybe try my hand at a shop class. But elite swimmers went to Seton Prep. And David made sure I got in. There was always a reason for me to stay, to stick to her plan.
Nothing’s changed.
“You’re popular tonight,” our server says, sliding another pair of drinks on our table. These ones are pink, and from the smell, I’d say there’s tequila in them.
I quirk a brow.
“What is it?” Cami asks.
“Prickly pear margarita shot,” our server says. And just then, I notice the writing on the corner of the cocktail napkin.
Good girl. 007
I glance over my shoulder just in time to spot Rowan’s broad shoulders pass through the exit. His neck tattoos make him unmistakable, and the hint of his profile just before the door completely shuts kicks my heart into action.
Part of me wants to run to him, to ditch my friend and beg him to take me back to his place. But I think it’s enough knowing he saw me tonight, and he liked what he saw. I take the napkin in my hand and wad it up before Cami sees it, and when our server leaves, I scan the bar as if I’m looking for our mystery drink buyer just like my friend is.
I take a long sip of my pink drink and remind myself that Rowan and I are probably only a season. We’re summer. But damn if there isn’t a part of me that’s starting to wonder if we could be fall, and winter too.
Chapter 19
The north precinctis always quiet. Not a lot of crime happening around golf courses, resorts and gated communities, at least, not the kinds of crimes beat cops handle. Nope. These crimes are for officers like Steve-Mike, who has the conference room set up for our Thursday meeting as if it’s just another average Thursday.
“Donut holes. How predictable.” I snag one of the powdered ones from the plate at the center of the table.
“People act like cops are the only ones who eat donuts. Maybe it’s just a conference table thing, though. I mean, how many of your dad’s boardrooms have you been in that had snacks?” He grabs a powdered hole and pops it in his mouth, the sugar dusting the mustache hairs that hang over his top lip.
I snag a cinnamon one and shrug.
“Meh, I don’t know,” I say while chewing. “Those meetings are more of the charcuterie and brie variety.”
We both chuckle and nod.
“Fair,” Steve-Mike says.
I clap my hands together a few times to brush off the sugar remnants, then lean back in the wheeled leather chair.
“What are we doing here now? I mean, do you still want to hear about my work week, how I’m looking for places to volunteer, my handle on my supposed anger issues? Or . . .”
His grimace cuts to the point.
“We’re on a team now. We can talk about your father. I think you made some good progress; it seems like he’s letting you in. Bad news, though.”
My gut twists as my mouth straightens and my shoulders drop.
“Not sure how this pickle I’m in gets worse, but please, tell me.” I hold my breath, expecting him to tell me I need to go into hiding or some shit.
“That investment he pulled out for you . . . it’s legit. We scoped it out based on the few clues you got for us, and it’s not the one we’re interested in.”
“Fuck,” I sigh out.
I look out the glass window that separates this room from the front lobby. The officer working the intake desk is playing one of those games on her phone where she has to stack jewels for points. I wish I could trade places with her right now, as stupid and banal as that game seems.
“It’s still an in with your father, so don’t get dejected. You’ll just need to get him to talk about some other options. See if you spot any clues the next time you’re in the office. Maybe linger around a cluttered desk near his office. I’m sure your dad isn’t putting together these schemes on his own. We know a lot of the members of his team are profiting a little more than they should. Anyone come to mind?”
I breathe in slowly through my nose. Allison is the only person my dad would trust. I still think he’s using her, though, giving her just enough to do his dirty work and get to claim she didn’t know any better when the cards fall. Unless, of course, he’s putting her name on things the way he is mine.
“You watching Allison Kelly?” I ask him point blank because I need to know how fucked up my situation is. His long, silent stare tells me enough.
