Page 96 of Token

“If I’m going to be detrimental to the agency, I’ll walk away. I refuse to drag you down with me.”

“I’m not even trying to hear that,” her friend stated adamantly, shaking her head. “We started this together—hell, it wasyourgenius that came up with it—and that’s the way it’ll end, which won’t be for a very long time.”

Kennedy didn’t want to argue with her, so she wisely kept her thoughts to herself. But in the end, she’d do what she had to. She already owed Nate too much.

Nate.Her heart squeezed just thinking about him.

Turning, she set her half-filled cup down on the counter behind her. And it wasn’t just about the scholarship. The way he’d reacted when she’d brought up Jack had landed like the proverbial gut punch, and she was still reeling from the pain of it.

Stop looking for enemies in every corner.

But it had been the wake-up call she’d needed. She might not know a lot of things, but she sure as hell knew when she was being condescended to.

“How well do you know Jack?” Kennedy asked.

Aurora looked at her curiously, clearly surprised by the question. “Jack Walters?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve known Jack since grade school. He’s a sweetheart, which is amazing, considering his parents.”

Wonderful.Saint Jack strikes again.

“Why’re you asking? Don’t you like him?”

Instead of sidestepping the question, Kennedy decided to be honest. “Actually, I don’t thinkheparticularly likesme. At least, not for Nate.”

Aurora’s brows gathered above the bridge of her nose. “Really? What did he say? Because that doesn’t sound like Jack.”

“You know what? Never mind. I’m probably being too sensitive.”

She wasnotbeing too sensitive, but she didn’t want to have this fight again. Apparently, the guy walked on water to every member of the Vaughn family, and budging him off his pedestal wasn’t a task she wanted to take on.

“About Nate,” Aurora said, bringing the subject back to her beloved older brother. “He means well and I know he really cares about you.”

Unfortunately, sometimes meaning well wasn’t good enough. After all, the road to hell was often paved with good intentions. At least, that was what someone who must know hell better than her had once said.

“Um, Kennedy.”

Kennedy turned to find Jonathan hovering in the open door. “Joseph Russo is returning your call.”

She huffed in annoyance. It was about time. For a while there, she’d thought he’d ghosted her. In her experience, people in his situation were eager to clear their name and would have called her back the same day she called.

“We’ll talk later,” Kennedy said, lightly touching Aurora’s arm before hurrying to her office.

Once there, she sat down and snatched up her phone. “Good morning, Mr. Russo. It was nice of you to return my call.” She wondered if he picked up on the sarcasm in her voice.

“I hope you called with good news,” he said, as if he had no idea what she could be calling him about.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s quite the opposite. In speaking with your HR department, there’s no trace of the young man you told me about, and no one we spoke to remembers anyone like him. Also, Ms. Montgomery denies she colored her hair, and we can’t find anyone or anything like a picture to prove otherwise.”

Kennedy expected him to reassert his claims and perhaps offer an explanation. Give hersomethingmore to work with. What she got was lengthening silence. It went on so long, she was compelled to ask, “Mr. Russo, did you hear what I said?” Did he have hearing problems they hadn’t told her about? They’d met in person the last time, which would have made it easier to read her lips.

“Yes, I heard you. You can’t find the young man or a picture of Miss Montgomery with her hair dyed.” He paused before asking, his tone objectively mild-mannered, “Isn’t it your job to do whatever needs to be done to make my story fit what I told you?”

Of all the things she’d been asked to do in her professional career, this one took the cake. So much so she ran the question over in her mind several times, isolating every word to make sure she wasn’t mistaking their meaning or context.

“Are you saying you made him up? That Alexis Montgomery didn’t have her hair dyed when she came to work that day?” Her voice was hushed, her tone appalled.

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