Page 72 of The Wicked

“Precisely. And I don’t want it to come back to bite either of us later on. Discretion is vital.”

“As always. Who’s the guy?”

This was where it got tricky. “Seth Harless. He’s Graham Mandell’s head of security.”

“Congressman Mandell?”

“Yes.”

“And is this a separate project?”

“No, the same project.”

“So how do the pieces fit together?”

I took a deep breath and opened Pandora’s box. “Because Saralisa thinks Harless is the man who murdered her parents.”

Carson gave a low whistle. “That’s…”

“Fucked up? Yes.” When she described the encounter at the hotel, I’d known right away who she was talking about because I’d been hot on her heels. “But the allegation is out there, and if Saralisa and I stay together—which I hope we do—she’s going to run into Harless at some point. I need to get any misunderstandings cleared up before that happens.”

That they would meet was inevitable. My dad and Graham Mandell were old friends. Trey was dating his stepdaughter. Our families got together for cookouts and galas and Sunday lunches, and I wanted Saralisa to be a part of that, but first, I had to prove that what we were dealing with was a case of mistaken identity. Seth Harless was a family man. He had two daughters himself.

During my university years, I’d hooked up with a psychology student a couple of times, and I had a vague recollection of her working on some sort of project about trauma response. She’d mentioned false memories. Now I wished I’d actually listened to her, but I’d been young and horny and far more interested in her body than her brain. What was her name? Lizzy? Libby? Johannes might remember—he’d probably painted her.

Anyhow, the upshot was that trauma could lead to false recollections, and I suspected that was what had happened in Saralisa’s case. Would she be open to therapy? I’d gladly pay for all the treatment she needed if it would help her to lay those demons to rest.

But what I wouldn’t do was ruin Seth Harless’s life with unfounded allegations. Maybe there was a resemblance to a figure in Saralisa’s past? His eyes were unusual, I’d give her that. Pale blue, almost silver, and they had a way of boring into anyone he wanted to intimidate. More than once, he’d turned them on Trey. But that was his job.

My half-brother’s relationship with Elina Mandell could best be described as rocky. Sure, there was chemistry there, but Elina was a spoiled brat and Trey refused to admit that he made mistakes, let alone learn from them. They fought loudly and often. Twice, they’d split up, and secretly I’d hoped each time that the parting would be permanent. But three weeks before the infamous party at the Peninsula, I’d gone to use the swimming pool and found them banging in the cabana. Perhaps it would be third time lucky?

“I’ll take a look into Harless’s background. The accident was in Virginia, you say? Hopefully, we can show he was working here in Oregon at the time.”

“Fingers crossed.”

“I’ll have to link up with a colleague over there to do some of the legwork—licensing requirements, you know the deal—and since this is an old case, the costs might be a touch higher than usual. Depends how much is computerised.”

“The cost doesn’t matter. Getting Saralisa the help she needs, that’s what matters. I’ll need regular updates.”

“You’ll get them. Is that everything?”

“For now. Please see yourself out.”

After Broad closed the door, I rocked back in my chair and hoped to fuck I was doing the right thing. I was falling for Saralisa, but I had to protect my family and, by extension, Elina’s family.

If Broad could dig into Harless’s past and prove he had nothing to do with the events in Virginia, I’d also be able to reassure Saralisa that whatever she thought happened sixteen years ago was in the past and nobody was following her now. And if nobody was following her and she accepted my offer to find her a job, there would be no reason for her to leave Oregon. My comment last night about closet space had been a joke, but I found I didn’t hate the idea.

Domestic fucking bliss, emphasis on the fucking.

I’d never lived with a woman before. Until her, I’d never wanted to, but everything was different now.

Well, not quite everything.

My phone rang, and it was Dad.

“You need to get over to the house. We’re in damage limitation mode.”

Ah, fuck. “What did he do this time?”

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