Drilled: (Hard 'n Dirty Book 7)

by Ava Sinclair

  The driver behind me lays on the horn.

  “All right, buddy,” I say. “I’m going.” I turn onto the road, heading west.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Iris

  My father has put his cowboy hat on. He always wears it when the media is around. He fancies himself the image of the proud Texan, and has never avoided a chance to face the press when the coverage is positive. Now that it’s negative, he’s pushing me in front of the cameras like the coward he is.

  I stare at my image in the bathroom mirror. My face is surprisingly placid. It’s amazing how anger can have a calming effect. My heart feels like a block of ice in my chest, but I’ll need it for what I’m about to do. I’ll need it to cause the hurt I’m about to cause.

  I check to make sure the bun in my hair is still perfect before running my hands down the front of my lavender dress. I’m wearing matching heels. I’m the very picture of cultured femininity. I’m the girl my father raised me to be. Warm and pretty on the outside, ruthless on the inside.

  I retrieve the things I need from my office and walk to the front room, where my father is waiting. Through the window I can see the podium Rita had one of the men haul out. It’s positioned so that I’ll be standing against the backdrop of the oil wells rising and dipping in the background.

  I’m the press liaison who’s managed to avoid the press the entire time I’ve been here. They still see me as an unqualified hack. They see me for what I am. But I know my job better than they do. I’m here to ruin a man’s life.

  “You ready, honey?”

  “Yes, Daddy. I’m ready.”

  He opens the door, and I step out onto the wooden deck and walk down the steps. There are about a dozen reporters here. My father steps up to the podium, puffing his chest out, holding up his hands to indicate that he’s not the one who’s going to be taking questions.

  “I just have a quick statement before I turn this over to our new spokeswoman,” he says. “I don’t really need to introduce myself. You all know who I am. I’m Roger Tremaine, owner and CEO of one of the biggest employers in the tri-county area. If any of you were good at your jobs, you’d be out there writing stories about how our company is under attack by big government liberal regulators who’ve trumped-up allegations about our safety record.

  “Now, there was an accident recently. It added fuel to the fire that’s part of a witch hunt. I hear that some of you media jackals have even gotten to the poor man injured in that accident looking for a comment. But things aren’t always like they seem. I’m going to hand the podium over to my daughter, Iris. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

  He steps back, winking at me.

  I step up to the podium, laying the stack of papers on the top. I look out at the assembled faces.

  “My father is right,” I say. “Things aren’t always as they seem, not even beauty queens.” I glance back at my father, whose brow is furrowed under the brim of his ridiculously large hat. I give him a reassuring smile that tells him to relax, I’ve got this, so he does.

  I look back at the reporters. “When my father told me Tremaine Oil & Gas was under attack, I had no choice but to come to his aid. This is a family company. It’s paid the salaries of a lot of good people for many years. As a child of the owner, I’ve benefitted, too. Because of my father’s success, I’ve lived an entitled and sheltered life.

  “I’ve always known my father to be a businessman with sharp elbows. Despite what many of you may think of me, I’m not naïve.”

  I pause, taking a deep breath as I lift the stack of papers.

  “My father told you that things aren’t always what they seem. This is a stack of affidavits from men who have all sworn what I’ve been sent to tell you is true—that the leak that occurred on August 1, 2018, was the fault of crew foreman Ray Miller, whose failure to install monitoring equipment purchased by the company led to the injuries of him and others on his crew. These affidavits are meant to rebut the statement that Ray gave to reporters from his hospital room last night.

  I glance at my father, who nods at me to go on. He looks pleased and smug.

  “Only one side can be telling the truth,” I say. “Either Tremaine Oil & Gas, or Ray Miller. I’m here today to tell you that my father has instructed me to lie to all of you.”

  There’s a collective gasp from the audience. I pull out my phone from under the folder and hit a button, sending the video I got from Cal to the inbox of every reporter assembled before me. My father was so focused on my having fucked Cal that he never stopped to ask me if I had the video. Or maybe he just assumed his threats would be enough for me to keep it private. When he thought I was crying in my office this morning, I was really getting all the contact information of the reporters I’d be dealing with.

  There are dozens of pings as the video is received.

  “You’ll want to check your phones for the whole story,” I say.

  “Iris. What the hell are you doing?”

  My father steps in my direction, fists clenched, face red as a sunset as he stomps toward me. Then he seems to remember the cameras trained on him and stops, keeping his voice low as he stops a few paces from me. “Shut up. Shut up or you’ll be sorry.”

  “I’m already sorry, Daddy.” I push another button on my phone. There are more pings from the audience of reporters.

  “You’ll also be receiving an audio file of a conversation taped between me and my father this morning. I recognize that I taped this without his knowledge. I recognize there is information on that recording that you’ll find salacious. I don’t care. Because I feared my father, someone I care for has been hurt.”

  “God damnit, Iris! Shut up!” My father has all but forgotten the cameras now. For a moment, I think he’s going to hit me.

  “No,” I say. “I’m done with shutting up. I’m done with you. You sent me out here to destroy a man’s life, Daddy. That’s what I’m doing. I’m destroying yours.”

  “It’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you,” he says.

  I look out at the reporters. “Did you all get that?” I ask.

  The reporters erupt, asking questions all at once. I reach out and hold out the stack of bogus affidavits to the reporters. The closest one rushes forward to snatch it away. In front of me, three journalists are all but begin fighting over them as others hurl questions at us.

  “Did Tremaine pay people to lie? Was Ray Miller tipped off that this was going to happen? Is this why he talked? What kind of salacious information is on the tape? Who filmed the recording exonerating Ray Miller?”

  I wade down into the pool of reporters, deciding to answer the last question.

  “I know his name of the man who shot the video, but want to make sure he’s treated fairly. He fears losing his job. I’m sure he also fears for his safety. As a whistleblower, he deserves protection. ”

  “Iris, that’s enough!”

  My father is past caring about cameras. He only cares about shutting me up. I see his beefy hand open as he reaches out to grab me. But then someone steps in between me and him, someone tall.

  “Mr. Tremaine, I think you need to back away from her before somebody gets hurt.” I gasp in surprise.

  I didn’t even see Cal, but he’s here. My father yells for Rita to call security. She scampers up the steps, yelling over her shoulder for everyone to calm down.

  The reporters are asking who my protector his. He tells them.

  “I gave Miss Tremaine the video,” he says. “My name is Cal Beaumont. I was given the video by a man who works on Ray’s crew. And she’s right. He does fear for his safety.”

  They continue yelling questions. My father continues yelling at me, then suddenly stops, as if choking. His hand on his chest. A spasm of pain crosses his red, sweaty face. Several reporters standing close by rush over, catching him as he falls to the hot ground.

  I stand watching, all my thoughts obliterated by one: I’ve killed my father.

  People are yell
ing, asking if anyone knows CPR. I can only stand and watch as Cal leaps into action, bending over my father’s prone form, compressing his chest to keep his heart going until the ambulance arrives.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cal

  The night my mother passed, I walked out of the hospital swearing I’d never go back into one unless it was on a stretcher. But here I am, in the Cardiac ICU waiting room at Grandview Medical Center, where Roger Tremaine is now a patient.

  Iris was too upset to get behind the wheel after her father collapsed, so I drove her here. As we raced after the ambulance, she stared straight ahead, her hands folded in her lap. It reminded me of the first time I drove her to the office. She was silent then, too. But today it’s a different kind of silence, and I don’t do anything to break it.

  Her first words upon arrival were to me were to ask if I’d stay with her for a while. I said I would. She’s been back talking to the doctor for the last thirty minutes. When she emerges, she looks both sad and relieved.

  “How is he?” I ask.

  “Still unconscious,” she says. “But he’s out of danger, for now. The heart attack was caused by a blockage. They’re scheduling a catheterization.” Iris looks over at me. “He’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

  I don’t say anything. I’d learned CPR when my mother started having heart issues. When Roger Tremaine collapsed, leaping into action had been an automatic response. I could hardly believe what I’d done until I’d seen the footage on the news. Reports of what anchors called a “wild Texas news conference” were everywhere, even on CNN. It had been playing when I’d arrived in the waiting room.

  “I’m sorry I involved you in this,” she says. “I’m sorry for….I’m sorry for all the things I said to you, for pretending not to care when you were injured. It’s just that I was so…so scared of Daddy.”

  “You don’t have to apologize, Iris.”

  She begins to cry. “No. I do. Because it’s going to get worse for you. What’s on the news now is just the tip of the iceberg. I taped my father after I left you. He admitted everything—to setting up Ray, to having you beat up, to falsifying records.” Tears course down her cheeks. “Here I am, sitting in the hospital, my father in the next room and I don’t feel a bit of pity for him. Yet you saved his life.”

  “I’d have done it for anyone, Iris.”

  “That’s because you’re a good person.” She wipes away a tear and sniffles. “Why did you come back?”

  I want to tell her it was to save her, because that’s what I did. I saved her from her father. But she deserves to know the truth.

  “I heard about the news conference. I knew that your father was going to have you blame Ray. I came back to see if you’d do it. I didn’t believe those things you said when you came to my room, Iris. Or I didn’t want to. But I knew if you lied about Ray, it wouldn’t matter. If it was just a matter of rejection, I’d have still loved you forever. But if you’d destroyed an innocent man…” I shake my head. “Well, that would have killed it for me.”

  “I’ve destroyed my father now.” She makes the statement flatly. “It won’t matter to him that it was the right thing to do, just like it won’t matter to him that you saved his life. Once he wakes up, he’ll cut me out of his life. I’ll lose my friends. I barely speak to my mother as it is. I’m going to be completely alone.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

  She looks up at me, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “I don’t deserve you, Cal. After what I did…”

  “Baby, you did what you had to do. And when it came down to fighting your deepest fears, you did it in front of the whole damn world. I am so proud of you. You know what I said to myself when you stood up there and told the truth?”

  She takes a ragged breath and shakes her head. “No. What did you say?”

  I take her face in my hands. “I said, ‘That’s my girl.’”

  “Am I?” Her voice is shaking, like a child’s. “Your girl, I mean?”

  “Damn right you’re my girl.” I feel the intensity in my words. “If you’ll have me, I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life. I’ll never treat you like your daddy did. I’ll take care of you, baby. I’ll never let you down. What do you say?”

  “Oh, god yes.” She all but leaps into my arms, but then stiffens and sits back. “You should know there’s going to be scrutiny. The press is going to drag my family through the mud, Cal. My dad will be a villain to a lot of people. I’ll be a villain to others if the company ends up closing. We’ll be hated in Texas.”

  “So we’ll leave Texas. Where would you like to live?”

  She laughs through her tears. “Where can we afford to go? I’m not going to have any money.”

  “I’ve got enough saved to get us started. Then after that, who knows?” I realize how tired she looks. “Want to go down to the cafeteria and get some lunch?”

  “That would be nice.” She stands up, and as she does, a nurse comes through the door.

  “Miss Tremaine?”

  Iris turns. “Yes?”

  “Your father is awake. He’d like to see you.”

  I can see she’s scared. She turns to me. “Can you wait here for me?”

  “Sure.” I sit back down and watch as she slowly goes through the double doors to where her father waits in a hospital bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Iris

  My father is staring up at the ceiling, his face ashen and grim.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask the doctor as I stare through the window.

  “He’s refusing any more sedation until he talks to you. At this point, I think it will agitate him more if he’s not allowed to see you.”

  “And if he gets upset?”

  “We’re monitoring him closely. If there’s any sign that the agitation is affecting his heart, we’ll intervene.”

  “I understand. Thank you.”

  The doctor gives me a reassuring smile before I walk through the door. My father hears me come in. His eyes dart toward me, angry and petulant. His lips are pursed in a slight pout.

  “How are you, Daddy?”

  “I had a damn heart attack.”

  “Yeah, I know. They say you’re going to be okay, though.”

  “Disappointed?” He looks directly at me. “If I’d died, you’d have all my money.”

  “I don’t want your money.” I shake my head and cross my arms, disgusted. “I knew I shouldn’t have come in. Good luck, Daddy.” I turn to walk out, wondering why I agreed to see him in the first place.

  “Iris. Wait.”

  My hand is on the door handle. I debate ignoring him, but turn back.

  “Do you know why you’re alive?” I walk back over. “Because the man you had beat up saved you. Cal Beaumont gave you CPR.”

  “He’s the reason I had the damn heart attack.”

  “No, Daddy. You had a heart attack because you smoke and eat like a pig. If there’s any justice in the world, you’ll eventually be strong enough to answer for what you did to him, and Ray and Miguel.”

  “And to you?” He says the words quietly.

  I look over at the monitor. Three rows of colored lines rise and fall with his heartbeat.

  “I don’t care about myself anymore. If anything good came out of this, it’s that I learned that all the money in the world can’t buy character. Or decency.” I sigh. “I’m not looking for an apology, Daddy. I think I’ve always known what kind of man you are. I benefited from it, just as you said. But there’s a time when I have to choose between people who inspire me and people who poison me, and that time is now.”

  “I’m the poison.” He’s not asking me. He’s telling me.

  “Yeah, Daddy. You’re the poison. I have to go. I have to leave this life, leave you, leave the money. And no, I’m not asking you to pretend it hurts. You never wanted me.”

  “Now, that’s not true.”

  “Daddy, don’t.”

&
nbsp; “It’s not. I wanted a boy…” He looks down, refusing to look me in the eye. “I thought I’d have one. I’ve never been…good with women. Never knew what they needed. I failed with all my wives. Women scare me. You scare me. It always seemed easier to keep you weak.”

  “That’s no excuse, Daddy.” I look back at the monitors, which are still holding steady. “I called Bertram,” I continue. “He’s on his way. He’ll handle everything as best he can…the stuff with the company, your legal defense.”

  My father nods. Bertram Chandler is the company attorney whose advice my father regularly ignores. I have a feeling he may finally start listening to him.

  “Rita will be by later, I’m sure. I think she’s waiting for me to leave.”

  “Is that what you’re doing, girl? Leaving?” His question is delivered gruffly.

  “Yes, Daddy. I’m leaving. Goodbye. I’m sorry it has to be that way.”

  “So you’re going to him, then?” The monitor spikes as my father’s injured heart works harder.

  “Yes, Daddy. I’m going to the man who saved your life. I suggest you get used to the idea. Being angry won’t stop me from being happy. And it’s bad for your heart.”

  “Get on out, then,” he says, and I do. I feel strangely calm as I walk past the nurse. “He’s all yours,” I tell her.

  Cal stands as soon as I come back into the waiting room.

  “That was fast,” he says.

  “What I had to say didn’t take long.” I pause. “You know, I don’t think I want to eat in the cafeteria. Can we go somewhere else?”

  “Sure, baby. After I dropped you off, I parked by one of the back entrances near where they deliver supplies. We can slip away without being seen. Where do you want to go?”

  A hotel. I think the words, but don’t say them.

  “Somewhere safe,” I say. “Somewhere I can feel again.”