by Alisha Rai
Another check bit the dust. “Six million.” This was so satisfying. “Five million.”
“Okay, stop. Wait. Let me think.”
“No.” Rip. “Four million.”
“Fine! Fine, I’ll take it.”
Katrina paused with her hand on the four-million-dollar check. “Say it.”
His face contorted, like he was swallowing something bitter. She hoped it did taste like that, like the grossest medicine a person could imbibe. “I tried to blackmail you.”
“Say you were a shitty father.” She paused. “And a worse manager.”
He repeated the words through gritted teeth.
“Thanks. That was lovely.” She slid a paper across the table. “Sign this.”
“What is it?”
“Basically everything you just said, in writing. I like to cover my bases.”
He scowled, but signed it.
She waved the check in front of him. “You are officially gagged. Are we clear?”
“Yes. Fine.” Thomas grabbed the check and tucked it into his suit pocket. He rose to his feet and sneered. “Goodbye, you crazy bitch.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I THINK WE’RE DONE.” If nothing else, Jas was done. Katrina’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling, her back straight. She looked magnificent, not cowed, but he’d be damned if he’d let Thomas insult her, especially after she’d given him millions.
Jas grabbed the older man’s arm harder than he needed to, and marched him to the door. “Don’t say another word,” he breathed as the man opened his mouth, no doubt ready to launch another insult at his daughter. Doodle—or Death, he’d had to think quick—obediently followed behind them.
Mona had left the back door open. “Oops,” Jas murmured, as he knocked Thomas into the frame of the door.
“Oh, so sorry,” he added, when he stuck his foot out as they descended the back steps. After he fell, Thomas scrambled to his feet and glared at him. His cheek was scraped, blood welling.
Jas had a flashback to Katrina all those years ago, injured and bleeding, and he felt a sudden, violent urge to destroy Thomas, even though the man hadn’t been responsible for that particular wound. Something in his eyes must have telegraphed his rage, because Thomas stumbled backward, tripping on his own feet and landing on his ass in the alley.
Jas didn’t believe in violence as a rule, but if anyone deserved to get knocked around a little, it was this guy.
“Let me help you up.” Jas bent down and grabbed the older man by his shirtfront and turned and slammed him against his own car, a bright red brand-new Ferrari. Jas brought his lips close to the man’s ear. “If you don’t leave Katrina alone for the rest of your life, being smeared isn’t the only thing you’ll have to fear. I will kill you. But first I’ll make it so you beg to die. Are we clear?”
Doodle barked and growled behind Jas, as if to add her own contribution to the threat.
He didn’t release Thomas until the man gave a short nod. “Apologies,” Jas added, when he opened the car door into Thomas’s midsection. “Have a nice drive home.” He shoved the still-doubled-over man into the vehicle and shut the door, only narrowly missing Thomas’s foot.
Jas waited until the guy left. Life had been so much easier when he’d stomped all his feelings down. This swirling mess of worry and concern and anger was rough.
He’d deal with the concern first. Then the rest.
KATRINA WAS BENT over, head between her legs, when she heard the office door open. Jas. She could tell by his footsteps.
His shiny black loafers came into view, along with Doodle’s four brown paws, and then he was crouching down in front of her, lifting her chin to inspect her face. Doodle licked her cheeks. Jas pulled out his handkerchief, and did a better job of drying her tears. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she sobbed.
“I don’t believe you.”
She took a deep, shaky breath. “I hate the thought that that man is my family.”
He stroked her hair back from her face. “What’s that saying again? The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb? You chose your family, and it’s not him.”
She took the handkerchief and blew her nose. He held out a gold watch. She stared at the Rolex. “What . . . ?”
“It’ll take him a while to realize he doesn’t have it.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You took my dad’s watch?”
“I was going to take back the check, but figured that may cause some problems down the line.”
Dumbly, she accepted the watch. It was a Submariner. Pricey. “What on earth do I do with this?”
“I don’t know.” He bared his teeth. “I couldn’t let him leave feeling like he’d gotten away with everything. It’s not a four-million-dollar watch, but it’s an expensive one. Pawn it.”
An odd urge to laugh came over her. “I’ll give it to Mona. A thank you gift.” Her smile came from deep within her soul. Yes, it had cost her millions of dollars, but now it was done. Her dad wouldn’t come back. And if he did, she had leverage. He liked his reputation. He wouldn’t want it smeared.
She inhaled. Most important, she’d done this herself.
The shame that she’d harbored over Hardeep saving her slipped away. It had taken her years to get to this point. She would never have been able to do it in her twenties. It was truly okay for her to have gotten help when she hadn’t had these financial or emotional resources.
She smiled through her tears. “I did it, Jas.”
“You sure did it.”
The unusual inflection in his tone had her glancing up. “Is something wrong?”
“Is something wrong?” He laughed, and it was a hard laugh she’d never really heard from him. “To quote you, what, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck were you thinking?”
She squinted up at him. “I don’t want to live my life waiting for the other shoe to drop any longer. I wanted him gone.”
Jas took a step back and placed his hands on his hips. “What if I hadn’t been here?” he asked, his voice raspy.
“You were here,” she said simply.
“What if he’d attacked you, and I couldn’t stop him?”
“Physical violence isn’t his style.” No, it had always been psychological and emotional abuse her dad had gone with. “In any case, you and Doodle could have handled anything.”
He raked his hands through his hair. “You should have told me. I’m your security.”
Oh dear. He was really upset. “Okay.” She held out her hand, which Doodle licked, then nuzzled. “You know what? You’re right. I should have told you.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not.” She wasn’t only trying to placate him. Her common sense had been mildly blinded by her emotions and anticipation of this showdown.
She may have also been thinking of Jas more like her boyfriend and less like her security. Which wasn’t an excuse she particularly wanted to share with him. “I see your point. You’re my bodyguard, it’s your job to know about this stuff. Had it been anyone else, I would have given you a heads-up. I didn’t think that through, and I’m sorry.” She licked her lips. “I needed to do this, very badly, for myself, and I think my anger blinded me to the practical logistics of this meeting.”
Deep lines bracketed his mouth. “You can’t keep things from me.”
She paused. Something about that command scraped. A year ago or even a month ago, she might have stuffed her annoyance down, but she didn’t now. “I agree I should have shared this with you,” she said. “But you can’t tell me I can’t keep things from you when you regularly keep things from me.”
“Don’t turn this around on me.”
“Don’t . . . I’m not turning this around on you. I’m bringing up a legit issue. You know everything about me. Getting you to talk about yourself is like pulling teeth.” It wasn’t until she uttered the words and felt a boulder fall off her shoulders that she realized h
ow much this had upset her. “I don’t even know what you like to eat for breakfast, damn it.”
“Breakfast again?” He shook his head. “I told you—”
“You told me you like waffles because I like making them, that doesn’t mean you like them for the sake of liking them!” She tried to control her rising voice. This wasn’t about breakfast, or rather, not just about breakfast.
“I don’t understand this. It is my job to know you.”
A client. “Am I a job or am I something else?”
That stymied him. “What?”
“I heard you telling your brother that I was your client. Is that all I am? Or have things changed?”
“When did I . . .” His mouth fell open. “Hold up. Hold up. You speak Punjabi?”
She waved that away. “Enough of it.”
“Wait—”
“What am I?”
Jas raked his hands through his hair. “You’re not only my job.”
“Then you gotta talk. You can’t shove everything down. I’m so worried you’re so focused on meeting my needs you’ll never tell me your own.” Her knuckles had turned white, her fists were clenched so tight. “It’s a pattern. It’s so hard for you to tell anyone what you need. Your family, your friends. That’s important, to have that support system. It’s important, for you to have that support.”
“Katrina—” His phone rang, and he cursed and yanked it out. His face grew pale as he read the text.
Katrina sat forward. “What is it?”
“My grandfather’s sick.”
Her hand fluttered to her throat. That robust, energetic man? “Oh no. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. He says it’s not an emergency.” He typed out a reply, then looked up. “I should go.”
“Of course.” Katrina grabbed her phone. “But you can’t drive, you haven’t slept. Take the car to the airport.”
“No. I’ll take you home first.”
She bit her tongue. Now wasn’t the time to get into how he was doing the exact thing she’d just told him she was concerned about, seeing to her needs instead of his. It would be quicker to humor him. “Fine.” She came to her feet and opened an app on her phone. “I’ll get you a flight.”
She waited for him to argue, but he was silent. “I hope Andrés is okay,” she said.
He held the door open for her. “Me too.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“YOU’RE FAKING BEING sick now? Grandpa, come on.”
His grandfather’s lashes fluttered open at Jas’s flat pronouncement. Andrés should have looked weak and small in the hospital bed, but it was hard to dull the ruddy flush in the man’s face or his big size.
Still, Jas supposed Andrés could appear fine and still be sick. Unfortunately for his grandpa, Jas had run into his mother downstairs in the hospital. Undoubtedly the man had dragged his daughter in as coconspirator, because his mother’s lips had been twitching up a storm as she’d covered up for her dad.
Andrés coughed. “What’s that?” he said hoarsely. “I can’t hear you.”
“I thought you had the flu.” Jas dropped down into the chair next to the bed. “The flu affects your hearing?”
“It does when you have the flu and an, um, sinus infection.” Andrés coughed again.
Jas placed his palm on his grandfather’s forehead. “You’re cold as ice.”
“The fever comes and goes.”
“What the hell, Grandpa? This is extreme and ridiculous, even for you. I haven’t slept all night. I don’t have any extra clothes with me.”
“I can loan you some clothes for as long as you’re here,” Andrés croaked.
Jas opened his mouth to answer, but a nurse came in. She smiled brightly at Jas. “Sir, can you wait outside for a few minutes?”
He gave his grandpa a suspicious look, but he couldn’t call the older man a liar in front of witnesses. He slipped out of the room and pulled his phone out. He wanted to text Katrina, but they’d left things far too unfinished. They needed to talk in person.
He groaned when he saw Lorne’s text. They’ll announce the pardon tomorrow. I’m sorry, Jas.
He hit reply. That’s okay, he typed. Except it wasn’t okay.
It’s so hard for you to tell anyone what you need.
He looked up and down the deserted hallway, then hit Lorne’s name. She picked up on the second ring. “Hey. Sorry to deliver the bad news via text. I tried to call, but it went straight to voicemail.”
“I’m visiting my family, the reception’s spotty here.” He paused. “It’s certain?”
“Yes. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news at all but the press is already spinning it as the vindication of an American patriot.”
Jas stared blindly at the blank off-white wall. “What about us?” If McGuire was the patriot, what were they, the ones who had stopped him from murdering an innocent? The ones who carried the scars of that night?
“We’re forgotten. Unless we make it so we’re not.”
“You want to go to the press.”
“Yes. There shouldn’t be only one narrative out there. I have two reporters chomping to get the story.”
He closed his eyes, stomach churning. He had to back Lorne up. That was what was right.
What do you need?
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” he said, enunciating every word carefully. “I can’t go through this again. I can’t bring those memories up. The nightmares. They’re so bad, Lorne.” His voice cracked on her name.
“I absolutely understand. I have to do this, but I get that you can’t.” Her tone was extremely gentle. “You had my back that night. I’ll have yours now. I’ll do my best to run interference so no one comes looking for you.”
He released a careful, shaky breath, the anxiety and fear leaving him. A dogged reporter might run him down, but he’d deal with that if and when it happened. “Thank you.”
“No worries.” She hesitated. “Listen, you can tell me it’s none of my business. Are the nightmares a regular thing?”
“Sometimes.”
Lorne made a sympathetic noise. “For me too.”
He scuffed his shoe on the linoleum. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely. You’re not alone.”
Jas swiveled away as a man bustled past him. He waited until the hallway was clear before he spoke, his voice low. “I feel alone sometimes.”
“Have you ever tried therapy?”
“Briefly.” Right after he’d come back home, before he’d gone to work for Hardeep. After that, his therapy had simply been to run away and forget.
“It helped me. Especially with the nightmares. I still go in for a tune-up.” She cleared her throat. “I can ask around, send you some names of good ones near you.”
He shifted. Bikram had offered the same. If multiple people were going to bombard him with referrals, he had to call someone. “Might not be such a bad idea.”
“Roger that. Hey, I’ll text you the dates I’ll be in California, too. We’ll get that drink.”
“Sounds good. Thank you for handling everything.”
“Not a problem. We all deal with things in the ways best for us. Take care.”
He hung up. He didn’t know how long he stood there, slumped against the wall, the relief like a drug in his veins.
“Son. How are you?”
Jas straightened. “Fine, Dad. Good to see you.” He hugged Gurjit, squeezing him extra-tight. His stepfather looked like an older version of Bikram, with the same stocky build. Jas inhaled, the familiar scent of Old Spice calming him.
“Whoa there. You okay?” His father’s big hand patted him on the back.
Jas hugged him tighter. “Yes. Everything is great.”
Gurjit paused, then whispered in his ear. “Your mother filled me in regarding dinner the other night. I’m proud of you, son.”
Jas coughed to clear the frog in his throat, then stepped back. “Thanks.” Gurjit was dressed in khakis and a black button-down shi
rt, which told Jas that his father must have driven here straight from work. The man didn’t wear anything but jeans when he was off.
Gurjit examined him closely. “You look tired.”
“Haven’t slept much. I drove home, then had to turn right around.” He gestured to the door. “Give it to me straight. He’s faking, right? This is some elaborate ruse? That nurse is in there chatting with him, not taking his vitals?”
His stepfather’s face went blank, but his gaze darted around the hallway, which was a dead giveaway that he was looking for his wife. He scratched his head. “Uh . . .”
“This is completely ridiculous. I expect this sort of thing from Mom and Grandpa, but you? You drove all this way from the city for these shenanigans?”
Gurjit winced, but didn’t confirm or deny anything. At some other time, Jas might admire the man’s loyalty to his wife, but not today.
The nurse opened Andrés’s door and smiled at them. “You can go in.”
“How much is he paying you for this farce?” Jas demanded of the nurse, and her eyes widened.
Gurjit’s laugh was strangled. “Sorry, ma’am.” He herded Jas inside the room and shut the door behind them.
Andrés smirked at them from his bed, clearly having heard Jas. “Done embarrassing yourself, boy?” He coughed.
It was the fakest cough Jas had ever heard. “You are not sick, and I want to know what’s going on.”
“I am sick, and you can ask my doctor, if you want. The nurse said he should be by shortly.”
“You know what?” Jas rocked back on his heels. “We don’t have to wait for him. I’ll go ask one of the other doctors. Or at the nurses’ station. Surely they can tell me all about my dear grandfather’s flu.”
Andrés glared at Jas, and Jas glared right back, both of them silent.
Gurjit’s exhale broke the standoff. “Andrés. I think the jig is up.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Andrés tried.
“He’s going to go out there and find a doctor who isn’t your old housekeeper’s son, Andrés. Or a nurse who wasn’t in the delivery room when Tara was born. Tell Jasvinder the truth now.” This was probably the same tone Gurjit used on his most mischievous students.