by JA Huss
“We’ll see,” she says. But it’s a very weak truce. Because I haven’t told her all my secrets. Some of them can’t ever spill out. Some of them should never see the light of day.
I make myself smile. I force it to look real. Because she’s so lost right now. So sad. So… vulnerable.
“Come on. I can’t wait for your seminar. I think this day might change my life.”
She smiles. It might even be a real smile and I make a promise to myself today to fix this. Whatever is happening, whatever she’s afraid of, I will stand in front of her. I will protect her. I will make it right.
We’re just driving past the Capitol building when Issy says, “Pull over.” She looks over her shoulder, halfway out of her seat, and says it again. “Pull over. Find a parking garage.”
“What?” I say, stopping at a red light. “Why?”
“That’s Jordan’s building back there. We have some time. Let’s just go in there and see if we can find out where he is. I need to talk to him. And if that doesn’t work, let’s stop by Chella’s Tea Room. She’ll know where he is.”
I turn right, pull in to the first parking garage I see, and drive up the ramp to park.
She’s got her seat belt off before I even cut the engine, and she’s out of the car one second later.
I catch up to her, wanting to say all the right things, but failing. Because no words come to me. Something is happening to her world right now. Something terrible. So I just walk next to her as we make our way down to street level and approach the forty-story building that houses her lawyer.
The lobby is sleek and sophisticated. There’s a doorman and a reception desk, so Issy heads over that way, me trailing behind her.
“Excuse me,” she says to one of the receptionists. “I’m trying to find out if there’s an emergency contact for Wells, Wells, and Stratford. They’re on mid-winter break, I guess, and it’s very important I get in contact with them.”
The receptionist just stares at her. “Mid-winter what?”
“I dunno,” Issy says. “They’re like, all on vacation I guess.”
More confusion from the receptionist. Then she looks at her co-worker and says, “Mellie, is Wells, Wells, and Stratford on some kind of break today?”
“No,” Mellie says. “I saw Wells Senior go up just a few minutes ago.”
Issy looks at me. I stare back at her. And we both shake our heads.
That motherfucker.
That arrogant motherfucker is lying.
CHAPTER NINETEEN - JORDAN
“So what do ya got?” I say, not bothering to look up as Darrel is about to knock his knuckles on the frame of my door.
“Jesus, man. You’ve got like a sixth sense about people or something.”
I smile, taking a moment to look up from the case file I’m studying. “Gotta be one step ahead at all times. You should know that better than anyone. Come in. Tell me what’s good.”
“Well,” Darrel says, easing himself down onto the chair in front of my desk. “We’ve got sixteen active cases right now and they’re all pretty much on track.”
I glance up at him again. “Jesus. When did we get so busy?”
“Word travels, I guess. Anyway—”
But he’s cut off by Eileen, my assistant, who does manage to knock her knuckles on my door frame before I can stop her. She’s sneaky like that. Maybe she should be the house private investigator? “Mr. Wells,” she says.
“What’s up, Eileen?”
“Someone’s here to see you. He’s very insistent.”
Darrel and I exchange a look that says, Yup, we know who this is.
“You want me to leave?” he asks.
“Nah,” I say. “It’ll be short, I’m sure.”
“Right this way,” Eileen says outside in the hallway.
“I know where his office is,” comes the voice trailing behind her.
“Shit,” Darrel and I say at the same time. That wasn’t who we were expecting.
Ixion appears in my door, doesn’t bother to knock, and walks right in like he owns the place. We’ve been friends… well, we haven’t exactly been friends for a very long time. But we’ve known each other since we were little boys. And back in our college days we might’ve thought about being more than friends.
He’s still kinda pissed about that game I played with him and his new girlfriend last month, so while I shouldn’t be surprised he’s here—I am.
He should be thanking me for that shit. No one ever thanks me. I mean, he got a new lease on life, he’s not living out in that shack up in Ten Miles from Nowhere, Wyoming, and he’s back in Denver. Where he belongs, I might add. With a pretty hot chick I introduced him to. You’d think a guy would get a thank you for that, right?
I laugh. “Well, this is a surprise. Come on in, Ix. Oh, you already have. In that case, have a seat. Can I get you a drink? Darrel, get the man a drink.”
He doesn’t sit and one look over at Darrel says he’s not here for the drink. He just lifts up his sunglasses so they’re resting on his forehead, places both hands flat on the top of my desk, glares down at me, and says, “What the fuck are you doing?”
I exhale. That exhale says I’m annoyed, I’m busy, and you don’t have an appointment. But I pride myself on being professional, so I say, “What the ever-loving fuck are you talking about now? I mean, Jesus Christ, Ixion. I get it. You don’t like me. You think I’m a bad guy. You think I fuck with people’s lives. So why do you insist on”—I make air quotes with my fingers—“bumping into me every chance you get?”
I see this fucker everywhere. The goddamned symphony—though that was partly my fault. At Chella’s little tea room, which I love and frequent often since she makes the most delicious pastries in town. He’s even working out at my fucking gym now. And it’s like… it’s like he just inserted himself into my world or something. And believe me, if I had known getting him down here for that last job I hired him to do was gonna subject me to his unending angst and anger, I’d have left his ass in jail.
“I heard you had a game going.”
“Darrel,” I say, not taking my eyes off Ix. “Do we have a game going?”
“We’ve got sixteen games going,” Darrel replies.
“Sixteen games,” I say, still looking at Ixion. “So which one are you interested in?”
“You know what game,” he says.
“No, Ixion. I really don’t. So either get real specific or just get the fuck out.”
He points his finger at me. Glares at me. Leans forward a little, letting me know just who I’m talking to, and says—
Could he kick my ass? I’m not sure. He’s big, but I’m smart. I think smart beats big every day of the week.
“—I’m not gonna play with you.” Eyes narrowed, jaw clenching, teeth bared. And not in a smiling way either. He’s always been dramatic like that.
I open my mouth to say something witty, and childish, and mean… but I can hear Eileen outside in the hallway, talking loudly.
“What the fuck?” I say, looking at Darrel. He shrugs, and then a man appears in my door, flanked by…
“Oh, this is fucking great,” I say.
“Who the fuck are you?” Ixion asks. As if he’s got any right to know anything.
But the guy pulls out one of those flip-open badge-holder wallet things and flashes it at me. “FBI, motherfucker. That’s who I am.”
I look at Ix. He looks at Darrel. Darrel looks at me. I look back at Ix.
Ixion says, “I’ll be back,” then flips his sunglasses down on his face like he’s the goddamned Terminator, and walks out.
OK. Annoying ex-friend—lover? Not quite—taken care of. Now back to Angry Guy Number Two. “How can I help you, Agent”—I read his badge because he’s still flashing it at me—“Murphy?” I squint to see it because it’s still kinda far away.
“Do you know who this is?” He jacks his thumb at Issy Grey.
“Nice to see you again, Issy. No hard feelings abou
t last night, right?”
“I knew it!” she yells, jumping and kinda spinning in place like an over-excited puppy. “You did this! I knew it!”
“I’m gonna need to ask you some questions, Mr. Wells,” Agent Murphy says.
“I’m outta here,” Darrel says, getting up from his chair. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He walks towards the door without a second glance back at me.
“Thanks, Darrel. Remind me not to make you a real partner in crime, because you’d probably bail on me the first time things got heavy.”
He waves a hand over his shoulder as he turns the corner and disappears, ignoring my deteriorating mood. Which is why I keep him around. He kinda gets me.
“OK,” I say, clapping my hands and rubbing them together. “Issy, do you mind closing the door? Whatever this is, Wells Senior doesn’t need to hear about it. He’s got a bad heart.”
Agent Murphy kicks out and the door slams shut with a bang.
I smile. I’m not gonna let this day go to shit. I’ve got too many things in play to let one ex—lover? Friend? Whatever Ixion is—a jilted game player, and an FBI agent take away my Zen. “I think you two had better sit down and take a deep breath.” Issy Grey opens her mouth to snarl at me, but I hold up a finger and say, more forcefully this time, “Sit. The fuck. Down.”
She sits, he doesn’t. But that’s typical, right? Men.
“Did you approach,” Murphy says, “Miss Grey last night about a sexual fantasy fulfillment game?”
“Nope.”
“Liar!” Issy says, kinda yelling. Which makes her boyfriend here shoot her a look, which I think says, Let me handle this.
I look at Issy Grey, because I have a file on her, and I know she doesn’t let anyone handle something she can handle herself. So I expect her to put up a fight.
But she doesn’t.
Which piques my curiosity.
CHAPTER TWENTY - FINN
“OK,” I say, “Let’s just all calm down.”
“I’m calm,” Jordan Wells says. “It’s you two who might need a Xanax.”
“You have some nerve, you know that?” Issy is sitting in one of the chairs in front of Jordan’s desk. Her legs don’t even reach the ground. I mean, her toes do, but she’s kinda swinging her feet because she’s nervous. Which is adorable. And kinda makes me happy.
Jesus. What’s wrong with me?
“Did you or did you not have a conversation with Miss Grey last night about playing a sexual fantasy game?”
“No comment,” Wells says.
I just look at him, then remember he’s some kind of high-powered lawyer here in Denver and adjust. “OK. But I’m gonna take you down to headquarters for questioning if you don’t cooperate.”
Jordan shakes his head. “No, you’re not. Unless I’m under arrest and you’re prepared to handcuff me, I’m not going anywhere and you’re not doing anything.”
Issy sighs.
“Just make this easy, Wells. Just cooperate. Her fucking house was ransacked last night, OK? Someone broke in and went through her shit. Broke her things. Personal things. Things that meant something to her. And we think it’s got something to do with your game.”
“Number one,” Wells says, holding up a finger. “I don’t have to answer your questions. It’s called the right to remain silent. Number two, I have no business dealings with Ms. Grey whatsoever, isn’t that right, Issy?”
We both look at her. She shrugs. “I think you do and you’re just not telling me.”
“Number three,” he continues, “the very short conversation we had last night at dinner…” He looks at Issy again. “It wasn’t dinner. What would you call it? Drinks?” He shrugs. Issy looks like she might stand up and throat-chop him—and right about now, I’m silently rooting for her to do that. “Regardless, that conversation happened after we signed an iron-clad non-disclosure agreement.”
I force myself not to look at Issy. “So you’re hiding behind that.” Piece of shit.
“Look,” he says. “I’m not obligated to say anything to you, Murphy. But in the interest of making you get the fuck out of my office without causing a scene, I’ll tell you something useful.”
I wait for it, but he does one of those dramatic pauses. So I say, “Well, what is it?”
“I turned her down,” he whispers, then looks over at Issy. “You told him that, right?”
She sighs. Looks kinda scared and small. And I suddenly have a lot of hate for this lawyer.
“She told me that,” I say.
Which makes Jordan raise his eyebrows and look over at Issy again. “You better be careful. That NDA is no joke.”
“You and I both know that NDA means nothing if a crime has been committed.”
“What crime?” Jordan practically snorts. “If there’d been a crime you really would be arresting me. But instead, you’re here making idle threats trying to scare me into falling for your stupid federal interrogation techniques. I’m the most powerful defense lawyer in the Rocky Mountain region, Agent Murphy. And while that might not mean much to a guy who comes from DC”—it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows, because this means he’s been digging up dirt on me—“it means a lot here. Because I know every judge, every state congressperson, every local police chief, and even the fucking governor. So you’d better get your shit straight if you want to play bad cop with me. Got it?”
“If you’re not playing a game with me,” Issy says, “then why did you lie last night?”
“What did I lie about?” Wells actually has the gall to look confused.
“We called your office last night,” I say. “And we were told your entire office was shut down for a mid-winter holiday. So why lie? Why not just take the call?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - JORDAN
“Who called?” I ask.
“The fucking FBI called, that’s who,” Murphy says.
“No, who specifically?” I ask again. People, man. You gotta lead them down a path by the goddamned hand or they just don’t get it. Luckily, that’s my specialty. I am the best at swaying a jury. It’s like my God-given gift.
“I don’t know who. Someone from the fuckin’ office.”
“Don’t you think you should find that out?”
He just stares at me. So I scratch my neck, wait him out a few seconds, but he’s either unable to find the right connection or refusing to do so. I whisper, “Agent Murphy, if someone from your office said they called me last night, and they told you I was unavailable… well, you might have a problem in your organization.”
Which makes him blink.
I look over at Issy. “Whatever it is you think I’m doing to your life right now…” I shake my head. “That’s not me, Issy. I swear. Not me.”
“Then who?” she asks.
“Well,” I say, tapping some keys on my keyboard and pulling up her file. I point to the screen, which she can’t see since she’s facing the back of the monitor, and say, “Probably one of the very questionable people from your past. Eh? Maybe? Possibly? Could be?”
“Stop it,” Murphy says. “You don’t have to be a dick.”
“No, I don’t. And I’m not, believe me. If I were being a dick, you’d know it. I’m being immature and smug at the moment. But not a dick.”
“That right there?” Murphy says, pointing. “Is dickish.”
“Whatever you say. My point is, Issy Grey has quite the checkered past.” She looks at me, wide-eyed. “I’m the best, I think I just made that clear a few seconds ago. And if you were going to be one of my players, it was my job to make sure I knew the risks. And even though you’re pretty high up there in the risk department, Ms. Grey, I sat down with you as a favor to our mutual friend. And once I heard the specifics of your… needs… I decided to walk away. And that’s exactly what I did.”
“So you’re blaming her.” That’s Murphy.
But I can see in his eyes that he already knows everything I just told him. Issy just stares at me, blank-faced, unable or unwilling
to comment further. So I continue.
“I know why you’re here, Agent Murphy.” Now I’ve got his attention.
“What?”
“It’s just my job, don’t take it personally.”
“You’ve been digging in my past?”
“Let’s just say… yes.” And I can’t help it, I smile.
“Is everything a game to you?” Issy is back now, pissed off. About me knowing her better than she thought, or knowing her new boyfriend, I’m not quite sure.
“Um. Pretty much, yeah,” I say. “Why not, right? Why not play life like a game? It’s as good a strategy as any.”
“You’re fucking with the FBI,” Murphy says, dead serious.
“Are you sure about that?” I say, leading him by the hand again. He just stares at me, so I continue. “Are you really sure about that, Agent Murphy? Because someone at the FBI, an organization to which you belong, fed you a lie last night about me being unavailable. Let me guess,” I say, looking back at Issy. “Something happened last night after our little chat?” She squints her eyes at me. “And they wanted to question you about it. You’re a very smart woman, Issy. I knew this intuitively, even before I started looking into your background. So you, rightly, said ‘Lawyer!’ And they countered with, ‘He’s unavailable.’ Am I right?”
She swallows, licks her lips, then says, “Close.”
“OK,” I say, folding my hands on my desk and glancing up at Murphy again. “So I was here last night. Pretty late, in fact. I didn’t get any calls. No calls came into reception, either. So…” I open my hands up. Obvious answer, people.
“You’re telling me my department is dirty,” Murphy says.
“Is that what I’m telling you?” I ask back. “Or is that something you already knew, Finnegan Murphy?”
“Good for you, you’ve got a file on me.”
Ah, he’s starting to get it now.
“This isn’t looking good for you, Wells. You’re playing a game you can’t win.”