by Tara Wylde
Another cold smile. “I never would have taken you for a prison bride, Sara. But I guess to each their own.”
What the hell is he talking about?
“Prison bride?” I say. “How do you figure?”
“I know Chance broke into my home office and found out about my connection to Nova Chemicals,” he says. “Once he found that, he would have realized that Sebastian Dacosta was the one who supplied the incriminating intelligence my partners and I have been trying to confirm.
“I’ll tell you what I told the rest of the board, just in case you haven’t figured it out yet: Patrick Sullivan embezzled money from a CIA operation while in Iraq and used it to fund the expansion of Atlas. Chance found out about it and blackmailed him into raising him up in the company. Sullivan knew that if the information came to light, the company – and his family – would be ruined.”
I shake my head. Chance told me they stole that money form a terrorist financier. This story isn’t true – is it? I don’t have any evidence either way. It comes down to which one I believe.
“You’re wrong,” I say. “Chance would never do that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t think he was capable of murder, either. Try to convince Sebastian Dacosta of that.”
My head is spinning with all this. And underneath it all is an itch at the back of my head that won’t fully solidify. Something Pearce said doesn’t add up, but I can’t think of it consciously. The harder I try, the further it slips away.
“Let’s say I do divorce him and sell my shares,” I say. “That would leave you with all of the stock, except for what Chance has left.”
“And the courts would likely force him to divest himself of them after a conviction. It’ll just take a little time.”
“But then aren’t you left holding the bag? It will eventually come out that Atlas was started with stolen CIA money. Why would you and your partners, whoever the hell they are, want to own a tainted company?”
He grins again. “The US government needs Atlas,” he says. “So do many other governments around the world. They’re not going to want to see it go down in flames. And when the new owners generously offer to compensate the CIA for their losses, they’ll be seen as heroes as well as good corporate citizens, making up for the previous owners’ sins. Politicians will be lining up to be invited to the Atlas golf tournament.”
I hate to admit it, but he’s not wrong. The stain will be on the Sullivans, not the new owners. Sully and Chance were the ones behind everything. With Sully gone, that leaves his family and Chance to take the fall.
Do I want to be a part of any of this? Selling to Quentin feels so slimy, like a betrayal of Chance. But do I want to get dragged through the mud along with him?
God, I wish I’d never met Sebastian Dacosta!
Pearce’s phone starts to ring. He glances at the screen and smiles.
“My contact in the Department of Defense,” he says, tapping the answer button. “Maybe he has some good news.”
As he talks, the itch in my brain gets stronger. Something doesn’t add up here, but what is it? And what just made it itchier? Something he said. Come on, Sara, you’re an investigator – think like one! What was the trigger?
I wish I’d never met Sebastian Dacosta.
Wait a minute…
I know Chance broke into my home office … he would have realized that Sebastian Dacosta was the one behind the incriminating intelligence…
Suddenly it’s right there in front of me: Chance didn’t know Dacosta had anything to do with Nova Chemicals until I told him. Up to that point, it was just a company, not a person.
He recognized the name but not the connection. It existed, but he needed someone to point it out to him. And what are the odds that the one person who had incriminating information on Atlas just happened to be a recent client of mine?
About as high as the odds of Quentin Pearce randomly choosing my name because it was first in the phone book. How stupid could I be?
It was right in front of me the whole fucking time.
Chapter One Hundred Nineteen
73. SARA
As Pearce jabbers on the phone with his man in the DoD, I mentally prepare my verbal assault on him. This stinks like week-old halibut, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it if it’s the last thing I do.
And I’ll be more than happy to spend every penny of the $150,000 he paid me to make it happen.
Suddenly my phone is going off in my hand. Chance! It has to be!
But it’s not. The caller ID says Noble & Cassidy. That’s Chance’s legal firm. How the hell did they get this number?
I thumb the answer button tentatively. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Talbot,” says a middle-aged voice. “This is Daniel Thompson with Mr. Talbot’s legal team. Please forgive me for calling unannounced, but being Monday, I was hoping I could get you to come by our offices and get this paperwork out of the way. And I can’t seem to track down Mr. Talbot today – would you happen to know where he is?”
“Paperwork?” I say stupidly. “What paperwork?”
The voice is silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, I assumed Mr. Talbot had discussed it with you.”
“Discussed what with me?” As if I needed another distraction right now!
“Getting your name added to all of Mr. Talbot’s accounts, adding you as sole beneficiary in his will, the usual,” he says. Then he chuckles. “You know – giving you the keys to the vault, as it were. He asked me to get started on it the day of your wedding, but I’m afraid it took quite a while to get all our ducks in a row.”
Chance gave me access to his money? The day we got married? No wonder it took him so long to come to the bedroom at the Sapphire hotel!
This isn’t a marriage of convenience. This is real, and now I feel sick for ever doubting him. And did I honestly believe he was capable of murder? What the hell was I thinking?!
“I’ll have to call you back, Mr. Thompson,” I say absently. “Something very important has come up. Thanks for calling.”
I thumb the phone off without waiting for a reply. As luck would have it, Pearce is hanging up from his own call.
I have to play this close to the vest, just like Chance would. But it’s all I can do to keep from grabbing Pearce’s scrawny neck and choking the answers I want out of him.
“Just as I suspected,” he says. “They have Chance in custody. They’re already on the way here to debrief me on what I know about Dacosta’s murder. I can only imagine how they’ll react to my information about the missing CIA money.”
Before I can say anything, I hear the door open behind me. Tre walks in, looking concerned.
“Sara, what are you doing here?” he asks.
“I wanted to talk to her about selling her shares,” says Pearce. “But as fate would have it, she’s also going to be able to sit in on my discussion with the people in the Department of Defense. They have Chance.”
Tre’s eyes pop. “What?!”
“They’re just holding him until they can get my story,” Pearce grins. “They’ll turn him over to the FBI after that. They’re aware of how delicate the situation is; they don’t want to bring unnecessary attention to any of this. I imagine they’ll also want to know about Ms. Bishop’s time on the run with Chance.”
“Sara,” Tre says to me. “I didn’t know about this. I didn’t want to see Chance end up in custody.”
My fury isn’t just contained to Pearce. I’m still appalled that Tre could turn on Chance the way he did. What kind of friend – what kind of brother – would do that?
Then it hits me: I turned on him, too. What kind of wife would do that? Who am I to be all high and mighty with Tre?
“There’s a lot more going on here than you think there is,” I say. “And when the DoD gets here, I’m going to make sure I fill in the holes in your story, Quentin.”
He gives me a startled look. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m sure they’ll be very in
terested in how you just happened to find my name in the phone book that morning of the board meeting,” I say coldly. “And speaking of coincidences, isn’t it funny how I also happen to be the investigator who has a background with Sebastian Dacosta?”
Tre looks like his head is about to explode.
“Wait,” he says. “You knew Dacosta before all of this happened?”
Suddenly Pearce looks like a slug is trying to crawl down his throat.
“I did some work for him late last year,” I say. “He asked me all sorts of personal questions. I thought he was hitting on me. Now I can’t help but think he wasn’t interested in dating me at all; he just wanted to know more about me for whatever the hell plan Quentin here has cooked up.”
Tre glares at Pearce. “Is this true?”
“She’s obviously clutching at straws,” he says. “She can’t resist rushing to Talbot’s rescue, no matter how much evidence there is to prove he’s a dangerous man and that he married her to keep her from testifying.”
He turns to me. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Sara. I know how hard that must be for you.”
At that moment, the intercom on Pearce’s desk buzzes.
“We’ve had your secretary called away on urgent business, Mr. Pearce,” says a male voice. “May we come in?”
He grins as he walks to the door. “Now that my friends are here, we’ll all have the opportunity to tell our stories,” he says. “I’d be happy to cover bets on which one they’re going to believe.”
Chapter One Hundred Twenty
74. CHANCE
What the hell is Sara doing here? That wasn’t supposed to be part of this!
Pearce looks at the men leading me in by my cuffs and frowns.
“Where’s Dresden?” he demands.
“Major Dresden has asked us to take the case from here,” says the silver-haired gentleman. “I’m Johnston, this is Frey.”
The bald man who subdued me in the park nods.
“Of course, you already know Mr. Talbot,” says Johnston.
“Yes, indeed,” Pearce grins. “Always a pleasure, Chance.”
I’ll bet, you little prick. If I wasn’t in these cuffs…
“These are my associates, Tre Carter and Sara Bishop.” He pretends to be embarrassed. “Pardon me, I mean Sara Talbot, of course.”
Johnston nods acknowledgement. “The major said you had some sensitive information that might help us resolve this more quickly, sir. We’re all ears.”
Sara’s eyes lock on mine. I wish I could read what’s going on behind them right now. All I can do is hope this turns out. And that she can forgive me.
“Well,” says Pearce. “As I told Dresden, my partners and I received some rather shocking information from Sebastian Dacosta before he was killed. As I’m sure you’re aware by now, Mr. Dacosta served with Mr. Talbot in Iraq and was an early employee of Atlas Security under the now-deceased founder, Patrick Sullivan.”
Johnston nods. “Before we go on, who are these partners you mentioned?”
Pearce looks surprised by the question. “Oh. Well, I suppose if you need to know. It’s a privately held trust run by a family from New Jersey.”
“Uh-huh,” Johnston says, scribbling in a notebook. “And the names of the principals?”
Pearce looks uncomfortable. “The head’s name is Tony Arturo.”
And just like that, I know what Pearce was trying to do. What he’s still trying to do.
“Okay,” says Johnston. “Please continue.”
“Well, Mr. Dacosta was an associate of Mr. Arturo, you see. When Mr. Arturo talked about buying Atlas, Mr. Dacosta gave him some information about how the company managed to expand so quickly several years ago.”
“And how was that?” Johnston asks, still scribbling.
“He said Patrick Sullivan managed to funnel money from a CIA counter-terrorism operation in northern Iraq back into the States, where he used it to fund the corporate expansion.”
Johnston looks up from his notebook, eyes wide. “You realize what you’re saying? You’re talking about treason.”
“Is that the proper legal term?” Pearce asks. “Well, if you say so.”
Suddenly Tre interrupts, holding his hands up as if there’s a gun pointed at him.
“Look, maybe we all need to take some time here to cool down. Treason isn’t a word we want to be throwing around randomly here.”
Johnston eyes him up. “We’ll be talking to you soon enough, Mr. Carter. Right now, Mr. Pearce has the floor.”
“Well, the rest is fairly simple,” says Pearce. “Mr. Talbot found out about it at the time and threatened to turn in Patrick Sullivan. He blackmailed his boss into making him a partner and leaving him Sullivan’s own shares in his will.”
“All right,” Johnston nods. “And how does this tie in to Dacosta’s death?”
Pearce frowns. “Isn’t it obvious? Talbot found out Dacosta had talked to my partner and he killed him to shut him up.”
I’m waiting to see what happens next when fate throws me a curveball that I never would have seen coming.
Sara comes forward, eyes blazing, and stands beside me. She turns my head to hers and plants a long, deep, powerful kiss on my mouth. It’s like a splash of cool water on a brutally hot day, and I savor every last drop of it.
“Ahem.” Johnston clears his throat. “If you wouldn’t mind not kissing the prisoner. We tend to frown on that sort of thing.”
“I don’t really give a shit what you frown on,” she says, turning to Pearce. “And I’ve had just about enough of you trashing my husband, you little prick.”
My heart pumps faster with every word. She believes me. Thank God, she believes me. It was the worst part of this whole ordeal, not knowing if she still trusted me. Knowing that she’s behind me in this is all I need. Nothing else matters.
Meanwhile, Pearce is sputtering.
“Of course his wife is going to say that!” he fumes. “Ask her how long they were together before they got married! Conveniently right after the information about Atlas’s investment came to light.”
Johnston looks at Sara and shrugs. “You seem to have something to say, Mrs. Talbot. Be my guest.”
“Oh, I have a lot to say, but right now, I want to apologize to Chance.” She turns to face me, eyes wide and swimming with tears. “I’m so sorry I doubted you. I knew you couldn’t murder anyone. And I don’t believe that you blackmailed Sully. Or that Sully stole that money. I believe everything you told me.”
I’ve got tears in my own eyes now. “There’s nothing for me to forgive,” I say. “You reacted the way anyone would have, because I wasn’t completely honest with you. I should have been, and I’m sorry.”
She kisses me again, pulling me tight against her lips. It’s desperate, the kind of kiss you give before the jail cell slams closed.
We touch foreheads and she looks into my eyes.
“It’s a good thing you gave me access to your accounts,” she says. “I can get your defense team prepared. We’re going to fight this. The charges against you, the sale, all of it. I’ve got your back.”
I smile. “I never doubted it for a moment, babe.”
“I love you,” she whispers. “Whatever comes our way, no matter what, I love you.”
“I love you, too. And I’m ready to fight with you.”
Now it’s Tre clearing his throat. We both look over at him. Sara looks like she’s spoiling for a fight, but he surprises her by holding up a hand.
“I know you love him, Sara,” he says. “But I’m here to tell you, Chance isn’t above lying. In He’s been lying for weeks now.”
Tre turns to face Pearce and smiles widely. “In fact,” he says, “both of us have.”
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-One
75. SARA
I turn to Chance, dumbfounded. “What is he talking about?”
The corners of Johnston’s mouth curl upwards in a curious smile. Beside Chance, I see Frey cross his arms over
his chest and tilt his head.
“I’m curious to hear that myself,” says Johnston.
“Good,” says Tre, propping his butt on the corner of Pearce’s desk. “Because I’ve learned a lot over the past week of working closely with Quentin here.”
Pearce’s eyes are blazing like a bonfire.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he barks. “We’re in this together! I’m going to bring you with me!”
“Yeah, not so much,” says Tre. “See, that’s your biggest downfall right there, Quentin: you assume everyone is like you. That loyalty can be bought and sold for the right price. Sorry to burst your bubble, but that man over there is my brother. And no amount of money in this world is going to make me betray him.”
Tears are coursing down my cheeks now. I feel almost as terrible for not trusting Tre as I do for not trusting Chance. The relief is palpable, like a physical sensation inside my chest. These are the men I loved back then. That I still love today.
“I hope your pen has plenty of ink, Agent Johnston,” Tre says. “First off, we’ll start with the partners. Just in case you didn’t recognize the name, Tony Arturo is the head of the Arturo family, currently on any number of FBI watch lists. There’s never been any hard evidence against them, but they’ve got a reputation as New Jersey’s most connected family. Scratch the underbelly of Atlantic City and they’ll scurry out like cockroaches.”
Now it all makes sense.
“I believe I had the pleasure of meeting Tony’s nephew the other night and breaking his hand,” I say. “Charming fellow.”
Chance’s eyes light up. “That was the guy?” he says brightly.
“I’d bet my bottom dollar on it,” I say. “Which I guess in your bottom dollar these days.”
He grins.
“But Big Tony has some big dreams,” Tre continues. “He doesn’t like everyone calling him a scumbag. He wants to be important. He’d also really like to have the feds called off his family’s tail. So what’s the best way to do that?”