Page 17 of Bad Situation

That doesn’t matter to Hattie Montgomery. She’s tough as nails when it comes to her children. “She’s not my friend. I know you don’t care, but I do. Doesn’t matter that we go to church together, she’d better watch when the Fourth of July rolls around and she has her big bar-b-que. I’ll shoot a roman candle right up her backside.”

“With that, we’ve gotta hit the road,” my dad interrupts and plops a kiss on top of my head. “Donny’ll pick you up in the morning. Don’t you dare drive yourself to work.”

“I promise and thanks for dinner.” I stand at the door as they make it down the hall to the elevator before locking the world away.

I’m on the tenth floor of my building. Besides my bedroom, home office, three bathrooms, and the laundry room, it’s all open and I usually love it. But tonight, it seems bigger and lonelier than normal. I usually don’t have the time to contemplate this as I normally focus on work—thinking about our bottom line, the next acquisition, or how we can operate more efficiently while still protecting the environment.

I’ve never had to ponder drummed-up federal charges, why my name is being dragged through something like this, or more importantly, my freedom. Lehmans, Patrick, and my father can assure me all day long this will go away, but they’re not the one being accused.

I take my almost overflowing glass of wine to the side of the room and sit in the most comfortable chair I own. It sits alone, facing the bank of windows that span floor to ceiling, looking out over the twinkling lights of downtown Dallas.

When I’m home by myself, whether I’m working or pondering, this is where I am.

It’s quiet and peaceful, a place where I can pretend I don’t have a care in the world.

I fold my legs underneath me in the deep, white slipcovered chair and stare at Reunion Tower as it winks at me through the reflection of the Trinity River.

When I’m more than halfway through my massive glass of wine and getting sleepy since I had two normal-sized ones before this, there’s a knock at my door.

My head whips around because no one ever knocks on my door. The building has around-the-clock security in the lobby and every guest is announced. It’s one of the reasons I bought this place despite my father calling it a cement pit from hell. But he loves his dirt so, of course, he wouldn’t approve.

I grab my cell and set my wine down on my way to the door. Padding across my floors silently on bare feet, I get to my door just in time to pull up the security on my phone. Right when I click on the hallway closed-circuit camera, I see and hear him at the same time, rapping an additional three impatient knocks.

Eli.

What the hell?

My heart pounds and I’m not sure if I should be grateful or nervous that he’s alone. Just when I’m about to call Patrick because I’m not about to speak to him by myself, I see him look up, straight into what is supposed to be a hidden camera over my door.

Looking into my eyes through the screen, he speaks loud enough where I can hear him both through my phone and the door. “I just want to talk to you. You don’t have to say anything, but I need you to listen.”

Well, shit. I shouldn’t want to hear what he has to say.

But I do.

And I hate myself for it.

Chapter 5

Boldest of the Prophets

Eli

This is the gray area I’m usually so comfortable working in. Pushing the boundaries, doing the right thing but going about it unconventionally. Over the last few years, I’ve taken that area between magnetic north and true north and redefined it. Hell, I’ve made it my bitch.

But coercing my way into a building with my federal credentials after I was taken off the case is pushing it—even for me. That shit may fly on TV, but not in real life.

I notice her security cameras as soon as I step off the elevator. They aren’t complete shit and most wouldn’t recognize them for what they are—but I’ve planted enough cameras in my day, I should know.

Giving her door three more hard raps, I look up into the camera and repeat myself. “You don’t have to say anything, but I need you to listen.”

I wait.

Nothing.

I raise my voice. “I know you’re in there. I saw your family leave.”

Still nothing.

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