Page 82 of Bad Situation

Thinking of the pictures he’s talking about, the same ones I’ve made copies of and stored on multiple flash drives, I grimace. “I don’t think you do. They’re not pretty.”

“Dammit, Pettit. I can’t do anything for Bree at this point. She’s buried herself but I can help you. I just need to know those pictures will disappear.”

The elevator doors part at my back, offering me a reprieve from the asshole in front of me. I put a hand to the door to hold it and say, “The thing is, I don’t need your help. My little OPR case is going to go away on its own once Bree’s explodes and, don’t you worry, it will. As much as you want me to take you up on your offer, I’m used to working by myself. And I’m watching my back like a hawk. If you think you can come after me, think again. I’ve gone up against scarier shitheads than you and enjoyed myself while doing it.”

I don’t know if he thought I was a full-blown idiot or just slightly dense because he shakes his head once before scraping a hand down his face. He knows he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

“And, by the way,” I add, just for fun, “there’s video, too.”

“Fuck. You cannot release them. They’ll ruin me.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was blushing. But maybe he’s just pissed and about to blow an artery. Either way, I’ve had enough.

Fucking loved listening to Jen beg last night but I’m not into that when it comes to my supervisor. I step into the elevator, press the button, and turn to see him still glaring at me. “Begging isn’t a good look on you. But, hey, give my regards to your wife and kids.”

The doors close, but not before I see his eyes widen.

I don’t think I’ll need to worry about Larry-the-Cheater anymore.

Chapter 23

Finality Fucking Sucks

Jen

It doesn’t matter what season it is, it’s like a rule. Every funeral I’ve ever attended, Mother Nature woke up that day with PMS from the depths of hell, giving everyone in her path the edge of her tongue and the back of her hand.

Snow, wind, oppressive heat. There was even a freak ice storm the day my aunt was painfully laid to rest all those years ago. It was the first funeral I remember and one I’ll never forget—though, at the time, I was young and didn’t understand.

Fall has left the building and winter decided to make an early, ugly entrance. Like an uninvited guest, rain whips at our umbrellas as we stand graveside where Patrick’s body is about to be lowered with finality and heartbreak. The temps have dropped to absurd lows for North Texas and the lashes of cold, stinging water are slapping us in the face, reminding me of my reality.

So many ugly realities.

My mother weeps softly next to me and I entwine my arm through hers. She leans into me as she dabs her sweet southern face with a hanky. My dad has his arm around her from the other side.

My father.

How can a man be so complex yet simple to the bone? Today is Thursday and he hasn’t been back to the office since Monday. He’s stayed close to my mom, helped Millie and Kate with funeral arrangements, and spent time with Jordy and Cara. A fierce man who loves his family to a fault—his passion to love and support goes so far overboard, there have been times in our lives where it has caused painful and bone-deep wounds.

Some of those have festered and never healed.

But unlike Ellie and Cam who belong to our mother, I am his. Cam simply left and didn’t come back. Ellie didn’t just leave, she fled the state of Texas in such a state of agony that the only thing that brought her back was my begging and Robert’s coercion. But I stayed and, even if he doesn’t know it, I did it for my dad.

I’ve always overlooked—even forgiven—his overbearing need to guide and direct when, really, it’s been his way to get his way. I know I’m not perfect, but there are times in life when you have to say fuck it and love your people in spite of themselves.

When it comes to Kipp Montgomery, I’m a practiced hand.

Besides his demanding I take every precaution to stay safe, I’m more surprised than ever that he’s left me to it. It’s not like him. He hasn’t talked to me about work and, normally, he obsesses on every detail about the company. But what has surprised me more than anything is that he hasn’t gotten on me again about giving Eli access to MI. Or about me being with Eli. Or about Trig rolling back into town like a ghost reincarnated and the very weird turnabout that he’s now my lead attorney.

No, Kipp Montgomery has been different this week and, quite honestly, it’s freaking me out.

I have a date at the federal courthouse late next week. It’s my next chance at a dismissal. If the legal stars align that day, I’ll be able to check one pain-in-the-ass off my list. Though the more I meet with Trig, the more confident I am this false accusation against me is the simplest to fix of all the shit that’s currently swirling in my life. I need to figure out who’s trying to frame me but, first and foremost, as the days click on, we need to find out who took Patrick from us. I’m not so naïve as to think that one won’t lead to the other. I know it will, but just the thought of that is enough to bring me to my knees because that means my issues are the reason we’re standing in this rain-drenched cemetery right now.

Eli spends every night with me. I focus on work and keep things moving forward with the Birmingham acquisition and he spends hours clicking his way through the networks of Montgomery Industries. He thought he was onto a lead the other night, but it ended up a dead end. His focus has been on who has access to the physical buildings and who’s tapping into the networks remotely.

And something else on my list that’s giving me the evil eye is our need to replace Patrick. This makes my heart hurt and brings me to my knees all over again.

The pastor brings the private, highly secure, graveside service to an end with a final prayer I should be focusing on but can’t. Ellie, who has flanked my side like a sentry all day, reaches out a gloved hand for me and grips my arm. I look over at my sister. Her golden hair was expertly piled on the back of her head but is now falling around her face because Mother Nature woke up bitchy. The only thing tarnishing her delicate, pixie features are streaks of silent tears running down her perfect, dewy skin. I lean over to kiss the side of her head as she sniffs and smears salt water across her face with her other hand encased in Italian leather.

When murmurs replace prayers, I realize it’s done. Patrick has been gone since Sunday morning but it wasn’t done until now.

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