Page 30 of Filthy Liar

I smirk. “So you’ve read my work.”

“Just tonight. After you left the party. I thought I should do some oppo-research for my client.”

I ignore that jab. Right now, I’m not working and I can’t think about the fact that Jeff Mayfair is one of his clients. But we need to get something straight. “Think whatever you want about me. But until two hours ago, Caroline thought she was safe and protected by her team. That’s why I came to you, that’s why I’m standing here. So if you need to know anything about me to clear the air between us, just ask. I’m an open book.”

If I thought he was icy before, that was nothing. The air crystallizes around us, sharp and frigid. Ice like knives. “You are not an open book,” he whispers. “Don’t lie to me again and we’ll be fine. As you say, Caroline deserves justice. We’ll get that for her, one way or another.”

“Not the other.” I swallow hard. That’s another lie and we both know it. “I’m not asking you to do your thing.”

His eyes narrow. “What do you think you know aboutmy thing?”

My heat thumps hard in my chest. “I worked here, remember?”

“You were the receptionist. And you were investigating us the entire time. Do you think I’m going to dignify your suggestion that anything we do here is unethical or illegal withanykind of response?”

Almost everything they do has a tinge of illegality to it. Who’s the liar now? “We’re permanently off the record, Jason. Don’t feed me a line like that.”

He stalks toward me and I stand my ground until he stops close enough for me to breathe in his scent. “Do you trust me to protect Caroline?”

I nod. I don’t trust him in any other regard, but I know to the depth of my soul that he’ll keep my friend as safe as possible.

“Then maybe it would be best for both of us if you let me do that. I’ll work better if you aren’t here.”

His words feel like an actual slap to my face. “No. I don’t care if you don’t like me, or if you think I’m causing trouble—”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Then you’ll—”

He cuts me off by sliding his hand into my hair, his fingertips dragging little zaps of lightning across the skin on my neck. “You distract me.”

“What does that—”

This time I’m cut off by a knock at the door, and it echoes through the room like a double tap of gun shots. Jason’s hand tightens on the nape of my neck. “Yeah?”

“Wilson’s good to go,” Cole says from the other side of the closed door, but we can hear him clearly. Which means he might have heard us, and that makes my face turn red. I’m not even sure what it is we’re talking about, but I’m pretty sure it has to do with the terribly inconvenient chemistry zinging between us.

“We’re just having a battle of wills over the matter of Caroline’s account, we’ll be right there.” Jason glowers at me. Okay, so we’re agreed on the inconvenient part. He drops his voice. “We don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll just lay it out for you. When Cole told me you called because of a rape, I lost my fucking mind. And now I feel like an asshole for being grateful it wasn’t you. Caroline doesn’t deserve that. I’m going to destroy whoever hurt her. I’ll do it for free. And I can’t have you judging me with your pretty dark gray eyes while I’m doing it.”

11

Melinda

Jason’s confessionis still echoing in my mind hours later, when we leave the hospital through the service entrance.

True to their word, they’ve kept Caroline safe the whole time. Now we’re going back to their offices to regroup and decide on the next step. Cole wants to find a safe house of their own and hire a private team to protect her.

Jason doesn’t agree.

“I think we should call in the U.S. Marshals. We can go outside your division, outside the normal reporting chains if need be. But the longer we leave them out of the loop, the more questions they are going to have about why,” he says to Caroline. Grudgingly, I have to admit I like the way they include her in the conversation. They recognize that she has a unique perspective here as both a victim and a professional in this area herself.

She plays with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She got to shower and change at the hospital, and came out of the bathroom looking determined and fierce—every inch the prosecutor that she is. “Do you have a contact in mind?”

“Deacon Webb. He’s former Secret Service. Recently left the president’s detail. I would trust him with my life.”

Caroline glances over at me. I don’t know what to do. “You could stay with me,” I say, but the uncertainty is clear in my voice. “It’s not ideal, though.”

I want her surrounded by real life GI Joes. I’m clever and fast, but a bodyguard I am not.

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