Page 91 of Mr. Dangerous

"That certain senators conspired with defense companies to set up expensive security equipment they knew didn’t work. To the tune of billions of dollars of taxpayer money." Rook shrugged. "Unless your father was interested in his conspiracy theories about the New World Order and the Rothschilds. But Idoubtit."

"Nothing would surprise me,"Isaid.

"Your father was also very concerned about the potential of a drug called Slow S." Castell glanced at Joe. "It's the reason your father needed a bodyguard, actually. There was an attempt on his life twenty-fouryearsago."

“What?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I shook my head. This was no time to get hung up on the fact that I hadn’t known there’d been an assassination attempt on Mitch’s life. But I had to wonder if the two were connected, two murder attempts twenty-four years apart. My voice was brusque when I asked, "What was hisinvolvement?"

It was hard to imagine the man who would maim someone due to DUI had also been passionatelyanti-drug.

"There were supposed to be legitimate pharmaceutical applications, helping ease cell damage and increase longevity. Under its full name, Spissterium. Slow S was its street name." Rook handed me another file. "It was also a hell of a high, apparently, and they couldn't do much to eliminate thehighpart at a dosage that was effective. The drug made people feel like time had slowed for them, like they had more time to processinformation."

"Made them feel like geniuses," Joe said, crossing his arms over his chest. "And let me tell you, a bunch of drug abusers feeling likegeniusesis guaranteedproblematic.”

"You knew about Slow S?" I asked. "Why's this the first time I've heardaboutit?"

"Your father wanted to keep you boys far away from danger,"Joesaid.

I snorted. "A lot of good that sentiment is doingusnow."

"I'm sure he would change quite a bit about the past if he could,"Joesaid.

"We have to figure out what your father knew," Rook said. "What someone else wanted to know sobadly."

I leaned against the edge of the desk. "Walk me through the timeline of what happened with myfather."

Rook sighed faintly, and my gaze went to her. As she began to lay out the timeline, I understood why she had felt reluctant to fill me on the details, even though she'd launched quickly into a carefully researchedreport.

Mitch had been attacked when he was returning to his condo. His captors had disrupted the CCTV feed; there was no record of anything happening in that hallway. He had walked through the lobby, gotten into the elevator, anddisappeared.

A neighbor had grown anxious and called security because she saw two strange men walking down the hall through the peephole. But that was much later. By then, my father had been tortured. Forhours.

I felt my hands flex into fists as I imagined someone torturing my gray-haired old man. I might not like Mitch, but I was going to make someone pay for that. Like him or not, he was my dad. I hadn’t completely given up on loving him, no matter how much Ihatedhim.

Steeling myself, I said, “They might have gotten the information they wanted fromhim,then.”

“They might have.”Rooksaid.

In that case, they would think that was the end of it. I intended to make sure that this wasn’t the endforthem.

We talked through the steps going forward: the private investigation team, as much as I wanted to do this work myself and the security that would look after the house and Delaney family members— and Naomi— as well as Mitch in the hospital. I felt less alone in my war, at least, by the time we had formedaplan.

"My father made a terrible mistake when he fired you," I told Joe as Rook and Castell headed for the front door. We were trailing behind them into thefoyer.

"It wasn't a mistake," Joe said, stopping at the door to the study. "I was loyal to your father, but he was right. I wasn't that kind ofloyal."

"Lucky me, I don't need that kind ofloyal."

Joe said, "You never would. You're a goodman,Rob."

I nodded, slightly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. I turned to find Naomi, sitting on the bottom stair of the entryway. She'd thrown on a pair of sleep pants and a sweatshirt, and she looked mussed and tired sittingthere.

"How long have you been here?" Iasked.

"I didn't want to interrupt your meeting,"shesaid.

"It's just... security stuff. Getting measures in place to make sure we're all safe." We had agreed to keep information as closely held as possible. I couldn't imagine Naomi being anything but loyal. Yet I knew information was sometimes wily, something people gave away byaccident.

She smiled faintly. "I woke up and youweregone."

"Sorry." I offered my hands so that I could pull her to her feet. "Let's go backtobed."

"I wish you'd told me," she said, putting her hands reluctantly into mine. "You didn't have tosneakout."

I drew her to her feet, pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I didn't want towakeyou."

She looked up at me, a long look. I felt a prickle of irritation that shedoubtedme.

Beneath that, I felt the familiar grind ofguilt.

---