Page 1 of After All The Wreckage
CHAPTER ONE
Rory
AM I ALRIGHT
Performed by Aly & AJ
If panic attackscould have babies, I’d be having quintuplets. The thought landed in my chest as I pulled my royal blue Honda Rebel into a tiny spot on the street outside my dad’s office. It was the last place I wanted to be for more reasons than I could count. Some of those reasons were petty, full of old grudges and teenage hurts, and some were deadly serious.
The deadly part was why I’d swallowed my pride enough to come.
I slammed my foot on the kickstand and swung my leg over the seat before standing in my thick-soled Harley-Davidson boots and pulling off my helmet. I dragged the hair tie from my ponytail, slung it around my wrist, and ran a hand through the dark brown strands.
When I turned toward the small but expensive building that held Bishop Investigations & Security, my reflection caught inthe two stories of glittering glass. I cringed, knowing neither my bike nor my appearance would help my cause today. My black jacket was naturally distressed with spiderweb cracks along the leather, and the hole in my black jeans was from a tussle with a cheater I’d been following rather than any designer styling. They’d be the first of many things my father would pick at today. A few more additions to the long list of my mistakes. But two could play at that game. After all, I had a list of his that I could recite too.
I shoved my shoulders back and strode through the doors. The inside of his office was professional and cold. Decked out in steel and gray leather, the lobby was elegantly arranged to impress Dad’s clients. As if the surroundings screaming wealth proved he could get the job done rather than the fact he had a good interior designer. But the truth was, as much as it irked me to admit it, Dad always got the job done. Whether the client liked what he found was an entirely different story?one I knew firsthand.
My eyes drifted to my wrist and the black-and-blue fingerprints that had turned darker throughout the day. I tugged the cuff of my jacket down, clamping it against my palm with my fingers. If Dad saw the marks, any chance of asking him for the favor I’d come for would be lost. And I needed him to come through. For the first time in almost a decade, I actually needed my father.
I hated it.
At the desk, the latest receptionist in a long string of Georgetown grad students sat waiting. Each of them used their time with his company to launch a litany of justice and law enforcement careers. His name on their résumé was an exclusive D.C. insider’s gold star that opened doors. Too bad I’d never been offered a chance to earn one. Maybe he’d known I wouldhave rather been boiled in acid than sit at that clear glass desk answering his phones.
“Rory,” Chanel greeted me with a snip to her tone. Her gym-toned legs below the hem of a gray pencil skirt crossed as she swiveled toward me, purple Prada pumps dangling from her feet. They were the only sign of color in the stark space. She fit into Dad’s image perfectly whereas I looked like I’d been dragged in from the biker bar on the edge of Cherry Bay—the town I called home after leaving D.C. a few months ago.
“Dad in?” I asked her, trying to keep my voice light and even.
Her gaze flitted over me briefly, barely withholding her judgment, but I could hear it anyway. The silentHow on earth is this Sutton Bishop’s daughter?Because the only thing I’d inherited from the blond-haired dynamo in a suit who was my father was the cleft in my chin. He was tall with a square face and wide shoulders, whereas I was almost all Mom with honey-toned Italian skin and a lithe, short frame. Dad’s green eyes screamed their color even over a distance while the tiny bit of jade that flashed in my brown ones was only visible if you were close enough to kiss me.
Not that I’d been kissed lately. It had been so long, my lips and vagina thought I’d abandoned them.
“He has twenty minutes before he has to leave for lunch on the Hill,” Chanel said primly.
It was exactly what I’d hoped for. Dad spent more time wining and dining D.C. bigwigs these days than he did investigating. Although, maybe that wasn’t much different from when Mom had been his partner. Back then, he’d brought the business in and she’d executed it… or I did. Right up until the divorce split them down the middle and me along with it.
As I headed for the stairs, I tossed a jab over my shoulder. “Dad has dining with sleazy politicians down to a science. They should give him the oil prospector of the year award.”
“First, not all politicians are sleazy. Second, you’re one to judge. How’s it going swimming with the cheaters?”
My foot stalled on the first step, and when I looked back, her eyes were narrowed. I almost laughed at her quick retort, but then I wondered if her defense of Dad came from a sense of loyalty that went much deeper than an employee-employer relationship. I wondered if Dad had tucked this receptionist into his bed a time or two… or more.
It made me want to heave up the cold mac and cheese I’d called breakfast.
I didn’t respond, turning back around to take the stairs at double time.
His office door was open, the low hum of his voice audible if not the actual words. He didn’t have an assistant guarding the entrance. He didn’t believe in having one. The fewer eyes and hands on sensitive information, the better in his opinion. And if for some reason the nearly perfect Sutton Bishop did need help, the highly paid receptionist downstairs would be tasked with it.
Dad had his chair turned toward the enormous windows looking out at the dome of the Capitol Building. I knocked, and he swung around to take me in. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly before a tight smile appeared on his lips.
“I’ll have to call you back,” he said into the phone, pausing to listen to the response. “I’m telling you, you’re worrying over nothing, Roland. I’ll see you tonight.”
He hung up and watched as I moved to stand next to the pair of straight-backed chairs in front of his steel desk. The chairs weren’t designed for comfort. Dad didn’t want people to dally in his office any more than he wanted them lingering in his personal life.
Handsome and brimming with charisma, my father could have been a politician as easily as he’d become a private investigator. He could charm his way into just about anywhere…and anyone. It was a skill Mom said I’d inherited from him, and sometimes, I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not.
“I’d love to say it’s nice to finally see my daughter again, but I’m confident you didn’t drive into D.C. on that asinine bike just to visit dear old Dad,” he said dryly with a pointed look at the helmet under my arm.
I tossed it on the chair as he came around the desk to draw me into a one-armed hug. A catch and release he’d once shown me how to do while fishing. The nonchalance pricked at old wounds I couldn’t afford to let show.
