Page 44 of Ms. Fortune

I see a text from Taylor flash on my phone screen.

TAYLOR: Set meeting up on Mischief Motors property. OR yours. NOT neutral or theirs.

“It’s one I can’t discuss on the phone right now and why we need to meet face to face. How soon can you be back in Vegas?”

“I don’t know. Let me check.” She mutes her phone. “How soon can I get home?” I swear she’s going to jump out of her seat in a second.

“At the last minute, barring weather issues, it’s about five hours. We can be there around four or five local time.”

She just nods and unmutes her phone.

“We can be there late this afternoon.” She’s started wringing her hands, and Chelsie has started chewing on a lock of hair. These two are definitely related.

“Fine. I’ll be at your depot at six o’clock.” He pauses briefly. “I shouldn’t have to say this, but you’d do well to keep this conversation private.”

“Understood,” I say and hang up on him. We don’t need lectures on confidentiality. “Taylor, what are you thinking?”

“It’s as I thought. I knew something was off with him.” He still doesn’t sound happy. “But at least it’s in a good way, and not another family.”

“So, what’s bugging you?”

“I don’t understand what they would need Ms. Blake’s cooperation with. Unless it somehow relates to her selling the company to Calnetta, that doesn’t make much sense. I can’t think of a scenario where that could be turned on him.”

Normandy finally does jump out of her chair and starts pacing the length of the room, every muscle tense.

“Okay, we’ll see you in a few hours.”

After I hang up, I go to Normandy and pull her hands apart to wrap them around my waist to ground her in the here and now. I can tell her mind is racing with imaginary scenarios she’s creating, and I don’t know how to help her.

“We’ll go. See what he has to say. And go from there. You’re not obligated to do anything for the government. There will not be a problem if you refuse to help them out. They need you more than you need them.”

“But if Calnetta killed my father, he needs to pay.” A bit of anger now edges her tone. Good. Anger is better than fear.

“True, but there are always options on how to do that. You don’t have to take the first one presented to you.”

“No, but it sounds like it’s the only one I’ll get help from the FBI with.”

She has a point, and I can’t argue with that, even though I want to. I don’t know what it is, but something about this isn’t sitting right with me. My gut is telling me this is a bad idea, but if I can’t say precisely why I can’t convince Normandy of it either. Superstition and gut feelings don’t fly in a court of law. Just the court in my head.

Chapter 30

CALL ME A SAINT

NORMANDY

The flight out of New York is delayed for about a half hour due to snow, but we still make it back to Vegas in time to meet with Frank at the depot. We arrive with some time to spare, and luckily the paparazzi aren’t camped out like they have been at the gate. We must be old news now. Good. Though I feel bad for whoever their next victim is.

I can’t stop pacing. Even on the plane, I struggled to keep still and found myself walking around. Thank God it’s a private jet, or I would seriously have annoyed the other passengers. Hell, I’m annoying myself at this point.

“I don’t like this. I’m just going to keep repeating it until somebody pays attention.” Chelsie has already said this about ten times, which isn’t helping my anxiety to know that everyone thinks this is a crappy idea. “This Frank guy seems like a real weasel, you know? I don’t trust him.”

“It only seems that way because he’s already pretending to be a bad guy. It makes it feel like he’s pretending to be a good guy too.” That’s how I’ve rationalized my distaste for the man in my head. I’m not sure how accurate it is. “I get it.”

Brandon hasn’t taken his eyes off me since we left New York. I don’t know what he’s expecting to happen to me, but there are times it’s comforting to know he’s watching out for me, and other times when it feels invasive. I know he’s not trying to make me uncomfortable, but I can’t help my hypersensitivity now either.

“We don’t know that he’s a good guy,” Brandon says, checking his watch. “We don’t know much of anything, so until we do, it doesn’t make sense to worry about any of it. Let’s wait to hear what he has to say. He should be here soon.”

He sounds so calm. He even looks calm. Seeing him like this only makes me more unnerved since I’m apparently not reacting right. I’ve never been close to a situation like this, and the proper etiquette for dealing with the FBI wasn’t in any book or magazine I’ve read. I can picture the clickbait article in my head, ‘The Top Ten Must-Have Lipsticks to Wear at Your Next FBI Interrogation.’ And I’m officially losing my mind.

---