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“Do not hang up that phone.”
“Smith. I need to see my brother. Tell Jax to call me on this phone. I don’t have my phone or my MacBook. And tell him that I really—I—I love—no. Tell him that I just want to see him. Okay?”
“Wait where you are, and I’ll have a man come to you.”
“I’m going to my office. He can meet me there.” I hang up.
Chapter one hundred twelve
Emma
Smith tries to call me back, and I want to decline, but I don’t want to worry Jax. I take the call. “I’ll stay at the office until Jax arrives. I promise.”
“Wait for one of my men to find you. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
“My brother is what we’re dealing with.”
“The one who might have killed Hunter?”
“We don’t know that,” I snap.
“We don’t know,” he agrees. “Exactly why you don’t need to be out there alone.”
“Have you talked to Jax?”
“Turns out my information was wrong. He was stuck circling the airport for hours because of the storms that just passed through, but apparently, he landed in Oakland, showered and changed in the airport first-class lounge, and got on a chopper there, right before you called. He’s in that chopper now. He’ll be on the ground and with you soon.”
“Okay. Good. Really good. I need to see him. And, just tell him—”
“I will. Where are you?”
“I can’t walk into my brother’s office with Jax or Walker Security. He won’t talk freely.”
“And you think he’s really going to talk at all?”
“There’s more of a chance with me alone than otherwise,” I argue. “I’ll record him like I did York.”
“Just let us get eyes on you. No one will know we’re there.”
“Fine,” I say, considering the fact that I’m dizzy and queasy, and I don’t think I’ve eaten in a very long time. I need food. I have to eat, or I’m going to pass out. That’s not a condition to be in while confronting your good-for-nothing brother who might have killed the brother you didn’t even really know. I spy a street sign and give Smith my cross streets. I also spy a street vendor. “I’m going to get some nuts and some water. How soon can your man be here?”
“Before you finish the nuts and water, I already sent him in your direction. I’ll text you when he has eyes on you.”
“Thank you, Smith.”
“Just stay alert.”
“I am. Or I will be after I eat.”
We disconnect, and I hurry to the street vendor and buy a bag of nuts and some water. I then lean on a building wall and stuff them down so fast I’m not sure they’re digestible. Water guzzling follows. Great. Now I need to pee. My dramatic confrontation is going like crap. I walk to the McDonald’s I spy across the street and go to the bathroom. I’m just stepping onto the street when Smith calls yet again.
“Where the hell are you?”
“McDonald’s. I had to pee.”
“Stay there,” he all but growls.
“I’m stepping out front now,” I say, “and it’s only now, feeling steadier on my feet, that I realize it’s cold and overcast.
