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“Not yet,” Colehorn says with a loaded smirk.
“Come, Celeste.” The attorney cups his fingers to me. “My partner is trying to get you visitation with your parents before they’re booked.”
I stand to join him, my mind snagging on the end of his sentence. Booked. I wish I had that black book. I could surely find something to give them. That’s the royal flush.
Or I could work with what I have. Liam’s childhood social worker wasn’t entirely wrong. It is important to learn to play the hand we’re dealt. No matter the cards, it’s the execution that counts. When the stakes are high, most people are inclined to fold if they sense the slightest hint of an opponent having the winning hand. As Colehorn would say, like a house of fucking cards.
It’s not about having the ace. It’s about people believing you do.
He obviously doesn’t have one, which is why I’m here. Somehow, he got wind of my connection and thought I’d be the canary to sing. Amateur.
Maybe that’s why I go against my attorney’s directive to stay quiet. As I approach the door, I casually call out over my shoulder, “Agent Vargas tried this shit too. Didn’t work then. Won’t work now.”
When we were flipping through the black book on the plane, Gage and Liam mentioned him. The name rang a bell because the day the guys rescued Ivy and me from the Skulls, Liam called Vargas and informed me that he was their FBI contact. I have no clue what Vargas’s transgressions were in the book. I can’t remember if Liam or Gage mentioned specifics or not, and I didn’t read them for myself. But I do know, if Colehorn rattles off those six names, when he gets to Liam Graves—or whichever one Liam uses with him—Vargas will likely do whatever is necessary to smooth this all over since he can be implicated in Liam’s crimes. When he realizes that I knew enough to use him, he might even exonerate my parents.
That’s what I’m betting on.
My attorney grumbles, dragging me out of the room. “Do not say anything else.”
“Vargas talked to you?” Colehorn’s voice chimes from behind me.
When I glance back, he’s chewing on his lip. Nervous. That familiar rush I get when trapping an opponent in chess or cards or pool—any game really—floods me. So, I throw a little more into the pot. “Yeah. A couple of weeks ago when I was in Louisiana with those guys.”
That’s all he’s getting, but that’s enough for him to make the call. Fingers crossed Vargas isn’t an idiot. Between the names and the mention of Louisiana, hopefully, the massacre with the Skulls comes to mind. A slaughtering that Vargas is complicit in.
Colehorn spouts a few more questions about what the interrogation was regarding and so forth. Ignoring his inquiries, I keep my gaze straight ahead and saunter off to find my parents.
Always keep them guessing.
Rex is at the end of the hallway. Before we reach him, the attorney instructs me to stay put and silent while he sees what’s going on with my parents, so I hurry over to lean against Rex.
“Tell me you kept your mouth fucking shut,” is all he says.
“It was shut … about eighty percent of the time.”
“Fuck, Cee.”
“I’ve got this,” I assure him, patting his arm. “Any word?”
“No. Not even from Dante.” His disgruntled frown tells me he’s livid about having to answer that way, but suddenly, I’m not. If they aren’t responding and we’re getting radio silence from Dante, too, they might be in as much trouble as we are.
“Do me a favor, Rex,” I whisper while he guides me to one of the waiting room chairs. “Text Rena or Axel or Ryker, whichever Noire you can get in touch with. Tell them to let the Chief know that the ace, king, and queen have been seized here, but there’s no danger of folding. They should carry on as needed and shelter the storm.”
If there is some other reason they’re gone, I don’t want them stumbling upon this disaster. And I certainly don’t want Ivy anywhere near it since it’s clear she’s the one the FBI has no knowledge of. If anyone intercepts that text, it will probably look like code. It’s not that difficult to discern. Although texting about cards to a casino isn’t so far-fetched. But storm. No one will understand that I’m telling Wells to get Ivy to safety, except them.
Rex hands me his stale coffee and begins swiping the message on his phone while my gaze scampers around the office. A sip of the sludge turns my stomach. It’s more bitter than I am. The wind is howling outside, the chill seeping in, and the fluorescent lighting is mind-numbing. If I’m not mistaken or losing my mind, the bulbs are buzzing a monotone tune.
We don’t chat during the few hours we spend waiting to see or hear something about my parents. Not a word, other than murmurs when one of us refills our disgusting coffees. He seems as consumed and exhausted as I am.
This is going to be a nightmare to deal with, but my confidence has grown with every ticking second. I’m stressed, of course. Scared. Tied in knots. Angry that my parents are probably feeling defeated and ambushed. But mostly, I’m anxious to see them and assure them that one way or another, I’ll secure their freedom.
I’m convinced that even if I can’t, Ivy and the guys will fix this. I know I’ve doubted Liam and the rest of them before, but I don’t anymore. I can feel him with me—as palpable as I could feel him the other night in the movie room before I ever set eyes on him. Maybe the separation strengthened my belief in us. Or maybe the lessons he’s driven into me are finally taking root. Whatever the reason, my resolve is unwavering.
Ivy and those four men have all survived so much. This is a tiny blip, not a major ordeal. Whatever these FBI assholes have on my father can be erased. Somehow, Liam will show up for me, which means he’ll show up for my parents. I have to hold on to that.
Perhaps that’s why my brain revs a million miles a minute when I catch a conversation down the hall.
“Cole,” some young guy croons. He’s disheveled in a wrinkled, half-tucked blue dress shirt. If I had to venture a guess, I’d tag him as a rookie.
