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The next one was more interesting. It contained a sex tape that he’d apparently filmed with his young wife at what looked like the most recent company Christmas party in the Barrington headquarters building. At least that was what it looked like. The accompanying blackmail footage asked Mr. Barrington for quite a bit of money to prevent Chucky from releasing the video into the world.
The third video was of the wooden box that Hunter carved for Jessica. Warrick stopped the video, pulled the flash drive out and asked Duke for an evidence bag.
Warrick asked Jessica, “Did you know the other videos were on the flash drive?”
Jack said, “Don’t answer that.”
Warrick rolled his eyes. “Is it okay if I keep this flash drive, Ms. Hoyt?”
Jessica looked at Jack who nodded to her. She said, “Yes, of course. May I put my wooden box back in my safe deposit box?”
“Sure. Why not?”
She and Garrett put Hunter’s creation back inside along with the rest of her papers, secured the box, and Garrett put it back in the vault room with the other boxes.
Duke put Chucky in handcuffs on suspicion of blackmail before Garrett unlocked the barred door, hauling him away, doing a perp walk past his shrieking wife and very irate father-in-law.
Although once Mr. Barrington saw the video, perhaps he’d change his tune.
Clay and Hunter silently bumped fists once the loud entourage had left the bank, smiling at each other in what looked like self-satisfied conquest. Garrett planned to get the full story later on.
He wanted to grab Jessica and kiss her like there was no tomorrow, but it wouldn’t be dignified for him to do so in this venue.
“Where are you headed?” he whispered.
“Back to work. Which is certainly better than jail.”
“Undoubtedly. Don’t forget about our dinner tonight.”
“I won’t. I’m looking forward to it.” She gave him a sexy smile.
“Excellent. So am I. Maybe we should have a special ‘not going to jail’ drink to celebrate beforehand.”
“Sounds good. I should be done by six thirty.”
He nodded giving her a quick and heated I want to fuck you until you scream stare. Her eyebrows rose and she smiled back.
Tonight they’d propose marriage. Garrett couldn’t wait.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jessica had been flying high and in the best mood she’d been in for quite a long while. Vindication truly was its own reward.
After Chucky had called her that first time several weeks ago, Jessica had gone to her safe deposit box and pulled out the stamp collection, intending to send the stupid thing to the bastard so he’d leave her alone. Or at least to consider the option. She wasn’t convinced she was ready to let go of her retribution tool so easily.
In a move she’d swear was an odd mishap until the day she died, although maybe more of a Freudian slip, Jessica had accidentally dropped the box on the bank vault floor. The battered wooden container had cracked open and fallen apart, pieces of it barely holding together.
She’d actually felt bad for about seven seconds, wondering how she could possibly give it back to Chucky in this condition, thinking perhaps it was a sign she should just keep it and continue to deny she had it. Then again, she hadn’t been about to give it back, had she? No. Not really. She’d wanted to look at it again to discover why he “really” wanted this dilapidated container.
But in that panicked moment, she scooped it up, placed it in her purse—which barely fit—and had promptly taken it to the one person she thought could help her. Hunter, the woodcarver at Old West Town.
She’d gone straight to him with the broken box to see if he could make it look like she hadn’t smashed it on the ground in a fit of temper. Because it had truly been an accident. She swore. But no one would believe it. Hell, she wouldn’t believe it.
In the cozy space of Hunter’s workshop as her lungs filled with the scent of freshly lumbered wood and carved shavings, they’d found the hidden compartment with the flash drive together.
Again, vindication was its own reward. She actually said out loud, “Ah ha!” Good friend that he was, Hunter hadn’t scolded her for her outburst. He’d only smiled.
