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His voice quickened. “I believe Mukta is blackmailing Senator Rush. I think she’s using your existence to control how he directs government funds, votes on legislation, among other things.”
Blackmailing? Over her? Was this his case? Was this how he’d set Momma up? “Why are you telling me this?”
He put his other hand on her chin, turned her head. Once she looked directly at him, he brought his face close to hers. “Grace, I want to help you. Whoever is after you hasn’t gone away. Chances are they’ll let things cool off and will come back hard. I want to stop that from happening. And here’s the thing—I’m willing to give up my case, to trust you, trust that your momma isn’t who I think she is. But I need to see for myself. I need to talk to her, ask her some questions.”
Gracie’s stomach rolled so fast she was pretty sure it twisted into a knot. A complicated Gordian knot. “Are you seriously using this moment between us, my fear over the fact that someone is after me, to try and get in to question Momma?”
She knew she should be cooler than this, better at controlling her emotions, but that stung.
He shook his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t write me off that way. I’m willing to trust you. Are you willing to trust me? Trust that that isn’t my motivation here?”
Her heart sank to her feet. Trust him? He’d just admitted to a thousand lies. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking?” Why did he need to question Momma? Was he going to arrest her? Would that change things for him like it had with John? “I can’t just march a fudgin’ FBI agent into my fudgin’ family house like it’s no fudgin’ big deal.”
Especially when she’d sent the email that had launched his investigation. But if he was telling the truth, if this meant he’d stop his investigation… Or was that a lie? “I need to think. I need”—to get away—“a little time, space.”
She sat up. He sat up too, grasped her hand, twined his fingers with hers. “Grace, let’s talk about this. I can’t help if you won’t let me in.”
She shook him off. “You can help by giving me space.”
A moment of pain, of rejection, flashed across his face, but he quickly schooled his features to FBI-empty. He nodded. “So when I show up for work tonight?”
“You no longer work there.”
She climbed out of bed, dressed without turning around, and left without a word.
Chapter 36
Gracie pulled into the parking lot behind Club When? feeling confused, worried, heartsick, and tired. She hadn’t slept all night and probably wouldn’t get to sleep today.
She yawned, pulling her keys from the ignition. Absently, she dropped them into her purse and dragged her body toward the club. The six-a.m. summer sun was up and brightening the sky. It warmed her hair, her skin. Didn’t warm her mood.
She had an honesty headache. So much had changed since this time yesterday.
John had told the truth. And in doing so, upended something she’d held against Momma for over a decade.
She’d told the truth to John. And in reply, he’d ripped away her naive notion that she could become respectable enough to be allowed in Ty’s life. Not that she’d let John have the last word on that.
And Dusty had told her the truth. He’d specifically targeted Momma, not the League. That was a knife to the gut she hadn’t expected. She felt sick with guilt for sending the email.
Waving a wrist over the security pad, she put in her personal code. After the beep, she went inside, flicked on the light switch. The florescent lights blinked awake. The lingering smell of fried food and booze hit her nose. Home sweet home.
Boxes of booze from yesterday’s delivery lined the hallway. Going to be a busy day.
Kicking off her shoes, she pushed them under the lime-green bench outside the kitchen and walked inside. Food. Protein.
She dropped her purse by the cooktop and collected ingredients for an omelet. No sooner had she done that than her cell rang. Her heart picked up its pace.
She pulled her cell from her purse, equal parts hope and dread. Not Dusty. “Hey, Victor.”
Was that her voice? Sounded deeper. She sprayed cooking oil into the skillet, turned on the burner.
He hesitated. “Red, I’m going to want every salacious detail of last night’s sexcapade, but first we got a problem.”
Stupid moaned-sore throat. “What problem?”
“Another fifty thousand went out of John and El’s account and into an offshore account.”
I will do what I have to do to protect my family. Remember that.
“Sugar.” She turned down the burner.
“That’s not all. I’ve gone through security footage outside your club and spotted El sneaking around, taking photos.”
Gracie’s stomach rolled. “Momma could be blackmailing Rush,” she blurted out. “Using my existence to get him to support legislation and her agenda.”
An agenda that often clashed with big businesses with deep pockets.
“Shit. Looks like we have a winner in the explosive news department. Not that we can totally rule out John and El.”
No. Not yet. Not after that weirdness with John. “Porter also had me followed. I confronted the guy he sent after me. Sent back a message.”
“Damn. Porter coming out of the woodwork kind of blows away everything else I was going to say about the suspected Rush kids.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Well, the youngest Rush boy, George, has a sick kid. Spends a lot of time in the hospital. One of the boys, Quincy, is a heart surgeon. Rich. Married. Kids. Two mistresses. No time for murdering you. Got some great sex tapes of your half brother, by the way.”
“Gross.”
“The daughter is some kind of celebrity in the geek world. Two million Twitter followers. Hot chick who works artificial intelligence.”
That’s interesting. “Can you learn more about her?”
“Sure.”
“It seems, except for Porter, the family members all have their own lives. Even Rush’s wife has her career as an interior designer.”
“Yeah. And Porter probably wouldn’t want the fact that his father plays ball with Mukta Parish in the news. Donors especially wouldn’t like that. Your mom isn’t exactly beloved.”
Yeah. If Dusty was right, the blackmail changed everything. Porter’s entire career, livelihood, was tied into his father’s. And she knew from her own investigation that he had some personal issues, recent ugly divorce, so his career had to be his number one concern right now. “I’ll handle Porter.”
“I’ll take John and El. Plant a bug. Listen in. Dig more into the sister.”
“Thanks, Victor. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Since you’re sleeping with that FBI guy—”
“How did you—”
“Be careful. He’s not playing straight with you.”
She knew that. Boy, did she know. But was that what Victor meant? The hair on Gracie’s arms stood on end. “What are you saying?”
“I spotted something in the security footage you sent me. It’s blurry. Can you let me see footage from farther back?”
Cradling the phone against her shoulder, she broke some eggs one-handed, whisked them in the heated pan. “Why?”
“Not ready to share with the class just yet. I might be wrong. Let me investigate my suspicions first.”
Sure, she’d just trust everyone all over the darn place, take them into her home, into her heart. “Fine.”
“Thanks. See you tonight.”
Tonight?
Victor hung up. She looked at the dimming phone screen. Did he expect her to let him upstairs to look at the security footage tonight? That sounded bad. She put her phone down, rubbed at her arms, and watched the omelet bubble.
That’s when she heard it. Well, not heard it. But sensed it. Her someone-else-is-here bells rang on five-a
larm.
She turned off the burner, removed her gun from her purse, and crept along the dim corridor that connected the kitchen to the bar.
Inside the club, she spotted her at a table, eating a bowl of Cheerios, judging by the big yellow box. Gracie lowered her gun. “Cee. Are you crazy? I could’ve killed you.”
Well, wounded anyway. She wasn’t the kind of shot Justice was.
Cee took a sip of what better be plain OJ. “Sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt your call.”
Yikes. Had she said anything important to Victor on the phone? “When did you get here?”
“Early. Around four.”
