Page 76 of The Decoy

The line goes dead.

I set my phone on my desk for a minute and spin in my chair to look out the window. The storm my dad brought in here today, replaced by the confidence and comfort I have in Brody.

The baby kicks again, so I place my hand over the spot.

“We got this, little man,” I murmur to my stomach. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Brody

I don’t hit the brake once on the way out of the Titans practice facility.

My knuckles are white against the top of my steering wheel as my truck eats up the miles toward the Hudson. My phone is clipped to the dash, running a direct line to Charles Renwick’s private phone.

It goes straight to voicemail for the third time.

“You’ve reached the office of Charles Randwick, leave a message.”

I don’t leave a message. I don’t have time to play phone tag with a man whose ego is currently threatening to drag my girlfriend and our unborn son into a tabloid meat grinder. Charles is used to managing people with subpoenas, threats, retainer, fees, and boardroom bluster. And even though I get along with Charles, he doesn’t know how to handle someone who has zero interest in his money and even less respect for his legal posturing.

I tap the screen again, scrolling past Charles’s contact and hit Molly’s number.

Ellis’s mother answers on the second ring, her voice warm and light, and I can hear the faint rhythmic clicking of fine China in the background. “Brody dear, how are you? I was just telling Charles this morning that we haven’t seen enough of you two lately.”

“Molly,” I cut in smoothly, keeping my tone perfectly respectful but locking down the steel beneath it. “Is Charles with you?”

There’s a slight pause on the line. “He actually just walked through the front door. He and Brian are back from Midtown. Is everything okay, Brody? You sound awfully serious.”

“I need to speak with both of you immediately," I say, flipping my blinker and cutting across two lanes of traffic toward the Lincoln Tunnel. “It can’t wait until tomorrow, and it can’t be done over a phone call.”

“Oh,” Molly says, her voice brightening instantly, a sudden conspiratorial lift creeping into her cadence. “Oh my. Well, we aren’t in Greenwich tonight, darling. Charles has meetings all week, so we’re staying at the brownstone on the East Side. Are you in the city?”

“I’m ten minutes out from the tunnel,” I tell her. “I’m heading straight to you now.”

“Wonderful, I’ll tell George to open the gate for your truck. See you in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Molly.”

I end the call, immediately clearing the screen and tapping Ellis’s contact. She picks up before the first ring even finishes, her voice echoing through the cab.

“Brody? Her voice comes through crisp, calm, and totally centered. “Where are you?”

“Just hitting the tunnel,” I say, veering the truck into the dark tunnel beneath the river. “I spoke to your mother, and she and your father are at the brownstone tonight, not in Greenwich. I told her I’m coming over right now.”

“Brody, my dad is still fuming from our meeting,” Ellis warns gently, though there’s not a trace of panic in our tone. “He’s likely already sitting in his study with a glass of scotch waiting for his legal team to send over drafts.”

“Let him fume," I say with a dark, low grumble in my chest. “I want you there with me. I want to stand in that room together when I shut this down. Can you meet me there?”

“My driver is bringing the car around to the front of the building right now.” She answers without hesitation. “I’ll be at the brownstone in 15 minutes.”

“I love you,” I say softly, the tension in my shoulders, easing just a fraction at the sound of her voice.

“I love you too. Don’t break the door down before I get there, Vaughan.”

“No promises.”

The Renwick brownstone on East 73rd Street is a four-story limestone monster that looks like it belongs in the Gilded Age. I park my pickup in the narrow driveway behind the wrought-iron security gate and step out into the cool evening air. I pull my jacket straight over my shoulders, taking a slow, deep breath to anchor the adrenaline still lingering in my veins from Ellis’s call when I was in the weight room.