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“Miss Brighton.”
Devon stared at him.
The man smiled. “My name is Graham Whitaker.” He walked closer to the bed. “I apologize for the circumstances of our introduction.”
She almost laughed.
“You had me kidnapped.”
“Yes.” He gestured toward the chair across from her. “May I?”
“Does it matter what I say?”
“Not particularly.” He sat.
The other man remained beside the door.
Whitaker folded his hands loosely in front of him. “I understand you’ve had a rather difficult few days.”
Devon stared at him incredulously but stayed silent. The man apparently liked to hear himself speak.
“Your apartment in St. Louis. That unfortunate fire at your boyfriend’s apartment building. Now this.” He glanced around the room. “I imagine it’s all been terribly upsetting.”
“People have been trying to kill me,” she responded dryly. “I’d say I’m a tad bit more than upset.”
“Ah, yes. An unfortunate series of misunderstandings, I’m afraid.”
“Misunderstandings?” Devon snorted. “Is that what you call cold-blooded murder?”
Whitaker’s expression didn’t change.
“I’m a businessman, Miss Brighton. I prefer practical solutions to unnecessary complications.”
Unnecessary—
“Go to hell.”
The man near the door shifted, but Whitaker raised one hand. “It’s okay, Victor. I have this handled.”
Victor.
Devon committed the name to memory.
Whitaker leaned forward. “Let’s discuss Meridian Administrative Solutions.”
Her stomach dropped.
She’d known this was connected to what she’d discovered. Deep down, she’d known the moment that man broke into her apartment.
It was never Billy Crawford. All of it—Carol, Scott Mitchell, all of it—was because of this man.
Still hearing the company’s name spoken aloud made everything horribly real.
“What about it?”
“I understand you discovered certain discrepancies in their financial records.”
Devon kept her expression carefully blank.
