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I try to place this guy, but I’m coming up empty. “Do I know you?”
He shakes his head. “No, but we have a friend in common.” The man reaches into the breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket and produces a business card.
Rafe Garcia, Financial Analyst
“Oh, yeah? And who’s that?”
“John Peterson.”
My eyes instinctively scan the room, looking for anyone who might be listening to this conversation. What is this guy playing at? Did my dad somehow find out about John? Did he hire this guy to get information out of me?
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know anyone named John Peterson.”
Rafe smiles softly. “I understand your hesitancy. I wanted to introduce myself so you could put a face to a name. The number on that card leads to an untraceable cell. Talk to John; he’ll vouch for me. Afterward, give me a call, and we’ll arrange a time to meet.”
I don’t like being caught off guard like this one bit. Tucking the card into my jacket pocket, I say, “Like I said, Mr. Garcia, I don’t know anyone named John Peterson. If you’ll excuse me, I was on my way to speak with someone. Enjoy your evening.”
He nods. “You as well.”
I reach Jazz and Charles right as a senator and his wife are walking away. “Charles, do you mind if I steal my girlfriend away?”
He looks irritated, but he’s not going to make a scene. “Of course not. You kids have fun.”
I wait until we’re out of earshot before speaking. “You ready to get out of here?”
“So ready.”
Neither one of us says a word until we’re inside my car, away from any prying ears. I didn’t get to speak with nearly enough people tonight, but my instincts were screaming at me to get Jazz away from my dad. He’s in a mood, and my gut has never led me astray before, so I wasn’t about to ignore it now. Besides, since attending Ivanov’s party is no longer optional, I’m confident I’ll have another chance. He and my father have multiple friends or business associates in common.
Jazz sighs as she buckles her seat belt. “I swear, if I had to meet one more congressman, or judge, or whatever, I was going to scream. You should’ve heard some of the sickeningly sweet things my sperm donor said about me. He had them all eating out of his hand.”
“I’m sure. To Charles, it’s all about the show and how many people he can stuff in his pocket.”
“Ugh. I don’t know how someone lives their life being so fake. They all had the same shiny veneer.”
I shrug. “When you grow up in a world where material possessions or power determine your worth, you get used to performing. It’s all most of us have ever known.”
“Well, if you ask me, that’s a shitty way to live. I don’t know how anyone could do that long term. I could barely handle it for what? Half an hour, maybe? I had to physically bite my tongue as Charles paraded me around like a goddamn trophy. Every time he touched me for whatever reason, even though it was only my shoulder or arm, I was fighting the urge to recoil or cuss him out. I couldn’t stop wondering about my mom. If she ever had to work a crowd like that and how she handled it. Or if she ever looked at me growing up and was reminded of him somehow.”
“I highly doubt anything about you reminded your mom of him.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know that for sure,” Jazz challenges. “He’s half the reason I exist, and considering what you suspect about how I came into this world, how could she never look at me and be reminded of that time in her life?”
She has a point, but I’m not about to let her think she shares any traits with that man. I’ve known Charles Callahan my entire life, and he and Jazz couldn’t be more opposite.
“Well, I made it out of there without throwing any punches, so I think we should consider the evening a win. I’ve no doubt my dad would’ve somehow used a distraction like that to his advantage, which was the main thing holding me back.”
“The fact that I didn’t throw any punches in Peyton’s direction after all the snide comments she made makes this evening a win.”
I laugh. “But it would’ve been fun seeing the look on Peyton’s face if you did.”
Jazz’s full lips curve. “Yes. Yes, it would have.” After a moment of silence, her smile morphs into a frown. “There is an end in sight, isn’t there? We won’t always be chasing monsters, right?”
I grab her hand over the console and press my lips to her knuckles. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
JAZZ
