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“We can schedule another time, but you’ll have to wait longer.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll take it.” What the heck? I could always cancel.
“Perfect.” He thrust a clipboard toward me. “Fill this out, and then I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow. Leave it on the desk when you’re through.”
I nodded as he left the office.
I completed the paperwork quickly and then scanned the small room. I could snoop around, but someone would likely walk in, and what was I looking for anyway?
Fuck. I had Ted Morse on my back, the mystery surrounding Justin what’s his name, and the legacy of my father…and here I was at the gym making an appointment for training I didn’t want.
All because of Marjorie Steel.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
I walked out of the trainers’ office, down the stairs, and out of the fitness center.
Time to go home to my son.
Time to be a father.
Time to be a man.
Except that my phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the number.
“Yeah?” I said into the phone a little harshly.
“Bryce Simpson.”
“You got him.”
“I’m watching you.”
“Different number,” I told Joe at the bar that evening. “Still had an Iowa code.”
“Did you send it to the Spider?”
“No, I haven’t accessed that account yet. I was going to earlier—” I stopped, pulling my wallet out of my pocket. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
“What?” Joe asked.
“The card you gave me.”
“Is destroyed, right? I told you to memorize it and destroy it.”
“I was at the gym today, and I was looking at it, and then a trainer came in and shook my hand… Fuck.”
“Don’t even say what I think you’re going to say to me.”
“I must have dropped it. Fuck.”
“Christ, Bryce.”
“So we cancel the account and you set up a new one. No big deal.”
“No big deal? The password is on that card.”
