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She nodded. “So you were looking for former employees? Someone disgruntled maybe?”
“That’s the hope.” He put his hands behind his head on the pillow, showcasing his muscular chest and arms.
“And you found one?” she asked, forcing herself to stay focused on his face, on his sculpted jawline and the green eyes that seemed to echo into infinity instead of the corded abs leading to a trail of hair that disappeared under the sheet that barely covered his lower body.
“We think so. Guy named Allen Clatcher. He was Frederick’s driver for almost ten years,” Nick said.
“What happened?”
“I have no idea,” Nick said. “But the fact that the guy left Walker’s employ right after the mess with Karen LaGarde, then moved to Cuba, makes me think it might not be a garden-variety retirement.”
“Cuba?”
“I’m guessing the choice was intentional,” Nick said.
He was referring to Cuba’s extradition policy, which was loose at best. Technically Cuba and the U.S. did have an extradition treaty, but it was easy for criminals with money to disappear there, and adversarial relations between the two countries meant the treaty was rarely honored even when someone was found.
“Think Walker paid him to keep quiet?” she asked.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“You’re not thinking of going?” Their agreement not to talk about their work was implicit, but even in a best-case scenario, Alexa knew the work MIS did was dangerous.
Still, doing surveillance from afar and combing through data was light-years safer than cornering a man who’d worked for Frederick Walker.
“It’s the only way to know if he has information about your case,” Nick said. “About Leland and all the other shit he’s probably done.”
Most of the time she was sure she wanted to know — what had happened the night of her accident, who had killed Samantha, who had thought so little of them that they’d left the two girls broken and bleeding inside the twisted wreck of Samantha’s parents’ car.
But every now and then, she wondered if it was worth it. Whatever she discovered wouldn’t change anything. Samantha would still be dead. Samantha’s parents would still have lost their daughter. Alexa’s body would still be broken, her parents fearful every time she took a little too long to get back to them, always remembering the late night call that had changed their lives.
Then she thought about Karen LaGarde. Leland had a history of hurting people and not paying the price, taking cover behind his family’s wealth and power. He’d done it to Karen, and if Nick’s suspicions were correct, he’d done it to Samantha and Alexa with catastrophic consequences.
How many had come after them? How many more would be hurt if he wasn’t stopped, especially with the full power of political office behind him?
“I’ll come with you.” The words were out of her mouth before she had time to consider them.
Surprise flashed in his eyes. “You have work.”
“I have tons of vacation time saved,” she said. “Weeks and weeks actually.”
He sat up, rubbing the scruff that had formed at his jawline. “It’s not a good idea, Lex.”
“Why?”
“Because it might be dangerous,” he said.
Rebellion sparked inside her. “Then it sounds like you shouldn’t go either.”
He sighed. “I’m just trying to find out what happened.”
“Why?” she asked again.
He shook his head. “Why am I trying to find out what happened?”
“Yes. What’s in it for you?” She was vaguely aware that she was being irrational, that an unseen button inside her had been pushed during their conversation, that she was careening into an argument with Nick that she didn’t want or need to have.
“Finding out who did this to you is the only incentive I need,” he said.
