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“Because the innocent ones need me, and paydays like this one let me help people who don’t have a bank account as big as the likes of that asshole I got off.” He taps the bottle. “You really going to give me that?”
“You need it.”
“I need a trip to the club to get fucked ten ways to next Sunday, but I was never going to take that bottle, man. But hey. I’ll work for the sentiment behind it.” He opens his briefcase and pulls out a file. “The gift documents and the dummy documents,” he says, setting the file on the counter. “But seriously, man. What the hell are you doing with this woman, Nick?”
“Protecting her.”
“Protecting a woman who might be a killer.”
“She’s innocent.”
“And you know this how?”
“Because I know, and you know when I say I know, I know.”
“Like I knew my client?”
“I know Faith personally now.”
“Yeah, well, you’re fucking her, and that tends to cloud a man’s judgment.”
“Not mine. You know that.”
“And I’ve never known you to mix business and your personal life.” He taps the file. “And these documents tell me you’ve either lost your fucking mind or you’re brilliantly working a woman who doesn’t know she’s being worked. And you can tell me either way. I’mcool. You know that.” He removes the stopper from the scotch.
“She and I just downed a bottle of Macallan No. 6 together, and she’s in my bed right now.”
He’s about to pour another drink, but he sets the bottle down, looking stunned. “You shared your No. 6, and she’s in your bed?”
“Yes and yes.”
“You don’t share your No. 6 or your bed. What happened to keeping your women confined to the club?”
“Faith isn’t going to the club,” I say, once again wishing I’d never bought the damn place. “Ever.”
“So she’s vanilla and you’re chocolate, and that shit will get old.”
“Faith is not fucking vanilla,” I snap.
He arches a brow. “Got it. Not vanilla. Not going to play with you at the club. Does she at least know it exists and that you own it?”
“No,” I say. “Nowfocus.” I slide the notepad I’ve been writing on in front of him.
He scans it, and his gaze rockets to me. “Faith is dangerous? When did your father say that Faith was dangerous?”
I open my briefcase and set the note in front of him. He studies it for several long beats before he glances at me. “You’re sure Faith—”
“Faith isnota killer,” I say tightly. “Assume I’m right on this because I am. Now. Where does that note lead you?”
“That your father wanted the winery, or something else, and she was in the way of him getting it.”
“Exactly my thoughts,” I concur. “But Meredith Winter. He was paying her. I can’t make sense of that in my head.”
“He clearly implies that Meredith was dangerous, as Faith was more dangerous, but the tone also implies that he had Meredith under control.”
“It’s almost impossible for me to conceive of my father paying someone off. But the evidence supports just that.”
He refills his glass. “What if he was getting something in exchange?”
