AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She didn’t comment. The last people she wanted to talk to were the FBI, but she might not have a choice. First things first: she pulled out her cell phone and called Charlie.
Nineteen
Madeline McKenna had thankfully convinced Grantnotto meet with his ex-wife.
It had taken every argument in the book—and tears—to keep him at her condo with her. When he finally relented, agreed that she was right, they fell into bed together and now—after intense sex—he had fallen asleep and was blissfully unaware of what she was about to do.
She slipped out of her bed naked, pulled on a silk bathrobe in the dark, walked barefoot into the living room after silently closing the bedroom door. Grant desperately needed sleep, and he seemed to only sleep well here after sex. She would do anything for Grant; she loved him. It was as simple—and as complex—as that.
Grant should never have talked to that marshal three weeks ago. Ever since, he’d been paranoid, jumpy, tired. Grant had, of course, told her everything—how the marshal thought that he, Grant, had been the target of the assassin who’d shot and killed his son, Chase. That Granger suspected that the shooting incident was connected to the law firm based on what Madeline told Grant was the thinnest of reasons—that Adam Hannigan had once worked for Brock Marsh Security and Brock Marsh worked primarily for Archer Warwick. That certainly didn’t mean that anyone at the law firm—or one of their clients—was involved!
It was ridiculous to even think such a thing, though she couldn’t say that to Grant. He had, after all, lost his dear little boy, his only child.
But she’d helped Grant because she loved him. She’d pulled all the files that he wanted, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She’d hoped that the information would prove to Grant once and for all that Tom Granger was barking up the wrong tree. She even looked at the information and didn’t see anything untoward, but Grant said the files may be in code.
Incode. Like some sort of spy game. Certainlythattheory had also come from the marshal.
Madeline felt strongly that Tom Granger had used Grant’s grief, played with his heartstrings, to convince Grant to commit what really amounted to corporate espionage, of sorts. To extract files from the law firm—confidential records!—to bolster Granger’s weak theory that Grant was the actual target. All on the word of a convicted killer.
A hot flash washed over her. She was guilty, too—she had retrieved some of the information for Grant. She could, ostensibly, explain it away—she was a junior partner; Grant was technically her superior. But she knew she’d done it because she wanted to show him he was wrong.
The opposite happened. Grant becamemoreanxious and paranoid.
She ached for her lover. Losing his son had been awful, had nearly destroyed him. She’d been there for him, to help him pick up the pieces because his wife—nowex-wife—couldn’t be. Not in the way he needed. And everyone believed that Regan Merritt was to blame, anyway—after all, she’d shot and killed Adam Hannigan’s brother.
A tragedy all the way around. Madeline felt sympathy for Regan, though she’d never particularly liked her. After Grant’s marriage to Chase’s mother fell apart, he and Madeline had acted on mutual feelings. Feelings she had kept buried for years because she didn’t want to be a home wrecker.
Grant needed perspective, and only she could give it to him. Tom Granger was a US marshal. He had a lot of enemies. It wasn’t because of this...investigation, for lack of a better word...into the law firm and the private security company they hired that he ended up dead. The FBI would find Granger’s killer, and when they did Grant would realize that Granger had seen conspiracies where there was nothing but a few shady clients. Nothing that would warrant murder.
Still, she was worried about Grant, especially now when his ex-wife was here, dredging up all the drama and bad feelings from last year. She wasn’t concerned that they would rekindle whatever they had; Grant had told her enough about his failed marriage and ex-wife that she was secure in her belief that she was far better suited to the man than Regan Merritt had been.
Though it was close to midnight, Madeline poured a glass of white wine and sipped. She nibbled on cheese and crackers while thinking about all she could do to protect the man she loved. She’d told Grant to talk to Franklin about Granger’s suspicions.
Grant didn’t want to.
“Franklin is my closest friend. He gave me everything I could have dreamed of at the firm. I can’t possibly accuse one of his clients—one ofourclients—of using Brock Marsh to hire Adam Hannigan unless I have proof. Such an accusation could destroy his father’s legacy, the law firm. It would destroy our friendship, our business relationship, if Tom was wrong. I need more...something solid. Then I can go to Franklin, show him hard evidence, and together we’ll go to the authorities.”
But Franklin had perspective Grant did not. He had distance to analyze the big picture. Madeline understood why Grant was emotional; it was his son who was dead. But she was his rock. She would do what needed to be done, for both of them.
She went back to the bedroom, made sure that Grant was sleeping soundly, then closed the door and walked back down the hall to the living room, where she called Franklin’s cell phone. It was late, but she knew from experience that Franklin rarely went to bed before midnight.
Franklin answered on the fourth ring, his voice quiet, and she worried she had woken him up.
“Madeline? Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry for calling so late.”
“I wasn’t in bed, but Isabelle is sleeping. I’m walking down to my office.”
She winced. She shouldn’t have called this late.
“I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.”
“Of course, Madeline, it’s fine. Is it about Grant?”
“Why do you think that?”
“He’s been preoccupied the last few weeks. And our lunch with Senator Burgess today—he was off. Not his usual professional self. I almost sought you out this afternoon, but it didn’t seem appropriate to discuss personal issues in the office.”
