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“Off-balance in what way?”
“Men who once worked around or under me used to call me ballbuster and ice queen and all the other unflattering, misogynistic terms for a smart, confident female. That’s how I see myself. This shy, stuttering, uncertain person you know? I’m not her.”
That explains the hints of assertiveness she showed me last night. And I feel good about that because she wouldn’t have demanded anything she wanted sexually if she didn’t feel comfortable with me. “I think you’re awesome, even if you are feeling a little uncertain right now. If you ever want to talk, I’ll listen and help you however I can.”
Bethany smiles gently. “Thanks. I just wanted you to understand. I should also tell you that I might have to leave suddenly.”
That makes me panic. “Leave?”
“I’ll be called to testify, but I have no idea when. It could be next week or two years from now.”
“As a witness for the prosecution? Or the defense?”
“Either. Both.” She shrugs. “Anything is possible. Can we change the subject?”
I grasp all her reasons for being secretive, but I can’t stay in limbo. I need answers. I’ll need to deal with Bret’s shit soon. I also need to get back to my life. I’d like to stop lying to Bethany. And I’m going to have to deal with the unexpected attachment I’m feeling to her somehow.
“Sure. Just…if you leave, don’t forget me.” I caress her face. “I’m not going to forget you anytime soon.”
“Believe me, I won’t.” She bites her lip, this time to suppress a smile. “You have another condom, right?”
Despite all the problems, I grin. “Yes, ma’am. I do.”
“And we don’t have to be to work until four this afternoon.”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s right.” I clasp her hips and drag her closer.
“I promised I’d help Britta’s mom serve breakfast for the inn’s guests, but I’ve got an hour or so. What do you say we put that condom to good use?”
I love the way she flirts—and lets me part her robe to see all her naked skin underneath gleaming in the morning sun. “I always like to make a lady happy…”
After breakfast in bed that was way more bed than breakfast, I leave Bethany’s ohana with a big smile on my face. Unfortunately, during the drive back to Ash’s place for a shower and a change of clothes, reality intrudes.
Bethany is slowly opening up to me, but at this rate it might be weeks or months before she divulges everything. I don’t have that long. Sure, Howie, who’s running my business back home, is reliable and capable. But I’ll have to return to North Dakota and oversee operations again soon, or the reputation of the oil services business I’ve spent more than five years building will all swirl down the toilet.
That means I need to start digging around to see if I can uncover any dirt myself.
From the console of Ash’s crappy sedan, I grab my phone. While I’m idling at a stoplight, I scroll through the device until I find the picture I took of the card I uncovered in Bethany’s wallet. Trying not to register the tremor in my hands, I dial the FBI agent’s digits. I’m almost positive I’m going to get voice mail.
Trevor Forsythe answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Agent Forsythe, my name is Clinton Holmes. My father was one of the victims of the Reed Financial fiasco.”
He pauses. “I’m listening.”
“I’m calling for some information. I know Barclay Reed was arrested and is currently out on bail…”
“Yes.”
“I read an official statement a few weeks back that you’ve arrested all suspects in the case. Is that still true? Do you have any additional suspects you’re now pursuing?”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wince. This guy doesn’t know me at all. He can’t even verify that I am who I say I am. He’s not going to tell me a fucking thing.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss this case beyond the statements we’ve already issued.”
Of course not. “Look, my father only ever had contact with Reed’s daughter, Bethany Banks. I understand she was his right hand for a decade. She kept a full list of clients and supposedly managed their money, yet all their funds—in addition to those of Reed’s own clients—disappeared. I watched my father fucking die of a heart attack the day he realized all his money was gone…” My voice is getting louder, and have to choke back the desperation in my tone. “Sorry. I’m personally impacted by this case, so I’m trying to understand her involvement and if there have been any inroads in recovering the money. And I’d like to see all the perpetrators brought to justice.”
Getting Dad’s savings back would at least be a consolation prize. But I’m far more focused on Barclay Reed—and anyone else responsible—going to prison.
