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I was hoping it wouldn't have had to come to this. However, some things are more important than what I was hoping for. Hell, I wish none of my guys were going behind my back in the first place. Wishes don't mean much.
“So any contact they have with Amanda...”
“We’ll know about it right away, in real-time. There's no legitimate reason for any of them to reach out to her, after all.” He takes a seat, tapping on his tablet. “And, of course, there's tracking involved, too. I tested it all out, and it seems to be working fine.”
“I wish I could say I knew for sure whether I want something to come of this.”
The concern in his eyes tells me he understands. “Whoever it is, the fact that they've gotten away with it for this long means they might get sloppy soon.”
“Here's wishing.” I'm sick of the suspicion.
I slowly sip the coffee, which Sheryl was thoughtful enough to leave on the desk—or perhaps Bianca may have dropped it off on her way out. She is always taking care of me.
Which makes me chuckle, though not out of warmth or fondness. If anything, I’m laughing at myself. “You know, I never thought I'd identify so much with Charlie Cole.”
“What do you mean?”
“There he is, going around with all these suspicions without solid proof. I'm finally starting to understand how he must feel.” That, and how Bianca seems determined to look after me—the way she does with him.
“Speaking of which, have you reviewed the list of names I compiled?”
If my head doesn't fucking explode, it will be a miracle. I walked into this room feeling good, energized, confident. All it takes is a catch-up session to remember how overwhelming the past few weeks have been. Bianca or no Bianca, I've got enough on my plate to make any man want to throw in the towel.
I made her a promise. I’m going to find out who killed her mother. I only hope she isn’t in a hurry, since at least a dozen possible culprits could’ve had reason to send a message to Charlie.
“I scanned the names,” I confirm. “And I'd like to set up meetings. Only this is touchy, so we can't make too much noise, or word might spread that I'm digging.”
“You realize one of those names was Salvatore Costello.”
“I'm not bringing it up to the kid today,” I grunt, shaking my head. “That's not how Sal operated. We both know that.”
“From where I’m sitting, it seems sort of obvious,” Romero insists. “The first deal you struck with him was six months before that accident. He could easily have gotten jumpy, worried he was dealing with a man with a target on his back. Maybe don't dismiss it out of hand.”
Even though I can't picture it, I see what he’s saying. “What would Sebastian know about it? He was a kid, only a little older than Tatum. He wouldn't have the first idea.”
“I don't see the harm in asking him to dig around, see if he knows anything. Approach it like you're asking a friend for a favor. Make him feel important, and feed his ego.”
My phone buzzing couldn't have come at a better time, because otherwise, I’d have to remind him who’s boss around here. He takes the opportunity to leave—the expression on his face tells me he's relieved.
Seeing Bianca's name on the phone immediately makes my heart swell. “Is everything alright?” I ask as soon as I answer the call.
Her gentle laughter soothes my worry. “And hello to you, too.” Her slightly husky voice makes my cock twitch expectantly.
“I didn't expect you to call. Don't tell me they ran out of mimosas at brunch.”
“Oh, you’d hear screaming in the background if that was the case.”
“So what's going on? Is she alright?”
“Yeah, she just got up for a minute. I wanted to let you know she seems to be fine. We might go for a movie after this.” Considering my daughter won’t entertain the idea of going to a doctor to talk about her trauma, the best I can do is clumsily try to make her happy—and the same goes for her best friend.
“So long as she's enjoying herself. And thank you,” I add. “She's been so much better these past few days, and you’re the reason why.”
“I pray you're right.”
“When you get home,” I murmur, “you should stop by my office. I didn't get to see you before you left, and I want to get a look at whatever cute outfit you're wearing right now.”
“Why do I feel like you'd rather get a look at me without the outfit on?”
“The dirty mind on you,” I murmur, chuckling, even though that's precisely what I had in mind.
“I better go. I think she's coming back.” She ends the call before I have the chance to say I love her. I can tell her later. I have the rest of my life.
