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“I love you. Now tell Nathan I want you back here pronto.” Because she’s going nowhere by herself. Not ever again. Even with Jack and Dominic out of the picture, I’m not taking chances. She has a driver now.
Romero enters the office when I call for him and winces at the high-pitched whine of equipment being used in the entry hall. “I’m popping ibuprofen like candy. Good thing they’re supposed to finish today.”
“The car arrived with no issues.”
“Good. And Charlie?” He snickers when I scoff. “Told you he’d be pissed.”
“And Sebastian? Has he reached out to you?”
“No. I can only imagine he’s on his honeymoon, if you can call it that.” He sighs, rubbing his temples while sinking into a chair. The strain of these past several days shows on his face—the noisy construction work isn’t helping. “I don’t want to touch that situation. Besides, there’s something else I wanted to discuss with you.”
Leaning back in my chair, I raise my eyebrows. “Shoot.”
“That might be the wrong choice of words—you’re the one who may want to shoot me.”
Dread takes root in my gut and starts to grow even as I try to fight it off. Here I am, my problems solved. No more threats, no more plotting. I don’t even have to worry myself with absorbing Jack’s businesses.
I should know better by now than to think there’s such a thing as relaxation. “Go ahead.”
“It has to do with Tatum.” That does nothing to ease my dread. Far from it. “She hasn’t wanted to tell you about it, but Jefferson Knight has been calling and texting her the past few weeks.”
Jeff Knight.Son of a bitch, I wrote him off. When he never called back to ask about Kristoff, I let him and his rapist son fade to the back of my mind. I had much bigger fish to fry then.
Now he comes rushing forward. “He’s been harassing her?” I growl, picturing him in my head. The smug expression he always wears, as if managing businesses left to him by his old man is some incredible feat. “For how long, exactly?”
“Four weeks.” I turn at the sound of Tatum’s voice. She’s leaning against the doorframe, her hands tucked into the pockets of her hoodie. “He’s been reaching out to me for four weeks, demanding I tell him what happened to Kristoff and asking why he never came home.”
“What the fuck—” The widening of her eyes stops me from blowing up on her. Damn it. I’m practically shaking but somehow manage to control my voice. “Why did you wait until now to tell me?”
“I was ignoring him at first. I figured he’d get tired of bothering me if he never got an answer.”
“I want to see your phone.” Holding out my hand, I make acome hithermotion with my cupped fingers. “Let’s see it. Now.”
“Here.” Romero taps on his phone. “I sent you the screen shots.”
I fucking hate this. Sputtering, fighting to keep up. Learning there’s been secrets I wasn’t privy to. “Why the hell does he have screen shots and I’m only hearing about this today?”
“Can we not make this a federal case?” she asks with an exasperated sigh.
“Why?” I insist. “Tell me why I’m the last to know.”
“For one thing?” She waves a hand in front of me, scowling. “This whole thing you’ve got going on now. I didn’t want to deal with it. And you obviously had other things on your mind.”
Right. And she’s developed a habit of suffering in silence. Regret lances my heart—I wouldn’t be surprised to find blood spreading across the front of my shirt. “Have you responded at all?”
She tips her head to the side and shrugs. “How can I, when I don’t know what happened?” Smart-ass. She suspects. She’d be a fool not to, and my daughter is no fool.
“Good point.” I open the message app on my phone and find a dozen screen shots that Romero sent over. In the beginning, Jeff was almost cordial.
Jefferson: Tatum, I need to speak to you. It’s important to have the details of Kristoff’s mental state and the people he was spending time with in Italy. You are my only hope.
Jefferson: I would appreciate a phone call as soon as you’re free. My son is missing and I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Please, get in touch with me.
It didn’t take long for him to drop the thin veneer of civility. After a week of being ignored, he got real, and each progressive message carried heavier threats.
Jefferson: I have been as patient as possible. If I don’t hear from you shortly, I’ll have no choice but to take legal action.
Jefferson: The fact that you refuse to engage with me only points to the knowledge of something you don’t want to reveal. I have to wonder if there’s guilt involved here.
