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“Shit,” muttered the second guard, Emile. Leaning back in his chair, he adjusted his dark ball cap. “Lowe’s a good man, but he’ll … overlook things when it comes to family and friends.”
So I’d often heard. “I’m going to need a copy of this footage.”
Wayan hesitated, scratching at his short mop of thick, black hair. “If you give it to the cops, it’ll probably mysteriously go missing, if you get my meaning.”
“I know, I’m not planning to hand it over,” I told him. “There are other ways to deal with someone like Blaise. But I want to have this evidence in my possession just in case I need it one day.”
“It’s saved on the security system’s cloud,” said Wayan. “Want us to email it to you?”
I gave him a grateful smile. “Please. That would be great.” I rattled off my email address, which he quickly jotted down. “You know, I find the whole ‘whore’ part very original. But it still makes me want to slap him until he cries.”
Emile snickered. “It’d probably do him some good. Cocky son of a bitch didn’t even bother to cover his face.”
“Because he knew the cops wouldn’t hold him responsible,” Sabrina clipped. “Still, maybe we should still call them.”
“There’d be no sense in it,” I told her. “We’d be just wasting time out of our day.”
“She’s right,” Emile said to Sabrina. “I don’t know the boy personally, but I know from rumors I’ve heard that this isn’t the first time he’s vandalized property—Lowe always claims the boy’s got an alibi, he never charges him; he even once went as far as to try and pin it on another kid.”
Sabrina’s jaw tightened. “Blaise can’t be allowed to get away with this.”
“Granted,” I said, raising a placatory hand. “But reporting this to the police won’t get us anywhere.” My phone beeped.
“That’ll be from me, Miss Davenport; I just emailed the footage to you,” Wayan said to me.
Giving both males a semblance of a smile, I said, “Thanks, guys.”
Wayan’s smile was equally weak. “Sorry to have dragged you here on a weekend.”
“No, I’m glad you let me know,” I said. “You both take care.”
I guided a seething Sabrina out of the office and into the hall.
“I’m so mad I couldthrottleBlaise,” she said through her teeth. “What’s your plan?”
Shrugging, I began walking toward the exit. “I don’t really have one at the moment. I thought about emailing a copy of the clip to Grayden, or maybe to Felicity.”
Sabrina let out apfft.“That wouldn’t amount to anything. Grayden won’t be of any use here—he’s never been able to get that stepson of his under control. And Felicity’s likely to pat him on the back, not reprimand him.” She paused. “Do you know what I think we should do?”
“What?”
“We should tell your dad.”
I threw her a sideways look of astonishment. “Not a good idea.”
“But he’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Yes, he will. But you know my dad. You know he’s uber protective and extremely ruthless. He ruins people who wrong him or his family. He digs up their darkest secrets and exposes them to the world. Blaise might be a prick, but he’s also just a kid.”
“A kid who could do with a good scare.”
“My dad would do more than just scare him. He knows that Blaise and Felicity have been pains in my ass, so he has no patience or tolerance for that family. He’d love an excuse to repay them for the upset they’ve caused. Blaise’s life as he knows it would be destroyed, and you can’t deny that that’s disproportionate to his crime.”
Sabrina gave a stiff shrug. “Injustices happen.”
“Forget it, we’re not seeking my dad’s help.” Reaching the exit, I pushed it open and stepped outside, squinting at the harsh brightness of the sun. It was hot out, but the cool breeze provided a much-needed reprieve.
Sabrina kept pace with me as we strode to the parking lot. “The vandalism was an act of retaliation for what happened at the wedding yesterday—”
