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Frances presses his lips together and says nothing.
I fish my phone out of my pocket and scroll through it. Then, I set it down between us and maximize the screen. “I’m thinking of having a few of them framed and sent to your family. Which one do you prefer?”
“Fuck you.”
“I like the one where she’s on your desk, next to the picture of your wife.” I gesture to the phone and offer Frances a slow, unperturbed grin. “That one’s really special… and classy too. How do you think she’d feel if I sent a few to the tabloids? You’re still pretty famous, you know.”
Frances curses me in a language I don’t understand.
I pick my phone up off the table and tuck it away. “Now that I have your attention, we can get down to some serious business. You’re going to tell me everything that you know about Lilian McCoy, or these pictures are going to be the least of your problems.”
Frances holds my gaze and doesn’t look away. “If I do this for you, you have to do something for me.”
“Why would I want to help you?” I only want to put his face through a wall.
“Because you want to find this whore badly enough that you’re willing to work with me. I’ll tell you where she works. Hell, I’ll even give you her last known address, but in return, you have to recover everything she has on me.”
I snort. “I don’t know why I ever thought you had the balls to be mayor.”
“When I ended things, she took some files from my office, including some sensitive documents,” Frances continues as if he hasn’t heard me. “I want them back.”
“Planning your re-election already? That’s ambitious.”
“Help me, and I’ll help you.” Frances sets his hands down on the table, his eyes never leaving my face. “I know you’re not an unreasonable man, Carter. You want to find her more than I want those files. Do this for me and offer me protection in jail, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And why in the hell would I trust you?”
“You don’t have much of a choice here, do you? It all depends on how badly you want to find Lilian McCoy.”
“You’re a fucking class act, Frances.” I stand up and unfasten the first button on my jacket. “Consider it done, but if you screw me over again, prison time will seem like a walk in the park compared to what I’ll do to you.”
Frances mouths something to me and sits up straighter. “You’ll get the rest of the information when I know I’m safe.”
Without waiting for a response, I spin around and walk out of the visiting room. The guard who opens the door glances over at Frances and back at me. “It’s a pleasure to see you as always, Mr. Blackthorne.”
I nod and look over at Ernesto.
A quick look passes between us as we step outside and are led through a series of dirty-looking hallways. Outside, the same guard who spoke to me pushes a large door open with a creak. Ernesto drapes an arm over the man’s shoulders and draws him away underneath a spot of shade and away from the prying eyes of the cameras.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ernesto hand over a wad of cash and whisper something into the guard’s ear. Then the guard plasters a shit-eating grin on his face as he walks away. The door slams shut behind him, and I shove a hand into my pocket. In the SUV, Ernesto turns up the AC and backs away from the curb.
He kicks up dust and gravel as he drives away. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to get into bed with him again, boss?”
“Fuck no. But for now, we need to let him think we need him more than he needs us.” I take my phone out and scroll through it until I stop at Tristan’s name.
“How did it go?” Tristan asks after he answers my call.
“He’s got a lot of balls. I’ll give him that. I’ve already brokered a deal with some of the prison guards so they can keep an eye on him. In a few more days, I want you to come and visit our dear old friend and remind him that he owes us.”
“I knew it wouldn’t take long to get him to squeal. Fucking rat.”
“He might hate Lilian as much as I do.” I switch the phone to my other ear. “By the way, you and Sam are coming over for dinner tonight. Isabella has been trying out these new recipes online, and she needs some guinea pigs.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Tristian replies with an exhale. “Should I bring some plastic bags, just in case it doesn’t go well?”
“If you feel the need to throw up, do it outside and without her seeing you,” I snap before I end the call. With that, I shove the phone back into my pocket and press my head against the window. The world outside rushes past in a blur of shapes and colors.
When I get home, Isabella is in the kitchen in an apron tied over a pair of shorts and a tank top that exposes her midriff.
