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There was another jangle of chains, and this time, they stopped in front of me.
Gav was in front of me in jail orange, the color making him look a sickly kind of pale. Or maybe that was the lighting or the shitty food inside.
He sucked in a deep breath then lowered down, giving me a nod as I reached for the phone as he did as well.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” he said.
“Word got to me that you have something to say about this mess you got Everleigh involved in,” I said.
To that, he let out a humorless smirk.
“I always wondered if there was something going on there.”
“There wasn’t,” I said.
“But you wanted there to be,” he said, shrugging.
His dark brown hair was messy, and I swear he looked like he’d dropped fifteen pounds since I’d seen him last. He hadn’t had it to lose in the first place, and was looking kind of gaunt.
His green eyes were intense, though. Fierce, even.
Sensing I wasn’t going to comment any further on that, Gav sighed.
“I didn’t do this to her,” he said, and there was nothing in his voice or face to make me think he was being anything but honest. “I didn’t do this to myself,” he added. “But I damn sure didn’t do this to her. Hurting her would be like hurting a fucking puppy,” he added, shaking his head.
Gav had always been hard to get a read on.
He wasn’t one for small talk.
And he didn’t seem to show any softness toward Everleigh. But, clearly, he picked up on her softness.
“I still feel fucking bad for blocking Taylor Swift,” he added with a shake of his head. “But, fuck, I was getting kind of sick of it too,” he added.
“What’s going on then?” I asked, knowing the clock was ticking.
“Fuck. I don’t know. All I do know is I don’t fuck with that shit,” he said. “Not recreationally. And not professionally,” he added for emphasis.
“It’s being moved through your gym and you want me to believe you’re not involved.”
“I’m not,” he insisted. “I have no fucking idea what is going on. All I know is I didn’t do this. And neither did Everleigh. But we are getting framed for it. I just can’t figure out a why or a how.
“Worst of all, my attorney says there is fingerprint evidence.”
“There is,” I confirmed. “I know for Everleigh. I figure for you too. Could it be your suppliers?” I asked.
“The suppliers? The same big-name companies that supply everyone else? I find that unlikely.”
So did I.
But I was willing to think miles and fucking miles outside of the box if that was what it took.
“What about your other employees?” I suggested. “They could be involved with someone and got the shit delivered to your place, then they got it back out to distribute it.”
“I guess it’s possible. I mean, it’s not a big staff. And, from what I can tell, no one walking around with the kind of disposable income that would suggest they are into that kind of thing.”
“Do you have a list of your suppliers?” I asked. “You could have your lawyer give it to Ev’s lawyer,” I said.
“I mean… yeah. Yeah, I can get that figured out. I mean, the food is shipped from Felco Innovations,” he said, shrugging. “Typical shit. Towels and that kind of shit is from that commercial supply place. I mean, I find it hard to believe oversight is so low at those places that someone could be moving massive amounts of dr—that shit through there,” he said, clearly aware that the jail could listen too all the conversations going on in the visitation room.
