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She frowned and looked away. She didn’t want any additional conversation with him. Not until she was sure her shell wouldn’t crumble again.
She cleared her throat. “Georgia and Becca will be with us by video, but they won’t be on the estate. Any chance you can get devices to them directly? I want them in full communication for the search.”
“No,” Montgomery replied, typing on his phone. One of the phones on the table chimed, and he picked it up.
“What do you mean, no?” she asked, feeling the hair on her neck stand up.
“This is—this needs to be a closed operation. We can give Becca and Georgia updates, but we should limit communication to the on-property team,” Montgomery explained.
She fought back a retort. He was probably right.
“This is yours,” he said, handing her the phone.
She accepted it, glancing at the screen.
You can trust me, read a text, his name above it.
She slipped the phone into her coat pocket, unable to meet his gaze. When he didn’t move, she tilted her chin toward him and gave a quick nod.
As her doubts and Spencer’s comments about Montgomery rose again in her mind, she decided it might be better not to fully trust anybody. At least not yet.
CHAPTER9
Montgomery stood at the far end of the room. He watched Spencer Frank’s solicitous manner around Hartley—asking questions, following her closely, yet maintaining a careful amount of space. It was as if the man knew Hartley might turn and bite him at any moment. And he wasn’t wrong.
Montgomery had woken that morning with a clear head, and he’d followed through on his word and emailed the Seattle divorce lawyer Bernard had found. He’d specified an extremely generous settlement he was sure even Hartley couldn’t turn down and mentally brushed his hands together, pleased to be ticking off another box.
Then he’d seen her with Frank in the library—cozywith Frank in the library—and his newfound equilibrium had tipped out of balance.
It was obvious Frank was goading him. It was less obvious why he’d let it affect him. Watching the detective follow her around the table as she got ready for the meeting, he brooded about the text he’d sent her.
He could have texted anything.Add me to your contact list, orThis is Montgomery, or even justHi. But he’d typed and sent the message about trusting him without a conscious thought. Was it because he wanted to say,Don’t trust Frank, but knew she would then gravitate toward the man to spite him? Possibly. No, probably.
He looked over at Spencer’s smug expression. How could he keep an eye on him while they conducted the search for Rogue? Probably by partnering with him. He didn’t trust the man one bit. You couldn’t trust people who were at the beck and call of politicians, no matter how high up. The irony that Montgomery was the one who’d called in the favor that resulted in Frank’s involvement wasn’t lost on him, and he suppressed an eye roll.
“Becca and Georgia are going to conference in on video,” Hartley said again, sitting at the head of the table.
Spencer commandeered a seat beside her and Montgomery sauntered to a seat across the table from the detective. Frank offered him a respectful gaze, but he saw satisfaction underneath. He smiled back placidly. He could play this game all day long.
Hartley shifted her chair closer to Spencer’s to provide a clearer view of the monitor behind her on the credenza. Her expression was unreadable as she reached for the notepad and pen beside the monitor.
“Who else is joining us?” Frank asked, leaning in Hartley’s direction.
Before she could answer, Claire and Eli entered the boardroom, taking the chairs beside Montgomery. In spite of himself, it felt good when Eli slapped his shoulder and said, “Morning, brother.”
“I messaged Jackal, who should be on his way,” Hartley added, jotting something at the top of the notepad.
“Hi, Hartley, everybody,” said the dark-haired Becca from a new window on the monitor. “Montgomery, my dude!”
He couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He’d drafted her and Porter into this mess, back when nobody else had believed there was still a danger. They’d helped, identifying a past client as a possible culprit, but the lead had been a dead end.
“Hi, Becca,” he said.
“Hi, Becks,” Hartley added, turning to wave at the camera over the monitor. “How are things in Hollywood?”
“Hollywooding as usual. Port’s on the movie set, so it’s just me,” Becca replied. She frowned. “You look serious. I know we’re dealing with a body, but you look more serious than usual. Didn’t Cayman go well?”
“Well enough,” Hartley replied.
