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“He has some skills I think might be useful, to you and local law enforcement if Sierra wants to pursue a restraining order.”
“When is he supposed to get here?”
Grant glanced down at the old watch he wore around his wrist with a shrug.
“Couple hours. He’s probably still on his flight to Bozeman. I’ll wake you up when he gets here. He can’t stay for long.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What kind of man is this?”
Grant only smiled. “A hacker.”
Sierra blinked several ties, her eyes still rimmed with red and patched with dark circles. I felt like a total jerk for waking her up. It wasn’t even three in the morning.
Grant was right about the hacker he’d called in from the East Coast. He’d been glued to his phone for the past ten minutes, feeding every ounce of information Sierra was gave him into some kind of system he had on there, likely with connections to the dark web.
But what did I know. I was just the owner of a bar, not some high-tech mercenary who would do pretty much anything for a few grand.
I tried not to wince at the thought of how much money Grant was spending on this situation right now. Grant wasn’t the kind of man to accept payment of any kind, especially for this. I’d slip that money into a drawer in the kitchen if I had to, or kept a tab open at the bar that would fund his drinks, and Day’s whenever that kid came of age, for the rest of their lives.
Dego, the hacker, was dressed in a very expensive-looking suit. He wore an earpiece and carried a briefcase like he was justanother businessman who needed to be California by morning for a conference, or whatever the hell men dressed like that did.
He crouched down, opening his laptop on the ottoman while I sat next to Sierra, my elbows resting on my knees.
Sierra yawned hugely, her jaw cracking.
“I’m sorry about all of this,” she said to Grant, who sat on the other side of the sectional couch. “I’m embarrassed, truly.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Grant and I said in unison. I cleared my throat. I’d never felt so off my game until now.
Sierra slumped into the cushions and rubbed her eyes. Dego peered at the three of us from over the top of his laptop, his eyes settling on Sierra.
“Would it be easier to ask you a series of questions, or do you just want to tell me your full story?” he asked.
“Is this necessary?” I cut in before Sierra could say anything.
Dego nodded, his eyes focusing on me. “Unfortunately. Am I right to assume you have a trust fund?”
“I do,” she said quietly. “But I don’t have access to it.”
“Is that legal?” Grant asked, furrowing his brow. “She’s not a minor?”
“Sometimes stipulations are made regarding when the designee is allowed to access the trust. Sometimes it’s a specific age, eighteen, twenty-one, et cetera. Other times it’s for specific purposes like college, or buying a home, or to put toward a wedding.”
“Or a marriage,” I said, my throat constricting around the words.
Dego chewed his lip and nodded. “So, the trust fund is a dowry, and you were promised to Jonah Lawley, son of Senator Lawley.” It wasn’t a question. Dego typed furiously on his laptop while I locked eyes with Grant.
“How is something like this legal?” Grant asked. “Her parents were essentially selling her—”
“And for reputation?” I finished.
Sierra said nothing as she tried to become one with the couch cushions behind her, her eyes opened to mere slits.
“If you want a restraining order, or access to that trust fund,” Dego began, his gaze settling on Sierra, “then you need to tell me everything you remember about your life.”
I almost stopped her, but she took a breath and sat up a little straighter.
“I had private governesses and tutors. I don’t have any real memories of my parents until I was a teenager. Every part of my life was controlled. What I ate, what I wore, where I went to school, and who I was allowed to be friends with. When I was sixteen, my parents began… talking about my future, but how I felt wasn’t part of the equation.”
