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“I didn’t say it was my fault.”
“Bullshit. You’re second-guessing every decision you’ve made since becoming CEO, wondering what you could have done differently to prevent the attack.”
“Of course I’m second-guessing myself. My decisions affect lives.” No wonder he had an ulcer.
“I know, man. But if you don’t start taking care of yourself, you’re going to either wind up in the mental health facility with your mama or in the graveyard with your daddy.”
The icy truth slithered under Cannon’s skin and burrowed into his bones. The cold usually soothed or energized him, sometimes both, but this chill threatened to crack him into shards.
Grady grabbed his hat off the table and stood. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do?”
“Yeah, there is. Ask your contacts what they know about FBI Special Agent Rosalie Zenner.”
Although he’d kicked her out of his hospital, and she had no place in his life, she’d somehow nuzzled her way into his brain. Maybe if he found out she was a mediocre agent, perhaps even new to the job or had botched some ransomware cases, he’d forget about her.
Sure.
And maybe the attacker would send an apology email, restore the network, and cure cancer to boot.
SEVEN
Rosalie sipped her whiskey.
Bella downed hers in one gulp, then slammed her glass down on the bar. “A sip, dear cousin? Is that any way to celebrate our engagement?”
The multicolored lights from the disco ball swirled on Devon’s shot glass as he banged it down next to his fiancée’s. His tortoise-shell glasses, which matched the varying shades of brown in his wavy hair and lent him a sexy professor kind of look, slipped down his nose. “I expected more from our badass maid of honor.”
Rosalie set her glass beside Bella’s. No banging shots. No celebrating like the Motown song pulsing from the speakers encouraged. Instead, she eyed the street beyond the terrace.
It was just a delivery truck with a rose painted on the side. Malgor is not here.
Bella laid her hand on Rosalie’s arm. “You okay? You look like you’re about to tackle the bartender.”
“Yeah, I’m good.” She wagged her finger at the concern on the happy couple’s faces. “Oh no, you two. Don’t give me that look.”
Since learning the man she’d fallen in love with was a walking, talking reminder of why her uncle no longer breathed, Bella had treated Rosalie like she’d crack in Devon’s presence. Devon didn’t treat her that way, but apparently, whiskey made him adopt his fiancée’s worries.
Devon snatched the next round of shots and passed them around. “Let’s make a toast. To your father. To remembering his courage and honoring his commitment to justice.”
And to ending Malgor.
Yeah, she’d drink to that.
“Well said, Devon.” She forced a smile. “My father would be disappointed if I let good whiskey go to waste. And my motherwillbe disappointed if I drink it.” She raised the glass to her mouth. “Sounds like a win-win to me.”
Her phone vibrated on the bar. A local area code lit up the screen. The only person she knew who lived near Red Snow was her ex, and she hadn’t heard from him since they’d broken up. Who could be calling?
Cannon? No, he’d kicked her out. But if not Cannon, then…?
She pulled in a deep breath to suffocate her guess, but it wouldn’t die.
Malgor is not watching me. He’s not in town. He’s not on the phone.
But what if he was? What if he’d chosen Bella and Devon’s engagement to escalate his taunting or, worse, to strike again?
She scanned the ballroom and choked back a laugh. What did she expect to see? A man wearing a name tag that read, “Hello, my name is Malgor?” Would he be on the groom’s side because he’d kidnapped Devon or the bride’s because he’d stabbed the maid of honor in the back? Malgor could ask her to dance, and she wouldn’t know it was him. His presence hadn’t been confirmed in the USA since he’d kidnapped Devon two years ago.
Bella touched her wrist. “What’s wrong?”
