A Harmless Little Ruse (Harmless #2)(10)

Paulson looks at us both. “You need me, still?” The first rays of morning light peek through the window. I yawn. Jesus – it’s got to be morning soon. A seven a.m. meeting for the day shift is coming on us fast.

“You want to come to the seven a.m. briefing?”

He glances at his phone. “Might as well. It’s in forty minutes.” He looks at Lindsay, then me, eyebrows up. “How about I go talk to the other guys and meet you in the conference room. Same place as before?”

I nod. He leaves.

“Aren’t you leaving, too?” Lindsay’s voice is hostile as hell, but two can play that game.

“Not yet.”

Her long, heavy sigh should enrage me.

I laugh instead.

“You just put your life in danger. You put your father in danger by extension. And you’re sitting here rolling your eyes and sighing like a tween with an attitude.”

“You mean I put Daddy’s presidential campaign in jeopardy.”

“No. I said what I meant, Lindsay.” I get right in her face. “You put his life in jeopardy. Because if you’re kidnapped, do you have any idea what kind of bounty your kidnappers could demand? A presidential candidate’s daughter?”

“He hasn’t declared yet.”

“You think that protects you? He’s declaring tomorrow! You’re on a plane tonight for Sacramento!”

“WHAT?”

Oh, shit. No one told her.

“Anya was supposed to brief you.”

“Been a little busy, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Busy stealing my weapon.

Along with my heart.

“Considering I’ve been with you for ninety-eight percent of the time since you’ve been home, Lindsay, how could I not notice?”

“And yet you haven’t.” Hurt shines in her eyes as she looks at me. “Tomorrow? The official announcement’s tomorrow?”

“He waited until you were home. We’ve kept the car crash out of the papers so far, but he wants to declare. And you have to be on stage.”

“I don’t have to do shit.”

She’s all bark and no bite. She’ll go.

She has no real choice. All the rules are different when you’re born into money and power.

If she refuses, Monica and Harry will put the thumbscrews on her. I should know.

They’ve gone over this contingency plan.

They’ll call Stacia from the Island and turn her into Lindsay’s on-site, 24/7 therapist. Therapeutic babysitter. If Lindsay thinks it’s bad having my security detail on her like ants in a sugar bowl, wait until she sees the back up plan.

She’s watching me as I think it through, waiting her out.

“They – those bastards can’t get me. Not again.”

“They won’t.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true. Do what I tell you. Do what Harry asks. Just stick with the plan and don’t deviate and we can get through this.”

“The campaign?”

“No. That’s a cakewalk, Lindsay. I’m talking about them.” I gesture toward her phone. “Whatever game Stellan, Blaine and John are up to, they won’t win.”

“I hate this. I f*cking hate this. I hate being under a microscope. I hate that I don’t have my life. I hate being an extension of Daddy and being paraded around like a prized animal. I hate that I can’t even flee my own awful life! I can’t run away. Please, Drew, let me run away. Let me go.” She dissolves into thick tears, her voice earnest and pleading.

It’s the first sign of true emotion I’ve seen in her. Authentic. Raw.

And it breaks my heart.

But I can’t say yes.

I can’t.

Bending down, I don’t touch her, but I do move closer. Her head’s down and her hair’s a mess, smashed with twigs and mulch, making her seem wild, feral, like a child of the forest, primeval and savage.

“I wish I could give you a better answer, Lindsay. But if you leave, you’re a target. You’d be captured and used as a weapon against your dad.”

“I’m a prisoner no matter what. I don’t know who to trust.”

I open my mouth to argue, then snap it shut.

She’s right.

The truth hits me like she sucker-punched me.

She’s one hundred percent right.

And that?

That I can’t fix.

In fact, I’m one of her jailers.

“Jesus,” I say softly, under my breath. “You’re right.”

She looks up sharply. “Huh?”

“You’re right.” The room spins. I’m still in control, but it takes effort. “You are damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

She just blinks, over and over, as if in a trance. “You’re...agreeing with me?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrow. “Is this a trap?”

I sit on the ground next to her, my gun belt digging into my hip. It’s a taunting reminder of the past hours. “No.”

“No one ever agrees with me.”

“I am.”

“Then do something to help me.”

“I am.”

She huffs.