Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(19)

“About me?”

“Yes. They wanted to know if you’d talked to me about or discussed the events of the night Razor tried to kill your brother and Simone.”

“I haven’t.”

“Precisely. But they wanted to know if we had because Razor is apparently claiming that after you knocked him out, you assaulted him.”

“Assaulted.” She couldn’t see me, so she couldn’t see the small, satisfied twist to my lips. “Is that what he said?”

“He’s saying you knocked him out, and then you cut his hands with his own knife, sliced right through his tendons.”

“If I knocked him out, how could he possibly know what I did after?” The cold, calm mantle of detachment settled firmly around me, a cocoon of soothing starkness.

“Well, that’s the thing,” Dani said just before I heard a door clicking shut on her end. “No one else was there except Simone and Roscoe, and they were both passed out. But that also means no one else was there to cut his hands, right?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“I can’t say whether anyone else was there. I was busy trying to keep Simone and Roscoe from dying.”

“True, true.” Her voice wavered, like she fought a shiver. “Anyway, I told them I didn’t know anything because I simply don’t know anything. You haven’t told me anything, so how could I know anything?”

“Right.”

“And they seemed to think that was strange, since we’re engaged and all.”

“Oh?”

“But then I told them you’d called off the engagement and that seemed to make them feel better about my lack of knowledge.”

“Ah.”

“And I asked them what difference it made whether or not you cut his hands—again, reiterating I had no idea one way or the other—because you would’ve been acting in self-defense. But the agents said it did make a difference because you wouldn’t have been acting in self-defense.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. They said since Razor was unconscious, if it’s discovered that you did, indeed, cut his hands then you could face jail time for that.”

“Hmm,” was all I said. But what I wanted to say was, I don’t care. If that’s my punishment, so be it. It was worth it.

“I told them I actually thought it was pretty shitty. Here you are, donating bone marrow to their number one witness, and then here they are, conducting an investigation, trying to put you in jail. That’s stupid. Again, I don’t know anything, except for how asinine it would be to put you in jail for stopping a mass murderer. Other than that, I know nothing.”

That drew a little bit of a laugh from me, one with humor. “You know nothing. That would be a first.”

“Ha-ha. Anyway, they also asked when you were planning to be back in the country. They said when you come back to the States, they need to bring you in and talk to you about it. But that they understood you are recovering from your second bone marrow donation and would leave you be until you returned. There you go, that’s what I wanted to tell you.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said evenly, meaning it. I’d have to figure out what to do about this later. Maybe I’d turn myself in, maybe I’d say nothing at all, I hadn’t decided yet. But I wouldn’t lie. If it’s not true, don’t say it.

I did my best to live this every day. The only exception over the course of my life had been Scarlet. The woman was my only secret, the only person I’d lied about, or for, or to, and always as a means of protecting her.

“Anything you want to tell me Billy? About what happened that night?” Dani’s voice dropped to a whisper.

I didn’t hesitate. “Nope.”

“Then I’m just going to ask, did you cut his hands?”

“Bye, Dani.” I was tired of talking; I needed a shower; I needed to stretch.

She made a soft grunting sound of displeasure. “You’re an interesting and complicated person, Billy Winston.”

Working to stand, I kept the strain out of my voice, saying, “Coming from you, Dani Payton, I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.”

“You know, I think in an alternate universe, I could’ve fallen in love with you . . . if I hadn’t fallen for Curtis first.”

That pulled a small smile from me. “Same.”

“You fell in love with Curtis?”

I smiled despite myself and she laughed, it still sounded reluctant. I wondered if there’d ever been a time when Daniella Payton laughed with abandon, before life and love had broken her trust.

“Why are we like this?” she asked, right on cue. Dani and I didn’t talk like this often, maybe once a year, maybe twice. But whenever we did, she always ended up asking, “Why can’t we just let them go?”

“I still don’t have an answer.” I glanced at the glass door again. A wasp—maybe even the same one as before—was tapping against it again, trying to find a way inside. “Maybe we’re stupid.”

“No. That’s not it,” she said dismissively, then added with a note of distraction, “Maybe we’re too smart.”

“How you figure?”

“We are atypically successful in all facets of our lives to an extreme degree, save this one. You’re the youngest state congressman in Tennessee’s history, and you’ll be one of the youngest federal senators ever.”