Deconstructed(70)

I slid onto a stool, one that put my back to the door. A Heineken mirror on the wall opposite the door was angled enough for me to observe who entered and exited. “Thanks for the beer.”

The corner of his lip quirked. “Hope you enjoy it.”

I set my cell phone on the table, prepared to use it if needed. Scott could bring Stephanie here. Maybe. But probably not. I was pretty shocked that I was sitting in a bar where someone could also buy bait and a pocketknife.

“You look nervous. Take a few sips to take the edge off. I’ll go find some music. What do you like?”

“Norah Jones.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not going to be there. So how about Tanya Tucker or Tammy Wynette?”

I shrugged and did as he suggested, taking a few swigs, telling myself to relax as I stole glances at my Apple Watch. It was almost appointment time, and Scott was never late. Part of his standard MO. Always be on time.

Griffin moseyed back and had just sat down when the door opened. I tensed, and he picked up his bottle, clicking it against mine, and mouthed, “Relax.”

Easy for him to do.

My gaze strayed to that mirror, and I could see Scott, dressed in trousers and a button-down, no tie, entering the bar with another man wearing a suit. They surveyed the room, so I jerked my gaze to the tabletop, keeping my head down so I didn’t draw their attention. The door closed behind them, and the bartender called, “Howdy.”

They made their way to the table with the older guy in overalls.

Surprising.

A round of greetings took place and an introduction. Standard business protocol. Finally, I caught a good look at the older gentleman in the suit. It was Donner Walker, Ty’s father.

Something zinged inside me.

Was this who Scott had been talking to at the gala?

Griffin leaned toward me. “The guy they’re meeting is Skeet Brookings. He’s an oil guy, but not just oil and gas. He owns half of Caddo Parish. His pockets are as deep as time.”

Now that wasn’t surprising. I knew that name mostly because Mr. Brookings banked with Caddo Bank, and Scott had mentioned him a time or two. This was a big fish.

The sound of Brooks & Dunn covered the men’s conversation, and I felt a flash of annoyance that Griffin had possibly drowned out the sounds of whatever they were talking about with country music. My mind raced with what I knew about Donner Walker. I remembered something about a potential retirement community or some type of development, but maybe it was more like an investment company that bought and sold real estate? I couldn’t remember because I rarely paid attention to that stuff. Chances were good that it had been the arrogant Donner Walker that night. But what were they up to? Just because they were meeting with this Skeet fellow didn’t mean what they were doing was illegal. But the clandestine conversation at the gala had seemed odd. My gut said something was fishy . . . and that it had nothing to do with the bait this bar sold.

Obviously Scott believed in this venture because I was assuming he’d put all our money into the investment opportunity. No way would Scott venture our future on something with risky returns. So I needed to figure out exactly what was going on. But in order to do that, I needed to not alert Scott that I was concerned about our money and manage to do some deeper digging into our financials.

“I can’t hear what they’re saying,” I whispered to Griffin.

He smiled. “It’s okay. I know Skeet well. Let’s let them conclude business, and then we’ll pay Skeet a visit.”

Good plan. Then I would know exactly what Donner had dragged my husband into. “Maybe we can get Juke to do some background investigation on Donner Walker.”

“Who?”

“The guy in the suit. I’m almost certain that’s who I overheard Scott having a conversation with at Gritz and Glitz. He was talking about going down for something. But the guy, Donner, said he had to stay the course. It sounded sketchy.” I couldn’t believe I was blabbing this to Griffin, but the thing was, I trusted him. Wasn’t like he didn’t already know that Scott was a turd.

“What’s Gritz and Glitz?”

“A gala thing. That doesn’t matter. I just suspect there is more to what Scott is doing than screwing me over.” A flash in the mirror caught my eye, and I saw Scott rise from his stool. He looked to be heading over to—“Shit.”

Griffin noted the movement behind me and dragged my stool toward him. Then he did something that stunned me. He leaned over and started nuzzling my neck. Like totally kissing it, his arm curving round me to bring me closer. My mind registered that he was protecting me from being busted, but my body liked it a little too much. For one thing, he was good at kissing necks. For another, his hands were on my body in such an intimate way that I felt the heat deep in my belly unfurl and do a little tap dance toward the basement, a place that had not felt such stirrings in quite a while.

“Shh,” Griffin warned, midsmooch, as I tried to relax. I felt him glance up. “Help ya?”

“You don’t happen to have change for a hundred, do you? The bartender’s short.” Scott sounded normal. Polite. The same as he always did.

“Nah, dude. Sorry,” Griffin said, sounding put out about having his make-out session interrupted.

“You got your hands full. I’ll leave you to it,” Scott said, sounding amused.