Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(54)

“No.”

“No?” He sounds as surprised as I was by the word when it came out of my mouth.

I fall quiet again, the repercussions of telling her and not telling her a never-ending loop through my mind.

Does she know about her uncle? Was she there when Samantha pulled the trigger in self-defense? Is that why she’s so scared of Carter outing her publicly? Or did she leave in the middle of the night at her sister’s insistence without a clue as to what had happened? And if that is the case, then what exactly has her so spooked by Carter’s reference to her uncle?

“No,” I reiterate, the irony not lost on me that I’ve hung up on Vaughn in the past for saying the same word.

“No about knowing about this,” he says and waves to the papers all over the desk, “or no to telling her that you personally know the Dillingers?”

“Not sure, but what I do know is that I’m going to pay the motherfucker a visit myself.”

“You think that’s smart?”

“No. It’s going to take every ounce of restraint I have to not wrap my hands around his throat and finish the job Samantha started . . . but going there is something I need to do.” To protect Vaughn. To nullify anything Carter thinks he has over her. To feel like I can do something right as a man to help the woman I love.

“You need any backup, I’ll be glad to tag along.”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’ve got this.”

“And then what?”

“Well, I’m going to pay him a visit, threaten him within an inch of his goddamn life to drop the charges and to never come near Vaughn again. Then I’ll finally use the open invitation I get every year and show up at the Sunday family dinner of my old college roommate, Chance Dillinger. I’ll sit right across from his old, poor, paralyzed uncle named James and make sure he understands that I mean business. And if he doesn’t, then I’ll be sure to let his whole goddamn family—as well as most newspapers in the country—know about what exactly happened.”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” Stuart asks with a chuckle that says he’d love to watch every minute of my confrontation.

“Not going to apologize for it either.” I flash a smile his way that I’m sure is loaded with deviance.

“Everything else you needed is right here on your desk,” he says, followed by the plop of a stack of papers.

“Thanks. I’ll give it a look later.” I take a long sip from my glass.

“Give me a heads-up when you decide to go.”

I laugh. “Why, so you can be ready to post my bail just in case?”

“Something like that.” He meets my gaze. “You good?”

“Yeah. Thanks for”—I wave a hand through the air—“everything.”

“Night, Lockhart.”

“Night.”

When the door shuts behind him, I shift in my seat so I can get a better look at my desk. The papers are still there, still inked with her name, and a silent rage runs through me. The same one that started when Vaughn came into my life and I knew there was very little I could do to protect her.

But I can do this.

I know the right thing to do is to tell Vaughn I know the truth about her past. The best for us as a couple is to confess that I snooped in order to protect her. Sure she’d be mad, but at least it would be me telling her. At least it would be me showing her I learned from my last mistake at the pool house when I tried to find out information to protect her better.

I sigh into my glass and drink the rest of the whiskey as I contemplate what to do next. Regardless of the decision, I know one thing is for certain: I’m going to protect what’s mine at all costs.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Vaughn

“Can I see you tonight?”

My smile is automatic at the sound of his voice. My desire to be in Ryker’s arms or even sitting silently beside him is so intense that I just close my eyes and fight back the tears that burn there from sheer exhaustion.

“As much as I want to, I can’t.” I hate myself for even uttering the words.

“Why not?”

“I’m having trouble with a girl.” I flip the page on my pad of paper and glance down at the notes there. The complaints from a client about her unprofessionalism. How rude she was to him. And then below that is a note to call my new client Noah back—yet again—his nerves getting the best of him that he’s going to get caught.

“You are?”

“Yep.” The word comes out in a sigh.

“What’s wrong with your girl?”

“It’s a long story.”

“It’s good that it’s a long story. I like listening to your voice.”

And those simple words, ones that tell me I have someone in my life who cares about me, are so hard to accept, all the while so very incredible.

“She had dinner with someone last night and proceeded to insult him after getting drunk.”

“But you have a three-drink maximum,” he states. Leave it to the lawyer to have read my entire contract, even the small print.

“I do, yes.”

“How exactly did she insult him?”

“Let’s just say there was some laughter and then some mention of a minimal number of inches.”