About That Night (FBI/US Attorney #3)(32)
The Kyle Rhodes who walked me home and gave me the shirt off his back would do the right thing no matter how pissed he was at my office. So if that guy is hanging around this penthouse anywhere, tell him to call me.
Oh, wasn’t she just so…righteous. As if he needed to make excuses for the way he’d lived his life for the last nine years. Sure, he had an excuse: he’d been having fun. Maybe that was something Rylann Pierce needed to try more often—assuming she had any time for fun in her current forty-two-year career plan or whatever.
“Seriously. What’s with the face?” Jordan asked. “You’re scaring my cabernets with that scowl.”
“I’m just working through some stuff,” he said vaguely.
Jordan raised an eyebrow, studying him. “Prison stuff?”
“More like post-prison stuff. Nothing we need to talk about.” The last thing he needed his super-perfect twin sister with her super-perfect FBI boyfriend knowing was that he was in another dispute, of sorts, with the U.S. Attorney’s Office. He was cranky enough about the situation without Jordan laying into him about it. He’d left prison several weeks ago and was supposed to be moving on with his life, yet the vestiges of the place still clung to him. Like bad BO.
He picked up four of the wine bottles Jordan had unpacked. “Where do you want these?”
She pointed. “In the empty bin over there, with the other cabernets.” She looked over when Kyle came back to the bar. “So what kind of post-prison stuff?”
Now he was getting suspicious. “What’s with the twenty questions?”
“Sue me for trying to open a dialogue here. Geez. I’ve just been a little worried about you, since I’ve heard that it can sometimes be difficult for ex-inmates to reenter normal life.”
Kyle shot her a look as he grabbed more wine bottles. “Where, exactly, did you hear that? Siblings of Ex-Cons Anonymous?”
Jordan glared. “Yes, we have weekly meetings at the YMCA,” she retorted. Then she waved her hand vaguely. “I don’t know, it’s just…something I saw on TV this past weekend.”
Ah. Kyle suddenly had a sneaking suspicion about the cause of his sister’s concern. “Jordo…by any chance were you watching The Shawshank Redemption again?”
“Pfft. No.” She saw his knowing expression and caved. “Fine. I was flipping through the channels and it was on TNT. You try turning that movie off.” She looked at him matter-of-factly. “It’s very compelling.”
Kyle fought back a smile. “Sure it is. But I’m not scarred for life or planning to hop on the next bus to Zihuatanejo. MCC is not Shawshank.”
“Really?” Jordan asked. “Because I just read in the papers that an inmate was killed there a couple weeks ago. Apparently the FBI’s investigating. A guy named Darius Brown—did you know him?”
Next topic. Kyle feigned nonchalance. “I knew him a little.” Quickly, he changed the subject before his nosy sister asked any further questions. “So you said you wanted to talk about my business plan?” Jordan was the first person he’d shown it to, figuring he could use the advice of someone with an MBA.
“Yes, I did.” She grabbed a towel to wipe the dust from the wine bottles off her hands, then pulled the twenty-page business plan he’d drafted out from underneath the bar.
“And?”
Jordan hesitated. “And I hate to say this, considering you’re my brother and all, but I think it’s sort of…brilliant.”
Kyle proudly rocked back on his heels. “Brilliant, huh? Feel free to elaborate.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. There’s a good chance you’re going to fail spectacularly in this,” Jordan told him. “But you’ve covered the three primary concerns of revenue, cost, and cash flow. You’ve got a large potential market and a unique service. Whether anyone is going to be interested in that service”—she held out her hands—”tough to say.”
That was indeed the half-billion dollar question. “I’m going shopping for office space next week,” Kyle said.
“Wow. You’re really raring to go.”
Yes, he was. “For four months I sat in prison, thinking about all the things I was going to do to get my life back on track as soon as I was out. Now it’s time to put those plans in motion.” He pointed, remembering something. “But do me a favor—don’t tell Dad about this.”
“Now there’s something I’ve never heard from you before,” Jordan said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a very successful businessman, Kyle. He could help you.”
“Did you ask for Dad’s help when you opened this wine shop?” Kyle asked pointedly.
Jordan leaned against the bar, proudly taking in the store. “Of course not.”
Enough said.
A HALF HOUR later, Kyle left the wine shop in good spirits after his conversation with Jordan. But almost immediately, as he crossed the street and walked a half block to his car, the nagging feeling crept back in. And he knew the exact source of that.
This situation with Prosecutrix Pierce had become a serious burr up his ass.
At the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter what he did about the Darius Brown case. Rylann had been right; he wouldn’t lie under oath. So he was free and clear to be the ass**le and make her go get her subpoena. He’d tell the grand jury what he knew, and justice would be served. And he would have the satisfaction of knowing that he’d made the U.S. Attorney’s Office—people who had certainly never shown him any courtesies—scramble through a few hoops.