Raw Redemption (Crossing the Line #4)(56)

Thank God she hadn’t fought Derek on the listening device around her neck, hidden in the necklace Henrik had given her. If everything went south in the next five minutes, at least they had a backup plan. Chicago PD was on high alert should their lives be in danger, but she couldn’t proceed with that crutch in mind. They needed good, solid evidence to convict her father, and obtaining it was Ailish’s only option. To stop Caine from hurting anyone else, from plaguing the streets of Chicago. But it wouldn’t hurt to let everyone listening know that Caine wasn’t acting his typical self, to keep Derek and the team vigilant.

Ailish sat in a leather armchair facing Caine’s desk. “Can I have a tissue…or a Band-Aid? My wrist is bleeding.”

Caine fell into his high-backed chair. “Let it bleed.”

She could feel Henrik walk into the room at her back and shifted, as if uncomfortable to have him there. “What do you need him here for?”

Her father still held the pocketknife he’d used to free her wrists. Now, he tapped it against the desk’s edge, creating little indentations in the wood. There were hundreds of the same markings, as though it wasn’t the first time he’d abused the piece of furniture. Instead of answering her question, Caine addressed Henrik, the amusement clear in his expression. “When I told you to get my daughter home by fair means or foul, you took it to heart. You’ve got balls bringing her home inside a trunk.”

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Henrik sounded like a different, darker version of himself, and the goose bumps that rose along Ailish’s skin in response were authentic. “I got sick of hearing her beg me to let her go somewhere around Grand Rapids.”

A snort left her father. “Runs away just like her mother…begs just like her mother…” Caine’s focus landed on her, harsh and condemning. “Has no regard for hard-earned money just like her f*cking mother.”

Ailish was paralyzed in her seat. Blood from her injured wrist had trickled down into the palm of her right hand and—without thinking—she wiped it on the skirt of her dress, creating an ugly red streak. “What does my mother have to do with anything?”

Again, Caine ignored her, giving his attention to Henrik. “I’ve had a lot of time to think since my daughter took off. A lot of time to look back. Review.” He poked himself in the temple with his index finger. “I’ve got a few irons in the fire. Running odds and collecting bets isn’t my only operation. Maybe that’s why I didn’t see it.”

“See what?” Henrik said, sounding almost bored.

Caine leaned forward, slowly—then he lifted the pocketknife and stabbed it full-force into the desk’s surface. “Didn’t see my own flesh and blood had been ripping me off.”

Ailish had seen it coming before they’d walked into the office, but still. She’d been so careful. Covered every single base. “What do you mean?” she mumbled, uselessly, still half praying she was wrong.

“Drop the bullshit, daughter. I found the second set of books.” Having rendered Ailish speechless, he left the knife sticking out of his desk and leaned back. “Took me about a week.” He tapped his nose. “But I could smell something rotten. You thought you were clever, didn’t you? Keeping them taped inside the vent in your closet. In my own goddamn house.”

She couldn’t move, was afraid to breathe. With the fire roaring in his eyes, Caine was angry enough to kill her. Money. She’d messed with his money. The one thing he could never forgive. “It was only a few…shuffles,” Ailish whispered, wishing Henrik were free to settle his hands on her shoulders. Anything. Just some form of contact so she wouldn’t feel so cold. “You didn’t even miss it.”

“Oh yes. You certainly are your mother’s daughter.” Her father tugged open the center drawer of his desk, removing a yellow legal pad and slapping it down beside the embedded knife. “Four hundred thousand, six hundred and twenty-nine dollars. That’s how much money you cost me. Bookie Cookie,” he sneered. “At least, that’s what I have so far. I’ve only gone through one f*cking book.”

Ailish started to shake. She’d never actually added up every cent she’d managed to hide from Caine by moving around funds, creating fake names with false entries. Breaking apart giant debts that could spell a man’s death sentence and whittling them down, spreading them out until they were nothing. Debts too small for Caine to take notice. Ailish could remember the morning she’d begun fudging the books like it had taken place only last week. Having woken to the sound of shouting, she’d gone downstairs and found a man kneeling, begging for his life in the backyard. She’d remained hidden at the base of the stairwell, but she’d watched her father take a man’s life that day. Watching the light go out of someone’s eyes. All because he’d bet too much money on football games.

Days had passed before she’d been able to open her ledgers. They were no longer just numbers written down on the pages, but life-and-death wagers. Ailish had been the one to pass on notice of the dead man’s debt to her father, having naively assumed—what? That he would put the man on some kind of payment plan? She’d been so stupid. So blind. And she’d immediately started to atone, creating a different set of books with more names, ways to spread out the amounts owed. She’d asked her father for a more active role and began working directly with the bookies via a separate phone line. Caine had trusted her, and she’d lied, day after day, in the interest of saving lives.