She Can Hide (She Can #4)(33)

His intercom beeped. “Mr. Medina to see you, sir.”

“Send him in.” Ryland turned back to his office, to his work, and greeted one of his oldest business associates. He stood and extended a hand across his desk.

“Paul, always good to see you.” The lie slid out of Ryland’s mouth as easily as the sun disguised the frigid conditions on the beach. “Scotch?”

“Yes.” Paul inclined his head a fraction of an inch. “On the rocks. Thank you.”

Ryland went to the small bar in the corner. He filled two tumblers with ice and poured a generous shot of amber liquid in each.

Like Ryland, Paul Medina had aged since they’d both started out. Gray peppered Paul’s black hair, and his skin bore the craggy evidence of his enthusiasm for golf. Ryland studied his guest. Did his own eyes reflect the same detached brutality? Did others meet his gaze and flinch at the knowledge that no shred of mercy lived within?

Probably. God knew Ryland had earned his hardness with deeds that would cause nightmares in a compassionate human being.

“I didn’t know you were in town.” Ryland settled in his seat. “Don’t you usually stay in Miami until March?”

“I fly in now and then to keep tabs on the business.” Paul sat in one of the leather-and-chrome guest chairs and crossed his legs. He steepled his fingers and looked at Ryland over them. “You can’t trust anyone completely.”

Paul’s implication was clear, as was his disinterest in small talk, which suited Ryland just fine. He’d had enough bullshit as well.

Ryland leaned back in his chair. “What brings you to my office today, Paul? Surely you didn’t fly in from Miami just to talk about our grandchildren.”

“No. As I said, the trip is about business.” Paul’s black eyes flashed with annoyance. “Did you really think you could simply cease taking shipments?”

Ryland chose his words carefully because checking Paul for a wire would have been a direct insult.

“You had adequate notice.”

“And I warned you that there would be repercussions if you proceeded with your plan,” Paul snapped.

Ryland waved a hand. “You had plenty of time to find other avenues of distribution.”

“You cannot leave a hole in the delivery process.” Paul’s tone went colder than the ice cubes in his scotch. “And what about your sons? Don’t they deserve the same opportunities that made us what we are today?”

No. They deserved more. Ryland swallowed the words. His sons had never been part of that end of the company. They didn’t even know it existed. He’d groomed them to take over as CEO and CFO of the legitimate company.

“I made myself clear last year, Paul.” Ryland didn’t change his position. He remained comfortably reclined. “You knew this would be coming.”

“There are many others who depend on your company’s role in the industry. You’ve left us with a hole we cannot fill.”

“That isn’t true,” Ryland said. “There are plenty eager to step into place.”

“But trust hasn’t been established. The risks are too great to open the doors to new partners. You won’t reconsider?”

Ryland didn’t blink. “No.”

Paul stood. He set his glass on the desk with a final clunk. “Remember, Ryland. I’m not the only one you betray, just as you are not the only one at risk.”





CHAPTER TWELVE

Abby watched the scrub pines flow past the truck window. After the trial and her mother’s death, she’d sworn she’d never come back here.

“This is where you lived before you moved to Westbury?” Ethan exited the Atlantic City Expressway and followed the sign toward Harris, where the county prosecutor’s office was located.

“Yes. I had a townhouse not far from here.” The well Faulkner had kept Abby in wasn’t far away either. Anxiety tumbled in her belly.

Harris, New Jersey, was one of the lesser-populated sections of the state. Located fifteen miles west of Atlantic City on the southeastern edge of the Pine Barrens, it was exactly what that name suggested: mostly barren and full of pine trees.

“Did you grow up here too?”

“Yes.”

“Was it always just you and your mom?”

Abby sighed. Her reluctance didn’t deter Ethan at all. “My father wasn’t around much. He’d pop in for an occasional check-in and give my mother money. Other than that, he didn’t want anything to do with my life.” She was about to say she couldn’t miss what she never had, but knew Ethan would see through her bravado. Abby had never experienced a loving father, but she had friends with real dads, fathers who threatened their dates and danced with them at their weddings.

“I’m sorry. Were you close to your mom?”

“She wasn’t naturally maternal, but she tried.” Abby had never doubted her mother loved her, even if she often seemed disconnected. Mom wasn’t the most affectionate person on the planet, but she’d taught Abby to shoot in grade school, and Mom would have fought to the death to protect her daughter. “She suffered from depression. Sometimes she drank too much. I think she loved my father, and the fact that it was a one-way street took its toll. She never dated. Not once.” Abby rested her head on the glass of the passenger window. Talk about an overshare. Why did she tell him that? What was it about him that lowered her defenses?