The Fixer (The Fixer #1)(12)

“No,” Bodie replied with a generous roll of his eyes. “Because I’m an impeccable judge of character.” He merged onto the highway and then glanced over at me. “And Ivy prefers the term consultant.”

I would have preferred not to feel like I was the last person in the entire school—if not the DC metro area—to be clued into Ivy’s occupation. I would have preferred if she’d asked me, even once, what I wanted before she’d packed up my life and swept me across the country like it was nothing. I would have preferred that my closest living relative not treat me like a fire that needed to be put out, or a situation that needed to be handled.

Like a job.

“You didn’t answer my question about the body count.” Bodie prodded me out of my thoughts, like he knew no good could come from letting me stew for long.

“No casualties,” I informed him.

“But?”

I looked out the window so he wouldn’t see the edges of my lips tick up as I thought about the dumbfounded look on the boys’ faces when I’d confiscated the phone. “But what?”

The two of us rode in companionable silence until the car pulled into Ivy’s drive. Bodie cut the engine, and I reached for the door handle.

“Wait,” Bodie ordered sharply. He sounded nothing like the man who’d lazily tweaked me about my attitude. I followed his gaze to a dark-colored sedan parked across the street.

Bodie turned the car back on. “What are your thoughts on ice cream?” he asked, putting it in reverse.

“Normally, I’m in favor of it,” I said, “but right now, I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

Before Bodie could evade my question—and I was sure that was what he was going to do—the front door to Ivy’s house opened. An older man came out. He was tall with a shock of thick white hair and a face made for conveying his pleasure and displeasure from a hundred yards away.

My hand went to the door handle again.

“Don’t even try it, kitten,” Bodie warned. I paused but didn’t draw my hand back as I tracked the older man’s progress across the street.

“Who is he?” I asked, finally letting my hand sink back to my side. There was something familiar about the way the old man walked, the way he stood.

“Ask me again once you’re old enough to curse like a sailor, and maybe you’ll get an honest reply.” Bodie’s tone left no question about his distaste for the man. I was half tempted to tell him that I could curse like a sailor now, but instead, I watched the object of that distaste climb into the passenger side of the sedan and ride away.

Apparently, Ivy wasn’t the only one with a driver—and that was when I realized who the man reminded me of.

“Adam,” I said out loud. “That was Adam’s father, wasn’t it?”

You were the one who told me to bring her here three years ago! The argument I’d overheard the day before echoed in my mind. Three years ago, you were on speaking terms with my father.

Bodie didn’t tell me I was right. He didn’t tell me that Adam’s father was a powerful man. He didn’t have to.

“You’re scary, you know that?” Bodie said. “And—I don’t care if you glare at me—you definitely get that from Ivy.”

“What?” I asked, before I thought better of it.

“That beyond-freaky ability to pull conclusions out of midair and sound so blasted sure of them.”

I sounded sure because I was sure. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. “Who is he?” I asked. “Adam’s father, what does he do?”

Bodie fixed me with another look. “That’s need to know, and you don’t.”

Just like I hadn’t needed to know that Ivy was a professional problem solver—or that Ivy’s “driver” was a man who was used to assessing and responding to threats.





CHAPTER 10

“Did I or did I not make it clear what breaking that particular confidence would mean?” Ivy’s voice—ice cold and sharp enough to draw blood—cut through the foyer. I could see her silhouette near the bay window, cell phone pressed to one ear as she paced. “I’m sure the senator would be very interested to know what you’ve been—”

She turned to pace back the opposite direction and her eyes caught mine. She cut off midthreat. “I have to go.” She hung up the phone, and as she strode toward me, she schooled her face into a smile that almost reached her eyes.

“Tess.” She glanced at Bodie, and a wealth of information seemed to pass between the two of them. “How was your first day?”

I stared at her. Was I supposed to pretend I hadn’t overheard her putting the fear of God and Ivy Kendrick into the poor sod on the other end of that phone line?

“The seven hours and forty-two minutes you spent at school,” Ivy clarified. “Good? Bad? Indifferent?”

“I’m Ivy Kendrick’s little sister,” I replied. “How could my day have been anything but good?”

Even a long-absent sister knew better than to take my syrupy tone at face value. “People talk,” she said, shrugging off the way I’d said her name—the way everyone said her name. “Give it a few days, and things will settle down.”

“Is that your professional take on the situation?” I kept my voice dry and caustic. This wasn’t worth yelling over. It wasn’t even worth a heated whisper.