Simon Says (33 page)

Simon snorted. “If you're asking me if I want backup, the answer is no. I would love for Barnaby or Dakota's ex or anyone else to try something. I'm in a killing mood today and I'm not even sure why.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow. “Don't do anything stupid that'll keep you out of the competition. It's only a few weeks away now.”

Simon gave his attention to Harley. Anyone could see he was good. Damn good. “I'll be there. Don't worry about that.” Simon clapped Dean on the shoulder and walked out. He didn't want to draw Dakota's attention, or answer a lot of questions from her. Tonight he'd tell her that he'd visited Barnaby. But he didn't want her to try to talk him out of it now.

On the drive to the diner, Simon considered all the possible reasons why Barnaby might have wanted to meet him. But more than that, he wanted to know what hold Barnaby had over Dakota.

It took him over an hour to reach the diner. The dinner hour had come and gone, so it wasn't very crowded. Only ten or twelve people sat at tables and booths. The moment Simon laid eyes on him, he knew he'd found Barnaby. Before walking in, he looked around to see if Barnaby had brought anyone with him. It appeared not. The man sat alone at a small table in the back of the diner, his hands folded together on the tabletop.

Suddenly he swiveled around and stared at Simon. He rose from his seat, and then just waited.

Dread churned in Simon's gut, but he kept all emotion from his face as he moved forward. “Barnaby Jailer?”

“Yes.” The smaller man reached for Simon's hand. For some reason, Simon didn't want to touch him, but to refuse a handshake would put things on an awkward stage from jump.

“Simon Evans.”

“Yes, yes, of course I know that. Thank you for meeting me.”

Eyeing him, Simon took his seat. Barnaby looked…haggard. Neatly dressed, well groomed, but overly tired and stressed.

A waitress approached, and Simon ordered a juice over ice.

“Don't you want something to eat?” Hopeful, Barnaby said, “My treat, naturally.”

Simon shook his head. “I won't be staying that long.” He didn't tell Barnaby to order himself food. He refused to be any more polite than necessary.

Undeterred, Barnaby smiled at the waitress and asked for coffee and pie. It took her only moments to serve them, and then they were alone.

“So let's get to it.” Simon folded his arms on the tabletop. “What is it you want from me?”

Stirring sugar into his coffee, Barnaby tried to hedge for time. “I thought we could talk for a while, get to know each other better. After all, as I told you, I'm your father and—”

“And as I told you, I'm not interested in knowing you better. I came here because you have something Dakota wants.”

Taking his time, Barnaby sipped his coffee and ate a bite of his pie. “So you're here for Dakota?”

Simon stared at him. “That's right. To get whatever it is you have that she wants.”

After a brief laugh, Barnaby shook his head. “Please excuse my confusion.” He took another drink of coffee. “But it's very odd. Dakota specifically told me she doesn't want them anymore.”

When had Dakota talked to Barnaby? And why hadn't she told him? Simon just waited.

Barnaby smiled. “You didn't know, did you? She called me in a foul mood, issued some threats, and told me to destroy the letters. She's a bold one, you know. Always has been.”

Letters? Despite his better efforts, Simon's eyes narrowed. “How well do you know Dakota?”

“Better than I know you, that's for sure. You're a fighter, aren't you? In the SBC?”

When Simon said nothing, Barnaby lost some of his congenial good humor. “A very successful fighter?”

His success would only be mentioned if Barnaby hoped to gain from it. Relaxing a little, Simon leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, I'm successful.”

“I thought so. You've been all over the news lately.” With an oily smile, Barnaby added, “I've been overcome with pride.” Then he scooped up another bite of pie.

Simon grew impatient. He took the plate and moved it out of Barnaby's reach. “What do you want?”

“I can see small talk is a waste of time.”

Again, Simon said nothing.

“Fine.” Barnaby, too, sat back in his seat. “I need your help. There's no one else for me to turn to or I wouldn't be bothering you.”

Simon laughed at his audacity. “If you're counting on me, then you're really sunk. I have no intention of helping you in any way.”

“Perhaps you should let me tell you what I need?”

“I have about two drinks of juice left. That'll give you three minutes, tops.”

Barnaby narrowed his eyes. “I need cash.”

“No. Anything else?”

“It's important.” Hands flat on the tabletop, he leaned toward Simon. “I've been ill. I can't work. I'm going to lose everything if—”

Simon wanted to walk out, just not yet. He still had to figure out what hold this man had over Dakota. “There are government programs to offer assistance to the needy. I'm not a program.” He swallowed the last of his juice and set the glass aside.

“I'll lose my home.” Barnaby's eyes shone with malice. “Dakota's home.”

In the process of pulling a few bucks from his wallet, Simon froze. Slowly, he brought his gaze to meet Barnaby's.

Sensing he had an advantage, Barnaby rushed into the rest of his speech. “Do you want her to lose the only real home she's ever had?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Really?” Barnaby laughed. “You mean she never told you?” Another laugh.

Simon wanted to kill him. “Told me what?”

“I'm her stepfather.”

It felt like his heart stopped beating. Simon couldn't move.

“Poor girl lost her daddy long ago. I married her mother and filled in the best I could. But Dakota was a difficult child. Too determined to have her own way. Too stubborn.” Barnaby propped his head on his hand. “She and her mother did not part on good terms. Dakota knows that her disrespect nearly destroyed Joan. If it wasn't for me, I'm not sure Joan could have borne the pain of it.”

Simon stared beyond Barnaby. Had Dakota been as innocent as he assumed?

“Joan always had the hope that they'd one day reconcile. Of course, with Joan dying so unexpectedly, that didn't happen.”

Anger made Simon's movements awkward and stiff. He threw a ten on the table and closed his wallet. “How do I know you're not lying?”

“About what?”

“Being her stepfather.”

“Well, isn't that just like Dakota?” He shook his head as if amused. “I'm sure she has her reasons for not telling you. But I'm curious. Did she do anything at all to convince you?”

Simon kept silent.

“She told me she'd try everything.” Leaning forward, Barnaby closed the space between them to speak in a low, conspiratorial hush. “Did she work to gain your sympathy? Ah, I see that she did.” He smiled. “I thought she'd try a different tack, given what she said.”

A strange hollowness expanded inside Simon. “Meaning?”

“I assumed she planned to crawl into your bed. That's the impression she gave me, anyway.”

It was all Simon could do not to strike Barnaby. “This meeting is over.” He stood and walked toward the door of the diner.

“Wait.” Laughing, Barnaby followed. “Maybe in that, she succeeded. Did she? You won't say? That's very gentlemanly of you.” Once outside, Barnaby stepped in front of Simon, blocking some of the light from a street lamp. “What about her letters? Did Dakota tell you how important they are to her?”

Once before, with Bonnie, he'd been played for a fool. This time was worse. Far worse. He hadn't known about any fucking letters, so what could he say?

“They were from her mother.”

Car lights flashed by in a steady flow of traffic, keeping Simon from crossing the street to reach his car. He stared straight ahead. “I thought her mother died after a bad accident.”

“She did. But she wrote to Dakota before then. I have the letters.”

“Then it's a matter between the two of you.”

“That poor girl. So anxious to save her home and her mother's last thoughts to her. And you won't even give her a chance by lending me a little—”

Pushed past the breaking point, Simon grabbed Barnaby by the front of his shirt and carried him backward until he slammed him into the clapboard wall of the diner. “Stay away from me, Barnaby. Do you understand?”

As if thrilled by the emotional display, Barnaby looked elated. “Just throw the fight.”

Simon released him.
“What?”

“Throw the fight.” Barnaby straightened his shirt. “If you won't loan me cash, then you can help me make the money in a bet. I'll win enough to cover the debts and Dakota will get her letters.”

The idea of deliberately losing a fight was so absurd that Simon laughed. He stepped away from Barnaby. “You're pathetic.”

“If you don't, Dakota won't be the only one sorry.”

“Threatening me?” The laughter stopped and Simon took advantage of his height and bulk to loom over Barnaby. “I'm not a woman who might be intimidated by you.”

“It's not me you have to worry about.”

“No?” He clasped Barnaby's arm and hauled him toward the curb. Traffic or no, Simon surged into the street. Brakes squealed, horns blared. Barnaby cursed in fear, but Simon kept walking, giving only a quick wave of apology to the drivers.

When he reached his car, he opened the passenger door and shoved Barnaby inside. “Don't move.”

Slack-jawed with alarm, Barnaby stayed put.

Simon quickly circled the hood and got in on the driver's side. He turned toward Barnaby. “Let me see the letters.”

Barnaby licked his lips. “Not until—”

“Now.”

Scurrying, Barnaby reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew three folded, worn envelopes. Simon took them from him, lifted one flap, and saw that handwritten paper filled them. “I'll see that Dakota gets these.” He stuffed them into his coat pocket. “Now, about these asinine threats of yours. Are you referring to Dakota's ex, Marvin?”

As if seeking escape, Barnaby looked around in a panic.

Simon wrapped his long fingers around Barnaby's wrist in an unbreakable hold. He drew him nearer. “Do you know what happens in an arm lock, Barnaby? When done correctly, if the opponent doesn't tap out in time, elbows dislocate. Wrist bones break. Tendons snap. It's not a pretty thing.” He tightened his hold. “I know how to do them correctly.”

White-faced, Barnaby shook his head. “You wouldn't dare.”

Simon stared at him.

“I don't know what to tell you, damn it! Yes, Marvin is a lunatic. I told Dakota that. I told her that when she was a kid and wanted to run away with him.”

“Did he kill Dakota's mother?”

Genuine shock left Barnaby's expression blank. “What?
No
.”

“You're sure about that?”

Barnaby sucked in a deep breath—but he deflated just as quickly. Putting a hand to his head, he said, “God, I don't know. Marvin has hinted…He's capable of such a thing, I'm sure of that. And he was there at the time. But Joan fell down the outside stairs.”

“Dakota was pushed down stairs.”

His mouth opened and closed until he scowled angrily. “If Marvin had anything to do with it, I didn't know. I
don't
know.”

“But it's possible?”

“Anything's possible.” Barnaby rubbed the bridge of his nose and gave an odd, disgust-filled laugh. “The oddest things inspire Marvin. He told me many times that Joan's death was a stroke of luck.”

Thank God Dakota wasn't here to hear that sentiment. Simon could only imagine how she'd react. “How so?”

“I owed him money, he was threatening me, threatening everyone. After Joan's death, I got her life insurance and paid him off.”

“And you owe him money again now.”

“No.”
Barnaby glared at him. “I'm not a fool. I want nothing to do with him. Unfortunately, he knows things about me, about my past.”

“Barnaby, Barnaby.” Simon clenched his wrist a little tighter. “How bad have you been?”

“It's not like that! I'm not Marvin. I hustled a little, I admit it. I gambled and lost. I ran some scams. But I'm not in Marvin's league.” He tugged on his wrist, but gave up on that when Simon just increased the pressure, making him wince. “Now Marvin is squeezing me for money. I only want to live my life and be left alone.”