Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club #4) (36 page)

I stood tall on my heels and smoothed my hands down my blazer. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. This whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

It was a terrible phrase to use, but I held my tongue, and squeezed out a polite smile.

I took the final sip of my coffee and stared at the clock in the corner of my computer screen. How much longer was the interview going to last?

My phone lit up with a text message from Shane.

I practically dashed to the conference room, and stood to the side as the rest of the agents filed out. As soon as the doorway was clear, I darted through it, drawing the attention of the man and the woman still seated at the table. A frown twisted on her lips.

“No. I don’t want to talk to you,” Payton said. She turned to her lawyer. “Do I have to talk to her?”

Payton’s brother closed the cover on his tablet and gave me an evaluating look. “Who is she?”

“I’m Special Agent Adams.”

He turned to Payton. “Oh. Then no, you don’t have to talk to her.”

“Please,” I said, stepping to the edge of the conference table. It’d been a week since I’d climbed on the table at the club. “You won’t take any of my calls.”

She turned her hard eyes toward me, and they were teeming with betrayal. “Why should I?”

“So I can apologize. So I can explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“You know what? That’s too bad,” I snapped, “because you’re going to. I’m sorry for what happened, but I did everything I could to protect you. Your name didn’t get out, so you won’t have to testify. As long as you cooperate, which you obviously are since you’re here, no charges.” I gestured to the glass door. “Your involvement ends when you walk out of this office.”

I didn’t point out what Payton had been doing was illegal. Getting caught was always a risk, and even though she had, I’d fought to make it the best possible scenario. She stared at the table with an unhappy look on her face, but at least she hadn’t gotten up yet. I’d keep talking at her until she walked out the door if I had to.

“You should know that working there started out as an assignment, but it meant a helluva lot more to me in the end. I discovered a side of myself, and I feel like I can explore it now without shame, partly because of you.”

Kyle McCreary adjusted his tie, trying not to look uncomfortable. But Payton softened. I’d cracked her armor, just a little.

“I thought you were my friend.” Her wounded voice stabbed into me.

“I was, Payton. I am. I swear I didn’t lie about that.” I pulled out a chair and sat across from her, getting her to make eye contact. “I can’t talk about cases. I can tell you that we’ve gotten convictions off of connections from the club. Some of them were white collar, but some of them . . . I’m talking about organized crime. Men who operate underage sex rings.”

Her lips parted as she inhaled a sharp breath.

Usually I didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought, but with her, it mattered. “I’m sorry I had to deceive you, but I needed to do my job, and I’m not sorry about the results.”

Her shoulders pulled up tight to her ears and then relaxed, like she wasn’t sure what to do or how to feel. She said it hesitantly. “I can’t be friends with a liar.”

“No more lies, I promise.”

Her eyes sharpened, studying me. “Prove it.”

Prove it? My face contorted with confusion.

She cast a glance at her brother, and her focus swept back to me. “Did you watch Dominic and me on the monitor after your fake negotiations last year?”

I blinked. I hadn’t needed to watch them. I’d already landed the job, and her safety with her fiancé certainly hadn’t been an issue, but Joseph offered. How could I turn it down? “Yes.”

Payton didn’t seem to mind my confession. Like Joseph, she was a full-blown exhibitionist. Her eyes warmed. “What happened between you and Tara the night you stayed in the room at the club?”

Did she think I would lie about this? “I went down on her, and then I blew Silas.”

She crossed her elbows on the table and leaned on them. “Did you like it?”

The air in the room grew a shade thicker. “Yes. A lot.”

“Do you think Kyle’s hot?” She turned her attention to her brother.

“Payton, what the hell?” He acted like he was annoyed, but I could see in his eyes, he wouldn’t mind hearing my answer.

I took in his perfectly styled brown hair and the maintained scruff covering his defined jaw. His suit was expensive and he filled it out nicely. Kyle’s body language was confident, even though I could tell he wasn’t comfortable in this setting. He probably had confidence in spades back at his father’s law firm.

Was he all flash and no substance? Doubtful. His eyes were calculating and smart. I’d bet he worked as hard on himself on the inside as he did on the outside.

I smiled. “Yeah, he’s hot.”

“Hotter than Dominic?”

Where on earth was she going with this? “I’m sorry?”

“Tell me the truth. If you had to, which one would you rather fuck? My brother, or my husband?”

Such a loaded question, but I’d answer honestly. I considered it. “Sorry, Kyle. I’m a sucker for blue eyes.” Like the ones attached to a gorgeous artist who I hadn’t spoken to since he’d stormed out of my hospital room.

“Well, shit,” Kyle said. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, dug out a dollar bill, and handed it to Payton.

She pocketed it with a triumphant look and refocused on me. “You want to fuck my husband?”

“I don’t believe I said that.”

Her smile reached all the way to her eyes. “By picking Dominic, at least I know you’re not lying. Because . . . Dominic.”

Kyle stared up at the ceiling, irritated.

Payton straightened and put her purse on her shoulder. “Okay, here’s the plan. You take me out, liquor me up, and maybe . . .
Maybe
I can get past this. Joseph won’t be so easy. All this shit you just told me, you need to tell him, too.”

“I know.”

“We’re both stubborn. Be prepared for a lot of work.” She climbed to her feet, and her brother did as well. She ran a hand through her thick hair, as if sorting her thoughts. “I’m free tomorrow night if you want to start putting water under the bridge. Vodka’s Dominic’s favorite problem-solver.”

I pushed back in my chair and stood. “Thanks for the tip. I’d like that.”

Her gaze went to her brother. “Am I okay to leave?”

“You’re under no legal obligation to stay.”

He’d just finished putting his tablet in his briefcase when her hand shot out and gently grasped his elbow. “Hey, thanks for doing this.”

It was impossible to miss the appreciation in her voice. Even though Payton oozed confidence and possessed an ‘I have zero fucks to give’ attitude, it had to be awkward as hell to let her brother in on this part of her life. He’d taken it in stride, it seemed.

His voice was affected. “Of course.”

I watched them go, and as I made my way back to my desk, I checked my phone. No new messages. I left him one on Tuesday, once my voice had come back, asking if we could talk. He didn’t return my call. I tried again on Thursday and was met with the same lack of response.

I was fed up with this bullshit. If Silas wanted things over between us, he was going to have to tell me directly. Otherwise, he was going to let me apologize again and forgive me. I wasn’t going to give up on what I wanted.

Andre was seated behind the desk at the back of the gallery, speaking on the phone when I entered. So I strolled through the gallery while I waited. The space that had been occupied by the red fog painting was now the charcoal piece Silas had been working on when I’d interrupted him. The pattern began hard and focused in one corner, and as it drifted over the canvas, it broke. It morphed into a different pattern. Softer. Lighter.

“Do you like it?” Andre asked.

“I don’t know. It’s . . . yeah, I like it.”

He smiled. “I think it’s you, but he won’t admit it.”

My gaze went back to it. Was that how Silas saw me? A transition from hard and exacting to one that was soft and open?

There were several new pieces in the gallery. “He’s been busy. Is he around?”

“Yeah. He’s working in his studio.” Andre gestured to the hallway. “You should head back there.”

“I don’t want to disturb him. I can wait.”

He gave me a plain look. “Yeah, maybe you can wait, but I can’t. He’s been a mopey asshole. Go straighten him out, please.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling unexpectedly nervous. “I’ll try.”

The music flooding the studio was classic rock. Silas sat at the computer, peering intently at the screen, unaware of me. It gave me a moment to admire. His left hand rested on his thigh, and I traced each section of his patterned tattoo as it disappeared beneath his t-shirt sleeve.

I’d made it halfway to the desk before he noticed me. He didn’t look terribly surprised as he leaned over and shut off the music.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but you left me no choice when you wouldn’t return my calls.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m so sorry. But when I told you I needed you, I was serious.” I leaned my weight on one foot and put a hand on my waist. “I’m fucking stupid. I keep thinking I can handle whatever fucked up thing life throws my direction, all by myself, but I can’t. Maybe sometimes I need you to tell me what to do.”

Well, that piqued his interest. His mouth dropped open with surprise.

“And if you want to stay mad at me a little longer, that’s fine. But I’m going to need you to put another tattoo on me right now.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s an excuse to get you to touch me. I’d sit for tattoos until there was no more space left on my body if that’s the only way to get to be with you.”

His eyes narrowed with distrust. “Would you? If I said ‘let’s go’ right now, you’d do it?”

“Yes.” My voice was solid. This wasn’t a bluff.

He stood up so fast, it sent his chair rolling backward. I expected him to go for his bike helmet but he didn’t. His expression was intense. “Get upstairs.”

Chapter

TWENTY-SEVEN

It was a command, but I followed it without hesitation or complaint. I hurried up the steps into his tiny apartment, and stood in the center of his living room, waiting. He came up the stairs, his phone in his hand, scrolling. He selected a playlist and set it on the speaker system, but didn’t hit play.

He leaned his hands on the counter, his head down. “You remember what Caroline said to me right as she left?”

“How I hadn’t stolen any of your shit?”

“That she likes you. She doesn’t like anyone, much less a Fed. She’s been beating herself up about what happened, and giving me grief about forgiving you.”

In another life, Caroline and I could be friends. Maybe even in this one.

He pushed off the counter and his gaze worked up my body. “The way I see it, there are two things standing in our way. So I’ve got conditions if this is going to work.”

“Name them.”

“I want to know everything about the part of your life you haven’t told me, including what really happened with the scar.”