Page 67

My brother’s secretary looks taken aback as I stride toward her, which is understandable. I think this is the first time I’ve left the house in sweatpants since college. “Good morning, Helen. Is he in?” I ask, pausing politely at her desk. The etiquette is more for her sake than his. I’m going into his office no matter what she says.
“He is, Mr. James. He has a call coming from Hong Kong in about half an hour, though.”
I nod and smile. “No problem. I’ll make sure I’m done by then.”
I knock and go straight in. Nathan is staring at his computer screen, a pile of paperwork on his desk. He specializes in criminal law, and that has given him connections that I’m hoping to make use of. He looks up, his dark eyes taking in my outfit. He’ll see it as a sign of an impending mental breakdown for sure.
“Jesus,” he says, gesturing at my sweatpants with the pencil he’s holding. “Did you get mugged or wake up in the drunk tank? You look like you got those from the lost and found.”
I bark out a laugh—funny fucker—and sit down opposite him, the painting our mom did of the beach we used to vacation at in Spain on the wall behind him. I wanted to take Amber there once, but by the time I asked, too much damage had been done. She gave me some line about not wanting to be away from her friends, which I now see was bullshit. She doesn’t have close friends. She just didn’t want to be with me in a place that was so much a part of the James family legend.
“You okay?” he asks, his eyes skimming my scabbed knuckles. He misses nothing and is usually the best judge of character I know. Amber is his blind spot. Or maybe wives are, because he once jumped to a conclusion about his own wife that almost cost him his marriage.
Part of me is pissed at him for the role he played in all of this. The way he jumped to the wrong conclusion about Amber and convinced me he was right. But I clamp down on that, because the only person who deserves my ire is me. I’m her husband, the man who claims to love her. The man who wants her back. It was down to me to do the right thing, not him.
“No, I’m not okay. It was all bullshit, Nathan. She isn’t being represented by Freddie Kemp. We were wrong.”
His nostrils flare, and the pencil in his hand snaps in half. “I wasn’t wrong, Elijah. She was there. You think I’d make that shit up?”
“No, of course I fucking don’t, so calm the fuck down. Yes, she was there. But she isn’t his client. Drake is her only attorney, and she has no intention of going after Jamestech. It was a setup.”
His eyes narrow. He doesn’t believe what I’m saying. I slam my hand down on his desk, but he doesn’t react at all. Goddamn Ice Man. “Nate, I am telling you the truth. There are things going on that you don’t know about, and no, I’m not going to tell you what they are. Not everything needs to be out in the open here. I know you think I’m weak when it comes to Amber, but in this case, I’m right. You need to drop it. You don’t have to trust her, but I assume you trust me?”
He waits a beat, then gives a terse nod. “Yeah. I do.”
“Okay, well, you’re just gonna have to go with that then—I understand why you thought what you did, but you were wrong. And now, I need you to put me in touch with Shane Ryan. Or actually, his wife—or is she Conor’s?”
His eyebrows knit together. “Yes, she’s their wife. It’s complicated. More importantly, why do you need to speak to the Ryans? They’re not from your world.”
Nathan and Drake both have clients whose relationship with law and order is a tad loose to say the least. The Ryans here, the Morettis in Chicago—neither are what you’d call model citizens. I know this, but I also know my brothers—no matter what kind of reputation men like the Ryans have, Nathan would not defend them if he thought they were bad people.
“I’m going to keep this simple—I need to speak to them about a little thing callednone of your fucking business. And I’m not saying that to be an asshole. I’m saying it because as their lawyer—fuck, as my lawyer—you really don’t want to know.”
“Plausible deniability?” he asks, smirking.
“Exactly. Now, are you going to help me or not?”
“Of course I’m going to fucking help you—you’re my big brother. Just tread carefully, all right? These men are not to be messed with—Jessie even less so. She could have you on a terrorist watchlist and shipped to Guantanamo in ten seconds flat.”
“Duly noted.”
“And speak to Shane first. I’m giving you his number, not hers.”
“Why? Isn’t she allowed to speak for herself?”
He laughs. “You wouldn’t ask that if you’d met her. Yeah, she’s allowed to speak for herself, but the Ryans are protective of her.”
If anyone can understand that instinct, it’s me right now.
He scribbles a number down on a piece of paper, using the stubby end of the pencil he broke, and passes it to me.
“Elijah?” he calls as I’m about to leave.
I turn back around. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry, okay? If you’re right and Amber was completely innocent, I’m sorry I put you through all of that.”
I nod my understanding. He didn’t do it to cause me pain, but that doesn’t make the hurt that’s been caused any less real. Who the hell knows if I will ever be able to win her trust back. For now, I will concentrate on what I can control—I am going to fuck up Freddie Kemp’s life.