Page 33 of Casual Felonies (Wildlings #1)

Holmes then adds, “As for Brantley, they ambushed him and his detail, so whatever happened was very quick. Truett said it looked like they were trying to stage the scene. If it were our team, given his history of drug abuse, we’d have injected him with something to make it look like he OD’d. He’d have passed out pretty quickly.”

“Wimberley found an eight-ball laced with enough fentanyl to kill a rhino,” Sy says, looking out the window.

Dad looks over at Sy. “How do you know that?”

“I read the briefs.”

Dad seems moderately impressed, which is an improvement on how he usually regards Silas.

That reminds me… “I haven’t seen anything on the news. What happens if this gets out?”

“It won’t,” Dad answers with a lot of confidence.

Sy turns from the window, looking like a raptor in those sunglasses as he sends me his version of an encouraging smile. “Wimberley’s good at keeping things out of the news.”

“But what about witnesses?” I ask. “We had an all-out gunfight on a residential cul-de-sac with multiple helicopters flying overhead.”

Holmes answers this one. “Between the suppressed weapons and the fact that our rifles sound like a street sweeper to most civilian ears, there wasn’t a single call to 9-1-1.”

I hesitate to ask my next question, but I have to know. “And Brantley’s dad? Was he informed?”

“Aunt Hedy gave him the news personally,” Dad answers, looking like he’s swallowed something rancid. “For now, we’re letting him believe that he OD’d.”

As much as I hate Preston Whitaker, nobody deserves to lose their son. That bifurcated sentiment—feeling sorry for a man I despise—stays with me as the miles roll by .

One thing I know for sure is that Preston Whitaker will not take the death of his son lying down.

He’s a shitty father, sure, but if he ever learns that his son was murdered, he’ll bring down an army on anyone who harms his family.

Overwhelming force, no stone left unturned, destroyed beyond recognition.

Hell, he wouldn’t stop there. No, he’d make it look like?—

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

The thought hits me like a lightning strike. Goddammit, Brantley.

“It’s his dad,” I say, barely able to get the words past my lips. “Preston’s the one responsible for all this.”

Silas pulls his chin back. “You think Brantley’s father would kill his son? Are you sure?”

“Not directly, but…yeah.”

Holmes looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Why would you say that?”

“What’s the A to Z, son?” Dad asks. He knows how my brain works.

I grip the back of Holmes’ seat. “Can we find out if Brant was turning state’s evidence on his dad?” I ask, knowing I’m right.

“Uh, sure,” Holmes says, his expression tight as he taps out a quick message on the dashboard.

Dad’s jaw tenses as Holmes hits Send . “If Brantley turned on his dad, that would definitely activate Preston’s scorched earth policy.”

I nod, my stomach in knots. “Brantley knew his dad was a bad guy, knew he was guilty of all the things he’d been indicted for, and he hated how his dad got away with everything.”

“Which is, ostensibly, why he ran for his seat on a platform of anti-corruption, right?” Silas asks.

“Exactly. I mean, yes, Brantley has—had—a drug problem, but I don’t think he would willingly involve himself in fraud unless he felt he had no other choice,” I say, the details tumbling in after the realization.

Holmes is shaking his head. “What would the leverage be?”

“His little sister,” I answer automatically, not sure where I get that from, but absolutely certain I’m right.

“Margeaux’s underage, still lives with her father, and Whitaker is exactly the kind of asshole who would leverage his daughter against his son to gain whatever financial advantage he could get. ”

“I fucking hate that man,” Dad mutters, his mouth turned down. “Always demanding loyalty, never giving it.”

Definitely history there, but now’s not the time.

Tapping my skull, I desperately try to remember what I knew about Brant’s sister. “Preston would use whatever would get the fastest result. Her college fund, her trust fund, her?—”

Ah fuck.

“Her what , son?”

“Her diabetes gene therapy.” I press my palms against my eyes. “It’s the gene therapy, I’m sure of it. He would go straight for the jugular.”

Silas makes a low animal sound. “Just like the guy who made me. Everything in his life is a resource, and it either helps him gain more money and power, or it’s gone.”

The car goes quiet for a moment.

“So now he’s got Brantley under his thumb,” I say, getting back on track, “forcing him into fraud and embezzlement to solve their cash flow problems.”

Silas shakes his head. “But then Brantley gets arrested.”

“Which gives Brant the opportunity to turn on his dad,” I point out.

“Kinda makes you wonder if he got himself arrested on purpose,” Holmes muses.

We sit with that for a moment.

“From what I can remember of Preston’s trial, he hates a loose end,” Holmes says, tapping Dad’s shoulder with the side of his fist. “And then Truett shows up on some security camera at Brantley’s house, and all of a sudden, they’ve got a problem.”

“Or a solution,” Silas says darkly.

“Why would they kidnap him though? Why not kill him in the parking garage?” I ask. It doesn’t really make sense unless…

“Preston hates a loose end, but he fucking loves leverage,” I say, answering my own question. I tighten my jaw as I find my father in the rearview. “What does he know about Wimberley, Dad?”

Dad’s lips thin. “More than he should.”

He doesn’t offer anything else, hitting the accelerator instead, leaving Baba’s SUV in the dust.