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“He didn’t do it. He had someone else do it. He creates insulation.”
“You can’t tell me what I did this morning didn’t rattle him. A rattled, arrogant man will make mistakes, and you have Walker Security to maximize any exposure he creates for himself. But we have to keep the pressure on. I need to do a press conference. I need to be in his face. And I don’t think that can be you, Damion. The more press I get him, the less the board will want him at the helm.”
“And you think they’ll want me?”
“I think they already want you, but your father has them in a vise. That might just ease if he’s a disgrace in a very public way.” I step into him and wrap my arms around him, tilting my chin up to meet his stare. “You can’t kill him. They’ll think I did it.”
“Holy fuck, Alana. They won’t think—”
“No? Really? You don’t think not one single person will say that?” I don’t give him time to reply. “Let’s talk to Walker. Let’s come up with a plan together. If we go back, they can protect me. And you can, too.”
His eyes glint with a stubbornness that I watch soften and then fade. “After we eat the pizza,” he says, setting me away from him as he walks toward the stove.
“After the pizza we go back?”
He opens the stove door and glances over at me. “We talk to Walker. That’s all you’re getting from me right now.”
I’ll take what I can get, I think, and hopefully that includes a little of that pizza. I have a feeling I’m going to need the energy to finish this battle with Damion and his father.
Chapter Ten
Alana
Forty-five minutes later, we’ve eaten pizza—Damion a full pizza, me three slices of another—and we’re both in jeans and T-shirts. No bikini, even with a cover-up, is allowed for a meeting with a bunch of rough and tough Walker Security men, apparently. He felt strongly enough on this point that he had my bags brought to me so that I could change.
And finally, we’re getting down to business.
We’re presently sitting at the kitchen table with Adam and Blake, one of the founding brothers of Walker Security, who I’ve just met. Blake is a big man, with dark hair and dark eyes and an outwardly easy-going personality, though there is something intense about him, something quite focused. The fact that he’s a hacker, who makes it known rather quickly that he’s in deep in West Senior’s private matters offers comfort, at least to me.
“I don’t disagree with Alana,” Blake states. “Not only do I believe she’s made West Senior nervous, I believe desperate people make stupid mistakes, and we’ll be there to exploit them.”
“But?” Damion asks. “Because I feel the ‘but’ in that statement.”
Blake doesn’t even hesitate in his confirmation. “He’s got a superhero complex that can create a sense of being untouchable, and therefore he will be bold in his actions.”
“In other words,” Damion surmises, his eyes on me, “he’ll come after you.”
“Good,” I say. “I want him to come after me. Better me than someone else who doesn’t have the protection you’ve made sure I have. It’s the only way to end him, Damion.”
Damion shakes his head. “The only way we end him is a grave.”
“How about you settle for a jail cell of his own making?” Blake suggests.
“I seriously doubt you’re going to get that man behind bars,” Damion says dryly. “He donates to law enforcement for a reason. He’s got them in his pocket.”
“They’re not as in his pocket as you think,” Blake assures him. “I’ve been talking to the Feds. He’s on their radar. They see blood.”
I sit up straighter. “The FBI came to see me,” I say, and feel Damion’s heavy gaze on me. This is going to freak him out and take us ten steps backward, but I can’t hold it back. I tell them everything. “They cornered me in front of the police station when I went to talk to them about my accusations against Damion’s father. It was like they didn’t want me to go inside. It felt off. And then I got a weird vibe about the guy I hired, and I called an Uber and left on my own.”
“What the fuck?” Adam and Damion murmur at the same time, with Adam’s gaze shooting to Blake’s. “Do we know about this?”
“No,” Blake states, and snatches his phone from his pocket. “Do you have badge IDs or names?”
“I have a card,” I say. “I’ll have to go grab it from my purse.”
“Get it,” Blake orders. “Did you talk to the police?”
“I was too spooked. I told Craig, the off-duty officer I hired, I was making a call, but I ordered an Uber, and then faked talking to someone.”
