Perhaps I should be more grateful, and part of me was, but mostly I was bitter about the entire situation. I shouldn’t take it out on the people who were attempting to help me.
“The potential charges completely blindsided me.” That was difficult to admit. I prided myself on being aware.
“Can you think of any reason they’d use you to get to someone else?”
I snorted in disgust. “Such as my father?”
“Maybe.” He steepled his hands.
“I fail to see how arresting me gets to him.” I slumped, exhausted with the constant grilling.
“A scare tactic.”
“Is that how it's supposed to work?” If it was, that was ridiculous. “I couldn’t help them if that were the case. I know nothing of his dealings.”
He lifted a brow. “You run a company with him.”
“That doesn't mean he confides every detail to me.”
Daniel and I didn't discuss our family dynamic, though he was aware that all was not as it appeared. I referenced Beau and Teague frequently, yet hardly ever Samuel Hollingsworth.
“Think about the image portrayed to the public.”
That we were the perfect family. Father particularly emphasized that he and I were not only business partners, but had a close relationship. In some ways, it made things easier. People weren't interested in digging into things that seemed happy and normal. If they knew that I despised the man, they’d pry. That was the fodder for juicy gossip.
“Shouldn’t the FBI know that's not real?” Sarcasm dripped from my question.
“Could be that’s exactly why they think you’d be all too happy to spill all the dirty details on him.” He loosened his tie. “Securities fraud and tax evasion is a fairly vague charge. They could nail almost anyone with that if they pleased."
“Then how was he able to keep me from being arrested? If they wanted him, he’d have no power.”
“Power is an illusion.”
I cocked my head. “Some people certainly make it look real.” My father was at the top of that list. Whether it was perceived or not, he certainly wielded plenty of power.
“My contact may need a few days to dig into the investigation. His cursory look is that it doesn’t exist.” Daniel picked up a pen and tapped the end of it on a folder.
“I had cuffs on my wrists. It exists.” I bristled at the reminder of the steel cutting into my skin. At the helplessness I’d felt locked in the back of that SUV. I’d only come close to that feeling one time before.
And just as she had that day, Lexie rescued me from those thoughts. The image of her purple dress flowing in the wind as she’d pretended to look for her van keys filled my head. Why had she helped me? How did her presence both irritate and excite me? Did she realize how beautiful she was?
Daniel cleared his throat, and the gesture was like a record scratch.
“I hated being locked up too,” he said quietly.
If anyone could sympathize with my situation, it was my best friend. We weren’t the sharing type of men. I understood what it had taken for him to admit that out loud.
“I don't intend to be in that position again,” I said with determination.
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s a smart move to accept my help.”
Something wound tight inside loosened. “I didn’t.”
“You have it whether you do or not.”
I stood and offered my hand. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
He pushed to his feet and gripped my hand. “Takes one to know one.”
I furrowed my brow. “Did you learn that expression from Vivian?”
“She may have said that to me once or twice.” A semblance of a smile graced his lips at the thought of his wife.
My phone chimed with a text.
Meet me. Now.
Whatever ease I'd felt a moment ago evaporated. “I’ll speak to you soon.”
“When I hear something, I’ll be in touch.” His stare hardened. “You aren't on your own with this.”
That was a fact I couldn’t seem to forget.
Chapter Thirteen
Lexie
“Mind if I have the last chocolate glazed?”
Eric opened the box of donuts and held it out to me. “Hey, there’s two more in here.”
“Now neither of us have to sacrifice.”
I slipped off my shoes and leaned back. We’d found a primo parking space for our last delivery of the day. Cordelle Johnson had just sent a text letting us know she was running late.
Normally, I’d be disappointed because the other half of our workday was only getting started. But today, I relished the moment to relax with a semi-view of Central Park and a donut.
“Milk?” Eric reached in the cooler and pulled out the remainder of our glass bottles from the donut shop.
“You know it.”
He unscrewed the cap and handed me the chilly bottle. I took a bite of donut and swallowed it down with a swig of milk.
“This is the life, bow tie.” It had pretty much always been just us, but for the past eighteen years, it had been the two of us against the world. How I liked it best.
A car slammed on its brakes in the street up ahead. Tires squealed as the vehicle narrowly missed another. Finger salutes and curses flew, but I didn’t care.
Eric threw his donut in the box and shoved open the van door. “Lincoln! Over here!”
I nearly dropped my donut when he jerked his head in our direction. Eric ran toward him, sloshing his milk he’d forgotten to abandon in the process. Some splashed on Lincoln’s dark suit jacket, and I cringed.
Eric animatedly chattered while Lincoln wore that same stone-like expression that appeared permanently etched on his face. Except he laughed. But that was a one-off. An anomaly.
I waited for Lincoln to try to get away from Eric like a lot of people did. Instead, he listened as my brother spoke about who knew what.
And then they were headed toward the van.
Lincoln moved with long strides, yet allowed Eric to set the pace. When a man bumped into Eric, Lincoln had a word with him and the man scurried away after what appeared to be an apology.
And my brother looked at him like everyone else did.
With wonder.
Awe.
Amazement to be in Lincoln’s orbit.
I understood Eric’s attraction to him. There was something magnetic about Lincoln Hollingsworth. Like he was untouchable. Unreachable. It inspired curiosity about the man. He seemed so . . . indifferent wasn’t the word.
I searched through my vocabulary and failed to find the right adjective.
Ass.
That wasn’t what I was going for, even if it were true.
“You can have half of my donut,” Eric said when they were within earshot. “Want some milk?” He lifted the bottle.
Lincoln shook his head, but it wasn’t an annoyed brush-off. He’d declined my brother’s offer, yet he wasn’t hurtful about it.
Eric clambered back into the van.
“You can’t have any of my donut or milk,” I said when Lincoln’s figure loomed in the doorway.
“I’m more of a strawberry ice cream fan anyway.”