Maybe Eric and I had stretched ourselves too thin lately. Yeah, I could blame that on the lack of my using my brain. Or maybe my heart was too soft when it came to Beau. She had on a tough front, but inside, she was freaking out. Teague too.
And I wanted to help them because they’d been there for us. Even if I didn’t like the jerk who would benefit most.
Another car rolled to a stop behind my van.
A dark, expensive model.
This one didn’t honk.
Chapter Three
Lincoln
What is he doing here?
This was just what I needed. Another audience member. One from whom I’d never hear the end of this.
He stepped out with the grace and agility of a man half his age. Never mind he’d recently suffered a massive heart attack. If he was in any pain, he masked it well.
The back door of the SUV opened, and his looming figure appeared.
I thought these vehicles were supposed to be secure to transport prisoners.
Nothing could stop my father. Not a locked door. Or even near-death experiences.
“Release him.”
The laser gaze that was as familiar as my own was squarely on me. But the harsh words were for the agent in the front seat.
The weasel squirmed, and as much as I wanted to look down on him for that, I couldn’t.
Samuel Hollingsworth was intimidating.
His presence commanded that what he wished be done . . . immediately.
I’d worked with my father for more than twenty years. I’d lived in his shadow for forty. The only person who’d ever come close to resisting him was my brother, and even he’d failed for a time.
“I-I can’t do that, sir.” The agent’s voice shook.
I dropped my head back to lean against the headrest. If anything aggravated my father, it was fear.
He let out an annoyed sigh. “It’s simple. Put the key in the lock of the cuffs and turn.”
What is he doing here?
Instead of gratitude, the question reared itself for a second time. If—no, when—my father got me out of this, there would be a price to pay. No deed was charity, not even for his own son.
What will I owe him for this?
Instead of dwelling on the unpleasant, my gaze drifted out the windshield. To the woman who might actually have a bigger bark than my father. Was her bite as vicious as that mouth?
Everyone else was focused on the man whose blood ran through my veins. Except her.
That green gaze pierced through the glass straight into me. A steel wall wouldn’t be thick enough to keep me from feeling it.
She saw through me.
She wasn’t intimidated.
And she wasn’t afraid to be honest about the fact that she didn’t like what she saw.
Most people clamored for my attention.
Money and power had that effect.
Even if behind my back they called me an asshole, they wouldn’t dare do it to my face.
Lexie was the exception.
Her bold dislike was . . . interesting.
I hadn’t decided if I cared or not. Which was odd within itself. I wasn’t in the business of being concerned what others thought of me.
Now most certainly wasn’t the time to consider it.
I should be thinking about how to spend the least amount of time in custody. Or who I should retain as counsel. Or how long I’d been under investigation. Or the big one—why was I being arrested in the first place?
How did she get into the dog food business? Is it a side gig or career?
I balled my fist on my knee. Focus, Lincoln.
The snarl on my father’s lips flattened as he studied me. Damn. I’d been caught doing whatever it was with Miss Feisty.
“I’m not a patient man.”
Again the words were spoken to the agent, yet this time they seemed to be a reminder directed at me. I didn’t need it.
I was well aware of just how impatient he was.
“Sir, I-I can’t—”
“Do you like your job?” my father asked casually, as if he was genuinely curious.
I looked away and resisted a snort. So predictable with the threats.
Would he have every federal agent who attempted to arrest me fired until there were no more? Or would this cost him some of his precious money?
“Yes, sir.” The agent straightened in the front seat, though he’d turned so his body was outward. Surely he was trained to see through this charade.
“Might I then suggest you release my son.” Who knew menace and nonchalance at once was an art form?
“I’ll be fire—”
Father cocked his head before the agent could finish the sentence. Light bulbs seemed to flicker to life inside his agent brain as realization dawned on his face.
His shoulders slumped. “You’ll have to speak to someone with more rank, sir. I do what I’m told.”
My father remained impassive. “Very well.” His hard eyes zeroed in on me. “I’ll see to it this is rectified before it’s common knowledge.”
He was letting this go? This easily? And of course he was concerned about this lovely scene hitting the papers, never mind my well-being.
He turned on his heel but paused before he reached his car. Slowly, he spun. “Agent Walker, how many children do you have now? Three?”
The agent swallowed hard. He hadn’t told him his name. Yet my father already knew it. “Four. One is on the way.”
“Hmm.” He took two long steps to the back door of his Rolls Royce.
“Are you threatening a federal agent?” Suddenly, this guy had a backbone. I wanted to take bets with Teague and Beau on how long they thought it would be before he crumbled.
“Since when is making conversation a threat?” Father lifted a brow.
A text alert sounded.
The only one who looked at their phone was the agent.
His eyes bulged. He gaped like a fish. “How?” He pointed to his phone, then looked back and forth between me and my father, who was already back in his car. His driver shut the door, and I was grateful for the dark glass so I didn’t have to see him.
Agent Walker glared. “Get out.”
I slid across the backseat, albeit awkwardly since my hands were still secured behind my back. He hadn’t had the decency to adjust my cuffs to the front to make me a little more comfortable.
He yanked my arm more aggressively than necessary. In a way, I understood how he felt. It was like having a big deal just within my grasp only to have it slip away.
“This isn’t over.” Maybe, maybe not. He unlocked the cuffs.
Even though my arms fell back to their normal position at my sides, the bite of pain around my wrists was as if I were still bound. I resisted the urge to examine them, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d caused me discomfort.
I stepped back.
He slammed the car door. “Move that piece of junk.” He waved toward Lexie’s VW.
I caught his door as he tried to close it. “That piece of junk is worth more than this one.”
He tugged on the handle, but I didn’t immediately release the frame. We stared at one another. Why did I care if he’d insulted Lexie more than what he’d done to me?
“You aren’t above the law.”
He should know better than I did that there were most definitely people who didn’t have to conform to the rules.