Absolute Trust - Jeana E. Mann Page 0,1

and straighten in the seat. “I think Jagger could be the one.”

“Fuck.” His big hands clutch the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. He shakes his head. I brace for a lecture. Instead, he turns the key, starts the engine, and pulls into the street. We’re almost home before he speaks again. “I want full disclosure. No more pulling rank. No more surprises.”

“You got it.”

In a rare show of affection, he reaches across the console to squeeze my shoulder. “I’m glad for you, man. You know I’ll never stand between you and your happiness. God knows, there hasn’t been enough of it in our lives.”

Two

Jagger

Two federal agents are sitting in my living room. Emeline’s back is ramrod straight as she sits on the sofa. To her credit, she seems calm on the outside, but I know her well enough to recognize the panic in her hazel eyes. This is all my fault, yet I can’t help wondering how I got here. Six months ago, I had the world by the balls: a great job, friends, a home of my own. Today, a ruthless gang leader holds the keys to my kingdom, I’m the prime suspect in an extortion/homicide case, and my business is on the verge of bankruptcy. Fuck. Me.

“Surveillance captured you inside the Hellwater Hills Country Club on the night of Hubert Spillman’s death.” Special Agent Dodd holds up his phone to show a crystal-clear video of the foyer at the high society venue. There’s no denying the girl in the blue dress is me. He and his partner, Agent Dodd, stare expectantly at me. “Care to explain why you were there?

“Not really.” I stare back at them in polite refusal. A few months ago, these two men would have intimidated the hell out of me. Since I met Cash Delacorte—not so much. I channel Cash’s impassive expression and controlled mannerisms to get me through this unexpected visit.

“You aren’t a member there, and you didn’t have an invitation. What were you doing?” Dodd asks. He throws an arm over the back of the chair and crosses his legs, like he’s here for afternoon tea instead of an interrogation.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink?” Without waiting for an answer, I head into the adjoining kitchen and pour a glass of water, using the time to gather my composure. Technically, I didn’t do anything to Hubert. I just happened to deliver the news that sent him into cardiac arrest. Which brings up an interesting point. The last I knew, heart failure didn’t qualify as murder. I return to the living room and take a seat on the sofa next to Em. “How was he murdered?”

Agent Dodd casts a sideways glance at his partner. “We aren’t able to divulge that information at this time.” There’s something unsettling about the sharpness in his features.

“Mr. Spillman was being blackmailed. We found a flash drive with photos of Mr. Spillman and various male sexual partners at the scene. Do you know anything about that, Ms. Jones?” Warren’s tone is more sympathetic than Dodd’s. When I don’t budge, he smooths a hand over the front of his shirt, and I can’t help but compare his generic clip-on tie to Cash’s sleek black silk one. “We want to help you, Jagger. Tell us what you know. Did Cash coerce you into doing this?”

Although my facial features remain neutral, a battle of epic proportions rages inside me. Hell, yes, this is Cash’s fault. If it weren’t for his appearance in my life, I’d be living in blissful ignorance, making jewelry at my store, and enjoying anonymity. He brought this problem to my doorstep. However, my feelings of loyalty lean more toward Cash than the agents. I take another sip of water. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Jagger.” Emeline speaks for the first time since my arrival. I shoot her a warning glare. Her mouth snaps shut. After a long exhale, she sinks back into the couch cushions. Immediately, I feel guilty.

“I bet if I run the plates on that Jaguar in the driveway, I’ll find it belongs to him.” The confident smirk on Dodd’s face makes my stomach churn. I say nothing. Calliope taught me years ago that the best defense is silence. An eternity stretches past. “All right. Have it your way.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, dials a number. “Hey. I’m going to need you to run a license plate for me.” I watch him disappear through my front door