In A Fix - Mary Calmes Page 0,22
big a deal,” he lamented, throwing up his hands in protest, gesturing at the door. “There are a lot of people in there. No one gives a damn!”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Aiden snarled at him as we made our way back to the elevators. “Just because we work for our fathers doesn’t give us carte blanche to fuck up, you prick.”
Both Quentin and Todd looked like they hadn’t decided whether they wanted to beat the crap out of Digby or walk away and never look back. He had gone from fraternity brother to pariah in seconds flat.
“Listen––”
“No, you listen,” Trey told him, indicating everyone, including me and Dallas. “We all have to work with the public; we each have an image to uphold; we have people who trust and rely on us. Sex scandals don’t play well, or haven’t you been paying fuckin’ attention?”
“I plan to run for office at some point,” Todd announced, his hand clasping my shoulder. “Nice catch on the party, Croy. I won’t forget this.”
I gave him a quick nod.
“Same for me,” Kent chimed in, his gaze heavy on mine. “I have big plans that do not include hookers and STDs and fuckin’ illegal drugs,” he finished with a growl, charging at Digby only to have Trey and Brig grab him.
“It’s not—I would never have let you guys get in trouble,” Digby swore, his eyes, cold and murderous, trained on me. “It would have never gone that far. That wasn’t the plan. Dallas would have made sure.”
At which point I did a slow pan to the guy I wanted to see naked. “What the hell is going on? And don’t tell me you have no idea, because that is absolute horseshit.”
Dallas’s exhale could not have been any more exasperated. He was fed up with something, evidenced by his growl of frustration, and he pointed at Digby Ingram. “If you think we’re honoring your deal now, asshole, you have another thing coming.”
“What?” I had never heard a grown man whimper before, outside of bed, and the difference was night and day—one being pathetic and the other hot as hell. “No. It’s not my fault he bailed on the party before you got to be the hero.”
The “he” in that sentence was pointed at me.
“It’s time to explain,” I announced to Dallas, stopping near the elevators, making sure Brig was beside me. When he gasped, I checked to see if Dallas was the cause of Brig’s shock, and somehow was not surprised to see the FBI badge in his hand.
“We need to have a talk,” he said, his voice gravelly and low. “And you”—he pointed at me—“need to show me some fuckin’ ID.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Brig whispered, turning from me to Digby and then back again.
“Brig, I think your sister might be involved in something a bit more serious than building homeless shelters,” I answered him under my breath, feeling sorry that he’d been so blindsided by all of this.
“And you would be right,” Dallas agreed, leaning in close to us, his voice low even as his wicked grin went nuclear. “Much more serious.”
Four
The FBI field office in Las Vegas was on Lake Mead Boulevard, which was, as Special Agent Dallas Bauer explained, normally about a fifteen-minute drive from the Strip. Without the benefit of lights and a siren, it was closer to twenty-five.
Dallas had taken pictures of my licenses—concealed carry and driver’s—as well as taking Jared’s contact information, and proceeded, I assumed, to run my credentials through his database while instructing someone to contact my boss to verify my employment.
He now sat in the front passenger seat of the black Chevy Suburban, with Agent Tanner at the wheel. Brig and I were in the middle seats, Digby in the far back, and Chase and the others had been left behind, outside the entrance of Caesar’s Palace, with a warning not to speak to anyone and to please make sure that they were seen, in a deliberate, conspicuous public way, at the Bellagio. Nothing could look amiss, and while Chase wasn’t thrilled to let Brig out of his sight, the others were more than happy to participate in a little partying of the legal variety.
“I’m his lawyer,” Chase had insisted as he stood beside Brig, stalwart and determined. “I need to go with him.”
“He doesn’t need a lawyer,” Dallas informed him. “He’s not the one in trouble.”
“Why does Croy get to go?” But it came off more wounded than petulant. I