Insatiable (Steel Brothers Saga #12) - Helen Hardt Page 0,38
call from someone claiming to represent Brad Steel, asking if we wanted to work for him. He offered us some outrageous money, so we took it.”
“Was Cade already with the FBI when he showed up?” I asked.
“He’d left the bureau and was setting up a law practice. Like I said, Alex and I were teens. He offered to teach us how to shoot like the FBI had taught him. Our dad was okay with it. We thought it was great at the time.”
“So somehow, between the time your mother thought he allegedly died and the time he came back, he worked for the FBI and managed to go to law school and pass the bar?”
“Apparently,” Dominic said.
“I smell a rat a mile away,” Ryan said. “I wish Ruby were here to listen to this. She’d have called bullshit a half hour ago.”
“You can easily check records to see where he went to law school and whether he was with the FBI,” Dominic said.
“Records can be forged,” Talon said.
“Federal records?” Dominic shook his head.
“Kid,” Talon began.
“Kid?”
“Yeah, kid. What are you? Twenty-five?”
“I’m no kid.”
“Whatever. The right amount of money can buy anything. Trust us. We’ve seen it.”
“You’re saying my brother never went to law school?”
“It’s possible.”
“But he’s been practicing law.”
“So?”
“He’s good at it.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t go about it illicitly. I’m not saying he didn’t go to law school, but I’m not saying he did either. We’ve seen people wearing aliases like different color shirts this past year.”
“True,” I said. “What was Cade’s original last name? Do you know?”
“I’m not sure he ever told us.”
“And you didn’t think to ask?” I said.
“I was sixteen. I didn’t think past tomorrow.”
“What about your sister?”
“Same.”
“Marjorie says she wasn’t as nice as you were.”
“I told you. Alex comes on strong sometimes. She’s got one big chip on her shoulder.”
“Why is that? You said your dad was kind.”
“He was. You think a person has to be abused to have a chip on her shoulder? It doesn’t work that way.”
I couldn’t fault Dominic’s observation. Joe Steel had one massive chip on his shoulder, and as far as I knew, he hadn’t been abused.
Who the hell was Cade Booker?
“Can you find out his original last name?” I asked.
“I can try. My dad would have known, but he’s dead.”
“Check his records. Did he leave any files?”
“I can look, but wouldn’t it be easier to check the state records? Aren’t name changes a matter of record?”
“Yeah,” I said. “If your brother actually changed his name legally. Some people just start using aliases.”
“Why would he choose to use our father’s name as an alias?”
“Kid”—this time I said it. I felt like I’d aged a generation in the past several months—“if I knew why a psycho did anything, I’d have figured out my father way before now. You can’t use logic to figure this out. Trust me. But we need to know his original name if we have a chance of tracing him.”
Dominic sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Do more than see,” Ryan said. “Don’t forget we can have you arrested for what you did to Marj, Colin, and Daphne Steel.”
Dominic nodded. He seemed oddly unconcerned about being arrested, seemed to think Alex would be getting off easily. I almost mentioned it, but then thought better of it. Dominic turned.
“Just a minute,” I said. “I need to speak to him alone for a minute.”
Talon and Ryan nodded.
I walked out of the bar with Dominic. “It’s no coincidence that you ended up as Marjorie’s trainer at the gym, is it?”
“No. My brother’s been watching her, and I’ve been watching him, all while waiting for the order to get her to safety.”
“I see. And when I came into the gym?”
“That’s when I realized the situation was dire,” he said.
I lifted my brow, trying to appear less surprised than I was. “How so?”
Dominic dug his wallet out of his pocket, opened it, and pulled out a white card. “This.” He handed it to me.
The card I’d lost, with the account set up for the Spider.
“It’s my brother’s calling card,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Marjorie
Happy people don’t carry razor blades around in their purse.
Jade’s words rang in my mind as I contemplated how to respond to them.
Maybe if I just didn’t respond—
“You going to answer me?” she said.
“You didn’t ask a question.” True enough.
“Let me rephrase, then. Why did you have a razor blade in your purse?”
I bit my lower lip, silently gulping.
“I get it. It’s personal. But this is me, Marj. Your best friend. We don’t have