I zone out.
Kyle will get what’s coming to him. Then I’ll tackle the Shawn issue. Not much of a plan, but I’m done sitting back and being on the defensive.
It’s time to take control of the game.
No matter what it takes.
Two weeks of taking it easy. Two weeks of being waited on hand and foot and meetings coming to me. Two whole weeks of plotting Kyle’s demise, and still I have zero clue as to how. Sam is still optimistic that I'll somehow gain information on the oil scam he has going on, but I'm not so sure. If the poison was planted by Kyle, or someone he paid off, then he already knows I'm working with the DOJ and will keep things even closer to his chest than ever before.
No, the original way to help Sam is scrapped. It has to be something else. Or another way for me to gain the information we need without involving Kyle at all.
I do have another way, but… do I really want to involve the Russians with Sam around? That relationship is controversial at best, but do I really have another choice?
This is what I've debated back and forth while lounging around the house, hating the easy life. Outside of this beautiful prison, life has continued. My various community projects are performing well under those I've selected to lead them. Small positive impacts for those living below the poverty line are dotting up all over the map. Which is good since my mind is elsewhere.
Trey's annoyed voice reaches my ears where I sit in the living room. Unpretzeling my legs, I quietly press my toes to the vintage rug beneath the couch. Tiptoeing across the floor, I let my ear lead me, hoping to catch bits and pieces of his conversation as I creep toward the open french doors.
“You know I can't,” he says, voice tight. “Don't ask me that again.” I hold my breath so he doesn't hear me through a long pause in the private conversation. Taking a step closer, I stay hidden behind the wall and angle my ear closer to the door. “Stay at your place until I can get there, then.” My heart drops. “I gotta go. Yeah, bye.”
Sucking in a sharp breath, I seal my back against the wall as his footsteps draw closer. He searches the room as he steps across the threshold, gaze darting until he finds me.
I wave.
Wave.
I'm the vice president of the United States, and I just gave a spirit finger wave. Go me. I’m so winning this day.
“Mess.”
“Trouble.”
“Questions?”
I fake confusion. “What are you talking about?”
He laughs into his fist. “You'd make a terrible spy.”
“No doubt. Okay, fine, you caught me. What was that call all about, hmm?”
Trey drags a hand down his face. “Jessica. She's getting fucking clingy. Calling all the time, asking me to come over. And now she thinks someone is following her and keeps trying to get me to come over and protect her.”
My forehead wrinkles as I raise both brows. “Really? That's scary. Think it has something to do with Shawn? I mean, he went after Rachel, so he might do the same with Jessica since he thinks you two are a real couple.”
Anger flashes in his eyes. “Maybe. Doubtful though. Plus, I think she's making it all up.”
“Why would she do that?”
He offers me a pointed look before rolling his neck. Reaching back, he massages the muscles there. “Who knows? All I know is I'm damn exhausted.”
A tingle of guilt eats at me. He’s only in this exhausting situation with Jessica because of me. How can I be so selfish, asking him to keep this up?
“If you want to back out—”
He shakes his head. “It's not that. It's all of it combined. And we're still trying to figure out who my mother's inside guy is on the team. It's nonstop.”
Shit, here I've been relaxing and taking it easy while the guys are running ragged. I’d forgotten about the inside man we have somewhere on the team. Trey’s mother didn’t give a single clue as to who’s been feeding her information, just that she has someone. Based on the information she had on the altercation in Texas between Trey and my mother’s slimy boyfriend, we believe her. But they still don’t know who it could be.
“We need a vacation,” I say in jest.
His head pops up, offering me his full attention. “You do.”
“Not just me. All of us.”
“I will in three and a half years,” he says