Wrong Place, Right Time - Elle Casey Page 0,24
suck.
He shakes his head. “No. Your car is fine.”
Relief floods through me.
“However, I have a concern that whoever’s responsible for the damage to our door has taken note of the fact that your car was parked outside.”
My mouth kind of falls open, because I feel like I should say something, but I have no idea what the appropriate response is. I just don’t get what the big deal is. It’s a frigging parking lot. Where else would I put my car? I look around at the others for signs that they get me. He’s not making sense, right? Or is it just me?
When my sister starts speaking, her voice comes out very soft and slow. This is how she talks to my children when she’s trying to convince them to go to bed on time and she anticipates that they’re going to argue and whine. My hackles go right up and stay there.
“Jenny, we’re not exactly sure who is responsible for causing that damage. Now, of course we hope that it’s just some random thing, that some drunk guy went a little crazy doing doughnuts out in the parking lot or something, and accidentally hit the door. But we can’t ignore the fact that there are bad people out there who would like to get in our way.”
I look at her like she’s nuts. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
Thibault gives me a tight smile. “We’re in the security business. We also work with local law enforcement to help build cases or find probable cause evidence to obtain warrants and the arrests of certain criminals who are at large. Most of our work is done confidentially and behind the scenes, but every once in a while, someone is made aware of our involvement, and occasionally we have to deal with threats.”
“Threats?” I hate how weak my voice sounds.
May speaks before anyone else has a chance. “It’s probably nothing. We’re just being overcautious, like Dev was today when he locked you in the panic room.” She flashes him a sideways glare.
Dev rolls his eyes. “I already apologized to her. She understands.” He looks over at me. “Right, Jenny? You understand it wasn’t intentional.”
I’m still stuck on the whole threat part. “Yeah, whatever.” I shift my attention over to Ozzie. “So, you’re telling me that because I had my car parked outside and some dickcheese—pardon my French—decided to come over here and . . . I don’t know what . . . storm the castle? That now I’m somehow involved in your problems?” I shake my head. “No. I do not accept that.” I stand, tired of the games, tired of these conspiracy nuts, and tired of being checked in against my will to the Hotel California.
Dev looks up at me. “Where’re you going?”
My voice comes out so loud, it bounces off the walls. “I’m going home!” I look at my sister, pausing a moment to bring my volume down a few notches. “I’m sorry, May, but this is ridiculous. This may be the life that you’ve chosen for yourself—and God help me, I have no idea why—but this is not anything that I want to be involved in.” I look at Ozzie. “Thanks for the offer of the freelance work, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.” My gaze moves to the other people at the table. “It was nice meeting all of you. And no offense, but I hope I never see any of you again.”
I lift my purse from the floor next to my chair and walk to the exit. Grabbing the handle, I try to push it down and pull the door open, but nothing happens. I don’t turn around when I speak because if I look at any of their faces, I’m going to start yelling again. They knew I was going to be locked in, and yet they just let me walk on over here alone to make a fool of myself. Bastards.
“If somebody doesn’t come over here right now and put the secret code into this keypad thingy, I am seriously going to break something.”
I hear chairs moving and then footsteps. A familiar voice comes from behind me. “Let me get that for you.” A giant hand appears over my shoulder and presses a four-digit code into the keypad. There’s a click telling me that the tumblers inside the lock have moved and I’m now free to go.
I grab the door and yank it open, stepping through to a room full