Alex.
“Leighton, I’d like to introduce you to Alex Atwood. Alex is one of your mother’s top campaign investors.” Alex simply raised a highball of something dark and strong, a secret smile on his lips. “Alex, this is my daughter, Leighton. She just graduated from Texas State University.”
“Stepdaughter,” I corrected, taking Alex’s offered hand.
We shook hands, his grip unnecessarily tight. “Graduated, huh? What’s your degree in, Leighton?”
Asshole. He knew I didn’t graduate, but I could play this game too. “Criminal Justice, with a minor in Psychology.”
“Impressive. You’re a little small to be a beat cop, don’t you think?”
“Not my style. I’m thinking more FBI profiler for the National Center for Violent Crimes. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”
“No, can’t say I have,” he said, lies rolling off his tongue like water. “But that’s a very ambitious career field.”
“Justice is in my blood.”
Finn could spin all the fabricated lies he wanted to, but I knew the truth. Alex Atwood wasn’t a heavy hitter in my mother’s political circle. I’d been dragged to enough of these parties to know who bankrolled her campaigns and who didn’t.
I knew exactly who he was—someone not to be trusted. Not that I did before, but anyone on a first name basis with my stepfather stood on the other side of the battlefield as far as I was concerned. Obviously, there was more to Agent Atwood than I realized.
Finn narrowed his eyes. “Well, I see you two have a common interest, so I’ll leave you to it. Lilith is almost ready to speak, anyway.”
The second he walked away, I invaded Alex’s personal space, my dress protesting my swift movement.
“Campaign investor, my ass. What the hell are you doing here? Didn’t you torture me enough this morning?”
“I’m here to keep an eye on you. I told you in the car that you’re done playing house with Cortes.” He glanced around, his demeanor shifting from calm and collected to jumpy and tense. Grabbing the back of my arm, he pulled me close and lowered his voice. “Oh, and I meant to ask why you called and hung up on Sunday.”
“I didn’t call you on Sunday.”
“Yes, you did. I got a call from your number Sunday afternoon, and you fucking hung up on me. I don’t appreciate being dicked around, Leighton.”
“I didn’t call you! I left my phone in...” I stopped short of confessing it had been in the pocket of Swenson’s jacket.
The one I’d tossed on the floor of Mateo’s SUV.
Oh, God. Mateo had my phone.
“You left it where?” he asked.
“You know what? I did call you on Sunday, but it was a mistake. I hit the wrong button. I’m thinking of Saturday when I left my phone at the cantina by accident.” Alex narrowed his eyes as I mustered a convincing smile.
A light hand rested on my shoulder. “Leighton, can I talk to you for a minute?”
Once I turned around, it took me a moment to recognize the woman dressed in a conservative blue floor-length gown. Her long chestnut brown hair was swept to the side in a low sophisticated ponytail. I had always known it to be short and efficient—just like her.
“Jackie? Is that you?”
Jackie Abrams had been my mother’s campaign manager since her first run for mayor when I was fourteen. Back then, she’d been a bright-eyed twenty-nine-year old, hungry to get her hands dirty and change the world.
Eight years later all she had to show for it were dirty hands.
“Yes, it’s me, and a belated welcome back to Houston. However, I really need to speak with you. It’s urgent.” Shifting a glance toward Alex, she scowled and settled her gaze back on me. “And private.”
“Sure, we can go to the bar.”
She eyed the room, her lips pressed in a tight line. “No, let’s go outside on the terrace.”
I nodded, not bothering to give Alex a proper goodbye as we walked away. “I’m not interested in being a part of my mother’s campaign, if that’s what you’re—”
“How well do you know that man?” she interrupted, reaching for the terrace door.
“Alex? I just met him. Why?”
Jackie opened her mouth, then glancing over my shoulder, shut it just as fast. The same chill from earlier crept back into my veins, forcing my spine to straighten. I knew he was there. I didn’t have to turn around to confirm it.
“Another time, Jackie. Leighton promised me a dance.”
“I never said I’d...” The rest of my protest stuck in my throat as Finn tightened his hold on my arm and dragged me toward the dance floor. I could’ve caused a scene. I could’ve stomped my feet and yelled at the top of my lungs, but what would that have gotten me? I hadn’t endured almost a week of pretending to lose it now.
The last place I wanted to be was in my stepfather’s arms, but I gritted my teeth and concentrated on breathing as he pulled me close. “We need to talk about your problem,” he whispered as he led me in a classic waltz around on the dance floor.
“I don’t have a—” I never got the last word out because I did have a problem, and it reopened old scars, spilling blood and secrets as I stared into Finn’s eyes for the first time tonight.
They were the color of steel and just as hard. A replica of the ones I saw in my rearview mirror the night I was almost pushed into oncoming traffic.
I remembered now why they’d looked so familiar.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mateo
My hands tightened around the white pillar, causing my forearms to shake with rage. If it hadn’t been so thick, I probably would’ve snapped it in two.
I arrived at this parade of assholes already in a bad mood and it’d only gone downhill from there. When I showed up at Brody’s apartment, mild irritation reached war zone destruction level. That thing she was wearing couldn’t even be classified as a dress. It was more like a piece of red Saran Wrap suctioned to her tits and ass. Leighton was a modest dresser, so when I saw her looking like she should be covered in dollar bills, I lost it.
I fucking lost it.
Not that it mattered much. She strutted right past me and climbed into the Tahoe without a word. Even though we argued the whole way here, she never once raised her voice, content to let me yell like a fucking lunatic. She was calm, cool, and eerily confident.
Unlike now.
I cringed watching her slam champagne all night, but I stayed hidden. I even held back from punching that old guy with the chin dimple who made her jumpy as hell. But it was her stepfather’s repeated touches that had me stepping out of the shadows and digging into my pocket to plunge my knife straight into his heart.
Everything from my determined steps across the dance floor to Leighton’s desperate struggles to pull away from him played out in slow motion. She looked like a bird he’d trapped in a cage, frantically flapping her wings toward freedom but going nowhere.
By the time I reached them, one hand was already in my pocket as the other knocked his hand out of hers. Leighton gasped, but my focus centered on one man.
“Walk away,” I growled, pushing in between them.