I’m pissed. Really pissed.

I don’t buy for a second that Jackson Howard is at Gilroy’s waiting to talk to me. This is some sort of bullshit Con and Declan cooked up to keep me from beating Templeton to death. Because the only way those two can work together is if they’re working to fuck with me.

I jerk the side door open and step inside, the sudden change from light to dark blinds me for a moment, and I stop just inside the doorway, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

When they do, I see Jackson Howard sitting at a long table in the middle of the bar. Sara is sitting next to him. On his other side is an older woman I’ve never seen before.

Cari is sitting across from them with Conner, waiting for me. In front of her are the keys she left behind in James’s office.

Declan steps behind the bar to help Tess deal with our usual crowd of day-drinkers and lunch-eaters. I give a fleeting thought to leaving the two of them in such close quarters, unsupervised. Figuring Declan can handle himself against a girl who weighs as much as one of his legs, I leave it alone.

As soon as I approach the table, Jackson stands. “Thank you for meeting with me,” he says, holding out his hand for me to shake. On the table in front of him is a copy of the lawsuit Lisa filed against me.

“Sir,” I say, taking the hand he’s offering while flicking a quick glance in his daughter’s direction. Her face is blank. Hands folded and laying on the table in front of her. It makes me nervous.

Jackson releases my hand and sits. “I’ve received a copy of the law—”

“You don’t talk to him,” Con says leaning across the table, just close enough to make the older man uncomfortable. “And you don’t talk to her.” He tilts his head in Cari’s direction. “Anything you have to say to them, you say to me.”

“You’re the cousin, right?” Jackson says, recovering from his earlier discomfort.

“Right now, I’m the motherfucking lawyer.” Conner sits back in his seat with a grin. He’s still wearing his garage coveralls. His hands are stained with grease and engine dust. The tattoos on his neck and arm, peeking out from his cuff and collar.

“Is that so?” Jackson gives him an indulgent smile. Con could’ve proclaimed himself a wizard and generated more belief.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his battered wallet. Sifting through a stack of punch-cards and numbers scrawled on scraps of paper, he produces a set of IDs. His Massachusetts Bar Association card and his Harvard Law diploma card. “Sure, the fuck is,” Con says. Tossing them both on the table, he shoots a wink at the older woman. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The woman blushes and opens her mouth, but Jackson holds out a hand to stop her from talking while he studies Con’s credentials. “I’d hoped we could handle things amicably,” he says, sliding the cards across the table.

“Amicably?” Con says, mouth crooked in a half-smile. “One of your junior partners colluded with Lisa Parish, a convicted felon I might add, to file a false lawsuit against Mr. Gilroy.” He held up a finger with Jackson opened his mouth. “And then, this same junior partner lured Ms. Faraday to his office with threats to release a sex tape he made of them without her knowledge or consent. A sex tape with which he then attempted to extort her into performing sex acts. When she refused and defended herself, he physically assaulted her—” Con turned his focus on Sara. “after which, he used an accomplice to post the video on social media and illicit online black sites. The IP address attached to the video confirms that it was posted from his work computer this morning, at 3:57 AM.”

“And you think someone from my firm is that accomplice?” Jackson says, leaning back in his seat to assess Conner with a cool gaze. “Templeton is a motivated young man. He could’ve left the—”

“I checked. Templeton was in his hospital bed, sleeping off a Demerol buzz.” Con shakes his head. “Someone else—someone with access to your building posted that video of my client.”

“These are serious accusations, son.” Jackson gave Conner a tight smile that gave away nothing. “Are the provable?”

“Every last one of them.” Con looks at Sara. “As soon as I subpoena your building’s security tapes, I’ll know who helped him. You can expect that and my countersuits to be filed by the end of the day,” Con says, returning Jackson’s smile. “And I’m not your son.”

The smile on the older man’s face loosens up as soon as he shifts it in Cari’s direction. “Please accept my apology, Ms. Faraday. When my daughter and Mrs. Lachlan approached me this morning with this outlandish story, I was skeptical... but in light of the proof they provided, I had to—”

“Proof?” Cari presses her hands flat on the table, like she’s getting ready to launch herself across it, her gaze darting between Sara and the older woman sitting across from her. “What proof?”

Jackson reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. Cari’s phone. “Janine,” he says, finally giving the woman next to him permission to speak.

“I...” she divides a look between the three of us, not sure who she should be talking to before she finally settles on Cari. “When you came to the office yesterday, I knew why you were there.” She swallows. “Ever since you—I—we walked in on Mr. Templeton and that girl having... doing... that, well, there’s no nice way to say it—I’ve been eavesdropping on him.” Her fingers lace together before nerves sent them flying apart. “I guess I should feel bad about it, but I don’t. I don’t work for Mr. Templeton. I work for the firm, and his behavior put the firm in jeopardy—that girl was barely sixteen. Sixteen... not to mention the daughter of a founding partner.” Her tone lifts, drawing attention and she looks horrified for a second, trailing off before she looks at me. “So, I heard him talking with Ms. Parish about the suit. Coaching her on what to say. How to spin... events that transpired between the two of you.” She nods, takes a deep breath. “I knew he and that woman were filing a false suit against you, but I didn’t have proof.” She looks at Cari. “Not until you showed up.”

Con folds his arms over his chest. “I’d love to hear how my client assisted in proving that Ms. Parish filed a false suit against Mr. Gilroy.”

“When Mr. Templeton told me to take your bag...” She looked at Cari again. “I—you’re a smart woman, Ms. Faraday. I knew... at least I hoped you’d have a plan to prove—”

“You took Cari’s phone,” I say.

“I didn’t take it,” she says quickly. “I put it in my desk drawer with the receiver of my office phone and the intercom on. I recorded the whole thing.”

“You little minx,” Conner says, grinning at Janine from ear to ear. “I’m kissing you when this is all over, right on the mouth.”

“Oh, well—I mean...” The poor woman blushed, reaching up to touch her hair. “That won’t be necessary.”

“What does this have to do with you?” I say, looking at Sara, who up until this point, has said nothing. “Where do you fit into this?”

“I’ve been working at my father’s firm for the last few months, just until a teaching job comes through,” Sara says, offering an explanation. “Once yesterday’s incident died down, Janine listened to the recording she made with Cari’s phone and brought it to me. I met with my father this morning to pass the recording on to him.”

“The authorities have been contacted, and I assure you James Templeton and Lisa Parish will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law,” Jackson says, pushing himself away from the table. “I’d like to offer you both a formal apology on behalf of the firm and reassurance that any and all lawsuits against your clients have been dropped.” He offers me a smile as I stand and we shake hands again. “I hope that in light of our cooperation, we can expect the same from you.”

“We’ll see,” Con says from his seat. “There’s still the matter of the security tapes to contend with.” Across the table, Sara looks like she’s going to throw up.

“There’s no need for a subpoena,” Jackson says, completely oblivious to his daughter’s reaction. “We have nothing to hide. You’ll have your tapes by the end of today.”

“I’ll have their authenticity verified by an expert, willing to testify in court.” Again, Con’s looking at Jackson, but he’s talking to Sara.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Jackson says, visibly impressed by Con’s pitbull routine. “If you don’t mind me asking, what firm do you work for, son?”

“Gilroy Auto Repair,” Con says, finally standing with a laugh. “And I’m still not your son.”

Jackson clears his throat. “Well, if you’re ever looking to change that, come see me.”

Conner laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t count on it,” he says, rounding the table, attention focused on Jackson’s secretary and making good on his promise. “Come ‘ere, Janine, give me some sugar.”