Chapter Eighteen
It was a long but fruitful day—at least from a business point of view. Trey went to the various meetings with Ally and stayed in the background, letting her channel all of her anger and frustration into promoting Sheldon Construction.
It’d worked out well. By the time they’d finished the last meeting with a local politician who wanted a photo op to show off to her constituents, Ally was well over her annoyance with him. She’d gotten back into the car, her face flushed. But her wide smile had been genuine as she ordered Edgar to drive, and she had even given Trey a thankful nod during the trip.
Détente.
It’d do for now.
After Ally retreated to her suite to finish up some paperwork, Trey told Edgar he needed to go into the club.
“Some stuff I can’t do with a phone call,” he’d offered as he finished off a bottle of water. “Dylan’s still my primary employer.”
“I see. Are you going to be coming back? We’ve got some more meetings tomorrow, but nothing major.” Edgar asked. He nudged a thumb toward Ally’s closed door. “With Vincent in Reno and the surrounding area, I’m pretty well in a holding pattern here—no use me going out and prowling the streets. I can keep the facade up about Vincent’s illness, keep the dishes in the hall and sending out clothing to be cleaned. Odds are little to none we’re going to see any more trouble from anyone else.” He raised an eyebrow. “No reason for you to be here unless you want to be.”
Trey paused, searching the handler’s face. Either Edgar wanted to get rid of Trey or was offering him a way to retreat without losing face.
Considering the older man’s straightforward attitude, he suspected the second.
“I’d like to be here when he gets back. Besides, technically, I’m still Jessie’s liaison. Save you the time of breaking in someone new.”
“All right. As long as that’s all that breaks,” Edgar said, and Trey knew he meant it.
It was early evening when Trey pulled into the underground garage and parked in one of the empty spots. Patrick, their mechanic, peeked out from under the hood of a black Ford Charger he was working on. The red-haired man gave a grunt before going back to work.
The basement was quiet, the briefing room empty. Not surprising—aside from the informal operation to help Jessie find Vincent, there was no need to keep the briefing room open.
He didn’t bother telling Dylan he was back—he’d know.
Trey went to his office and settled in his chair, relaxing in the familiar surroundings. The screens were on, as they always were, flashing through the automated routine to display various areas inside and outside of the nightclub.
This was his world. This was where he felt the most in control, staring at the world through his cameras and his drones.
It was his sanctuary.
Trey opened his laptop and hooked into his system. As he waited for it to connect and finish booting up, he looked at the single framed picture on his desk, of him and Nick in-country. The two of them had survived ambushes, bombs, and insurgent attacks. Walking along the street in New York City had gotten one of them killed.
Justice.
He’d promised Nick’s parents justice, and he was going to deliver.
A knock came at the door.
“Enter.”
Dylan walked in. He wore his usual working uniform of a black T-shirt and jeans. “Heard you were back.”
“Edgar’s keeping an eye on things. Got some free time. Figured I’d spend it here catching up on things while Jessie ran Vincent down in Reno.”
Dylan raised an eyebrow at the phrasing.
Trey refused to apologize for the wording. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes. I do.” Dylan moved to sit in the empty chair. “So, do you think it’s him?”
Trey nodded. “My gut tells me so.”
“And the evidence?”
He shifted in the chair.
Dylan cocked his head. “You’re not sure.”
“I’m ninety-nine percent sure. He was in the same city, driving a car that was scrapped right after the accident. The timeline works with his parents covering for him.”
“You’re not sure,” Dylan repeated.
“I can send it to you if you want.”
“Sure. But I won’t see anything you haven’t already. What else do you need to make a final decision?”
“I need to see him.” Trey leaned back and pressed both palms to his eyes. “Damn it—I have to confront him face-to-face. I want to believe it’s him but…”
“You’re right.”
He opened his eyes and stared at Dylan. “What?”
Dylan nodded. “You’re right to be careful about making accusations. Except, you’re risking heartbreak. For both of you.” Dylan picked up a pen from the desk and toyed with it. “I’m not blind. You were taken with Ally when you came to the bar, before you saw the picture. Now you’ve inserted yourself into her life, into her business. So what happens when Jessie drags Vincent’s sorry ass back here?”
“We finish the job. All there is to it.” Trey jabbed at the keys, holding back his annoyance at the line of questioning. “I’ll confront Vincent, verify if he’s the drunk driver who hit Nick Ailes. After that, all I need to do is find a prosecutor who will take the case, run with the evidence.”
Dylan rocked back in the chair, balancing on one leg. “We’re still waiting to hear back from Mac, but I’d bet no one will. We’ve discussed this a hundred times over the past five years—any evidence will be tainted simply by the way you got it. Hacking for a righteous cause is still hacking. His expensive lawyers will claim you’re framing him. His rich parents got him out of this mess five years ago, and they’ll keep on covering for him if they find out about this mess.” He paused. “Ally might go either way. She could stick with family and defend him, claiming the evidence isn’t enough to prove he’s your man. Or she’ll agree that he’s your driver, in which case it still won’t put Vincent behind bars, but she will be alienated from the only family she’s got.”
Trey slammed his hand on the table, hard enough to send the rest of the loose pens flying. “What do you want me to do? Quit on her? Not go back tonight like I promised?”
Dylan didn’t seem surprised at the outburst.
He stayed on the chair, the wood creaking from the stress on the two back legs. “What do you want to do?” His voice dropped away from the commanding tone he usually used, becoming soft and gentle. “Trey, we’ve been together for years. I’ve watched this eat you up. I’ve watched how you’ve hunted for this man. I also see the way Ally’s gotten under your skin. This can’t last.” Dylan let out a sad sigh. “There’s no right answer to this—no matter what happens, someone’s going to be hurt.”
“Tell me about it.” Trey’s heart ached. “I’ve got to tell her about the accident, but I don’t want to until Vincent’s back. It sounds crazy, but I need to look him in the face and confirm it’s actually him.” He pointed the pen at the screen. “Man to man, face to face. I want to give him the chance to do the right thing.”
“What do you think that’ll be?”
“In a perfect world, he fesses up and goes to the authorities, takes his medicine.” Trey let out a hoarse laugh. “But that’s unlikely. I want him to face me, someone’s whose life he affected.” He looked at Dylan. “You and I, men like us—we know the weight we carry for every time we’ve killed. I want to see if, confronted with the reality of what he did, he’ll have his Come to Jesus moment and decide to accept the consequences of his actions.”
“Longshot there,” Dylan said. “If he hasn’t done it in five years, why would it do it now?”
“I don’t know,” Trey admitted. “But I want to give him the chance. Maybe he’ll change, maybe not.” He shrugged. “All I can ask for.”
“Good.” Dylan stood up. “Then it’ll be over and done with.”
“Yeah.” Trey sat back in his chair, frowning as the reality sunk in. “Five years, and I’ll have something I can take back to Nick’s parents.” He shook his head. “I’d rather have a conviction in court and the bastard behind bars.”
“That’d be the best possible resolution,” Dylan conceded, “but this is more than you had before. It might not be full closure, but better than the blank space you’ve had for years.”
He went to the open door. “Jessie should grab him in the next day or two. Keep it in mind for your timeline. And for what you’ll do about Ally. You’re about to bring her world down around her, one way or another.” He caught Trey’s eye. “Don’t break her heart. Whatever conflict you have with Vincent is with him, not her.”
“Yeah.” Trey sighed. “Problem is the damage has already been done. To both of us.”
…
It was after midnight when Trey ventured back into the hotel. He’d spent most of the evening helping out at the club and getting in a hard workout in the basement gym, pushing away the memory of the hotel fitness center and Ally coming to ask him out.
No one had bothered him, no one asked about Ally. It was as if everyone knew not to push that button, and he appreciated it.
Finn had even stepped in as a sparring partner before begging off, claiming he had to pick up Skye from an evening class.
Trey didn’t push it. Finn seemed happier since getting together with the devoted waitress-now-student.
He’d cleaned up, grabbed a fast meal in the kitchen, and now planned to sneak back into his hotel room without making too much noise.
In other words, without running into Ally. Today had been pretty good as far as recovering from his previous night’s snafu, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep his hands off of her.
Or vice versa.
Edgar’s door was closed, giving Trey free run of the shared suite. He headed into Vincent’s room and found a series of notes from Edgar, notifying him of tomorrow’s meetings and delivering short briefings on what was going to be covered.
He flipped through the pages before going to bed, setting the alarm for the early morning.
Just in case she needs me.