Chapter Thirty
There was a time when Trey had asked Faith how they could possibly go through all the beer, wine, and liquor that arrived at the Devil’s Playground daily.
She’d given him a knowing grin. “People like to sin. Booze makes it easier to justify it to themselves and gives them something to blame when it all goes to hell.”
Trey remembered her words as he took the clipboard from the delivery man, noting the cases of beer stacked on the rolling cart.
Finn did a fast count, shouting out the numbers and types as Trey checked the list.
Trey signed the bottom and handed it back to the waiting man. “All fine. Thanks.”
“Thank you.” The man climbed back into the truck.
“Beats counting off cans of chipped beef,” Finn said as he patted the side of the cart. “I remember when I’d kill for a cold beer.”
Trey laughed. “The best we got was lukewarm water out of the damned tank that tasted like plastic.”
That morning he’d forced himself out of bed to come in early, the physical work helping settle his nerves and calm his mind.
There had to be an answer, a solution to what he had mentally tagged the Vincent Issue. Dylan was right—none of the evidence he’d gathered was enough to take to a district attorney and get an arrest, much less a conviction. A good lawyer could shred it easily, and he had no doubt the Sheldons had very good lawyers on speed dial.
Then there was Ally.
As they pushed the cart up the ramp to the club’s back doors, he resisted the urge to check the time.
Today was the presentation. According to the schedule, it should have finished almost an hour ago.
A car came into the parking lot and circled around, a black sedan.
Trey eyed Finn, raising one eyebrow.
“Not mine.” Finn squinted as it came closer. “We’re not scheduled for any special guests.” He didn’t take his eye off the vehicle. “You expecting anyone?”
The car came to a stop not far from the pair.
Trey spotted Edgar in the driver’s seat. He stared at Trey and said something over his shoulder.
Trey could hazard a good guess what was about to happen.
“Driver’s Edgar, Vincent’s handler. Ex British Marine.” He turned to Finn. “He’s a good man.”
Finn nodded but kept his full attention on the car.
The back door opened, and Vincent got out. He was wet with sweat, dark stains under his armpits, the dress shirt half-unbuttoned.
Edgar emerged as well, standing by the driver’s side. He didn’t say or do anything other than cross his arms.
Vincent advanced on Trey, his long, urgent strides covering the distance between them quickly.
Trey didn’t take a step back, didn’t retreat.
Finn raised an eyebrow at the man’s advance, but said nothing.
Vincent came to a stop only a few feet from the two men, clenched hands by his side. “What the hell did you say to her? What?” His face was a mess, red blotches standing out on his fair skin. His ponytail had broken free from the tie and lay on his shoulders in a tangled mess.
Trey frowned. Over Vincent’s shoulder, he saw Edgar move to the front of the car, leaning back on the hood.
Edgar and Finn exchanged glances, enough to reach a silent agreement.
Leaving it between Vincent and Trey.
Trey turned his attention back to Vincent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You.” Vincent stabbed the air with his index finger. “Screwing with Ally, filling her head with all sorts of crap. Making her feel like she’s the real boss, making her figure she can run this company without me.” He thumped his chest. “I’m the one who makes the deals. I’m the one who signs the checks. I work hard keeping Sheldon Construction going. I go to all the meetings, and I hire and fire who I want to and need to to keep on being successful.”
He paused, steadying himself. “If I want to take a bit of money, my money, and gamble with it, I’m going to. You can’t stop me, and she can’t stop me.” His breathing was strained and shallow. “I’ll do what I want to do.”
“You’re drunk.” Trey glanced at Edgar before turning his attention back to the angry man. “I don’t deal with drunks.”
“I’m not drunk,” Vincent shouted, loud enough to bring curious looks from pedestrians on the nearby sidewalk.
Edgar crossed his arms and gave a shake of his head.
“You want to talk, you come inside.” Trey jerked a thumb at the club behind him. “Go through the front door, and I’ll meet you at a table. We’ll sit and talk this out like men. I’ll buy you a coffee.”
Vincent frowned before taking a step back. It was obvious he hadn’t seen past confronting Trey, the screaming match not going as he’d imagined.
Trey shrugged. “Your call. I’m not going to stand out here and listen to you yell. I’ve got work to do.” Trey turned his back on the pair and went to the loaded cart. He put his shoulder to the edge and pushed it up the ramp.
Finn said nothing until Trey passed him, just walked backward to cover the discreet retreat.
“You sure about this?” Finn whispered as he took hold of the cart to help maneuver it through the swinging door.
Trey kept a firm grip on the metal table. “We can’t afford to have a brawl break out in the parking lot. Better to have him come inside, keep it civilized.”
“Keep the cops out of it,” Finn offered.
“Exactly.” Trey nodded. “Vincent won’t want to be arrested for public drunkenness. Which is why he’ll come inside and stop making a scene. Or he’ll get back in the damn car and sleep it off.”
“Which are you hoping for?”
Trey didn’t answer, unable to decide. Instead, he let go of the cart and sprinted toward his office.
They’d have coffee, all right—with his own special touch.
…
Ally sat in the cab, fuming as the driver maneuvered through the back alleys and streets on the way to the Devil’s Playground. She was a good five, maybe ten minutes behind Edgar and Vincent.
God knows what she’d find when she got there.
Her cell phone had rung as Vincent walked out the door, stalling her own exit.
She’d contemplated letting it go to voicemail until she saw the caller ID.
“Yes?”
The security expert had done his job, and she had the results.
It took a few minutes to finish the call and run to open her email on her laptop and see the new message.
The answers were only a click away.
Ally moved the mouse, settling it over the digital folder. With one click she could see for herself if Vincent was the man Trey had been searching for over the past five years, could verify Trey’s assumptions with harsh reality.
One click.
Or she could leave it alone or even delete it, put Trey’s words away as nothing more than an angry man’s rantings, and get back to taking care of Sheldon Construction and Vincent—a handful at the best of times.
The tiny arrow floated on the screen atop the icon.
She glanced toward the closed door—Vincent was on his way to the nightclub to confront Trey. Edgar was with him, but still…
Ally bolted for the door, leaving the laptop behind. Whatever was in the file could wait.
Now, the cab slowed and stopped, a red traffic light choking off any chance of catching up to Vincent and Edgar.
She grabbed her phone and pulled up Trey’s number. The text had been deleted, but not his contact information. She dialed, praying he’d answer.
“Hello.” His neutral tone caught her off-balance.
“Listen to me. Vincent’s on his way over. He’s…”
“He’s already here.” His words were short and clipped. “Got to go. We’re having coffee.”
The line went dead, leaving her shocked and bemused.
As they pulled up in front of the club, she withdrew a wad of bills from her wallet, shoving them at the driver before getting out and running for the front door. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her skirt and jacket and now regretted it as sweat beaded in the small of her back from the sprint.
The hostess held the door open for her with a somewhat confused smile, watching Ally enter.
It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim lighting enough to see the customers sitting at the tables. A soft rock soundtrack played over the speakers as the waitresses brought lunch dishes to tourists and businessmen.
A familiar man came up on her left, almost invisible in his black T-shirt and jeans.
She stared at Dylan, not sure what to say.
“Calm down,” he said. “Figured you’d show up.” He gestured to a table over to his right, not far from the bar. “There’s a place over here. Come sit.” He flagged a passing waitress. “Club soda for the lady, and anything else she wants, on us.”
The blonde nodded and moved along to deliver her tray of drinks.
“But…”
He took her arm, and she found herself following him without argument, letting him lead her to the empty table.
“They’re over there.” He motioned to her right as they moved across the floor.
“I can’t…” She shook her head, trying to find the right words. “What’s he doing? Why is he even talking to Vincent?” She could barely make out Trey and Vincent in the far booth, Edgar standing nearby with his arms crossed.
“I’m not sure,” Dylan said. “As soon as I spotted Vincent in the parking lot. I knew you wouldn’t be far behind.” He stopped at a table and pulled out a chair, gesturing for her to sit.
Neither man showed they’d seen her, and Edgar’s full attention was focused on Vincent.
“But…” She took the seat. “I should be over there.”
“No. No, you shouldn’t. This is something that has to be resolved between them. Give them a chance.”
She eyed him. “What happens if they start throwing punches?”
“Stay out of the way. We’ll deal with it.” Dylan nodded. “I know it’s hard, but trust me—this confrontation’s been a long time coming. Best to let it play out.”
He walked away, leaving her alone at the table.
The waitress came over and placed a tall, cold glass of club soda in front of her with a smile. “Anything else you want, give me a wave.” She pointed upward, and Ally followed her gaze to the glass window high above the floor. “Dylan’s around somewhere, so don’t worry—we won’t let anything happen to you.”
Ally’s attention fell back to the two men in the booth.
It’s not me I’m worried about.