31
IAN
Week 5: Tuesday Morning
I may not know much about relationships, but I know this woman.
I know that she’s a lot more devastated by her unemployment than she lets on.
I also know if I push her on it, she’ll wriggle away.
I’m trying for patience—I really am—but it’s never been a strong suit of mine. I fight for what I want, remember? And what I want is for Lara to have her job back. Hell, I want for her to have the FBI, but I’d settle for whatever makes the shadows in her eyes go away.
“Maybe we should bring in your lawyer,” Lara says, picking up her coffee mug. She’s dressed in little shorts and my T-shirt again, and it’s alarming how much I’ve come to enjoy the sight.
Focus, Ian.
It’s eight a.m. the morning after she quit her job and I got served my subpoena, and Lara and I are no closer to figuring out why her boss is so determined to take me down.
Or who his mysterious source is.
After being up half the night reviewing every single name, note, and connection that could possibly tie me to J-Conn, we agreed to give it fresh eyes in the morning.
A solid plan.
With no results.
“I’m meeting Vanessa at ten,” I say, glancing at the clock on the stove. “I just hoped to have some good news for her. She’s working her side, but we’re both hitting dead ends.”
Lara takes a deep breath, then pulls her hair into a messy knot with the hairband around her wrist. “Okay, let’s go through this one more time. Maybe we’re approaching it the wrong way.”
“How so?”
“Well, we’ve been focusing on a J-Conn connection.”
“Yeah . . .”
She chews her lip. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, because it sounds like a B-movie plot, but what if the connection isn’t you and J-Conn but you and Steve?”
I stand to get us both more coffee. “Explain.”
“Well, we already know that you didn’t get a tip about J-Conn . . .”
The casual confidence in how she says this has me closing my eyes with emotion, and I’m relieved my back is turned so she doesn’t see it.
“And,” she continues, “we already know that there isn’t any circumstantial evidence tying you to J-Conn that could be misconstrued. Because if there were, I’d have found it.”
This time the confidence in her tone is for herself, and it makes me smile as I top off her mug.
“So what if J-Conn’s not the key? What if it’s just the most convenient, believable way to set you up?”
“Makes sense.” I drop back into my chair. “But why? I’m sure I’ve pissed off some people over the years, but I can’t imagine I’ve done anything deserving of fucking jail time. And how the hell is your former boss involved?”
She shakes her head and fiddles with her earlobe, deep in thought. “I dunno, but my gut tells me he is. I’ve never seen him act like this. It feels . . . personal for him.”
I give her a gentle smile. “Your gut, huh? You finally admitting intuition is a real thing?”
Lara blows out a frustrated breath. “Let’s just say I’ve learned that just because I follow the rules, it doesn’t mean everyone else does.”
“Which would make sense if I knew Steve. But I don’t.”
Her gaze flicks to me. “Maybe you know someone he knows.”
“I’m sure I do,” I say, gesturing at the dozens of papers in front of us with hundreds of names. “But the guy’s been with the SEC for decades. It could be anyone, right?”
She sighs. “I’m going to take a shower. See if inspiration strikes.”
I reach out and grab her hand, pressing my lips to her inner wrist. “Want company?”
She smiles and steps toward me, kissing my forehead. “Can I just take a minute? Think on my own?”
I kiss her wrist again and try to stifle the panic that she might be pulling away before we’ve really started. “Sure.”
She squeezes my hand and starts to move toward the bathroom.
But then she pauses. Backs up.
With one finger, she pulls a sheet of paper out of the stack piled on my kitchen table and studies it. Then she turns it around for me to see.
It’s one of the profiles I’d printed from my LinkedIn page—people who I don’t consider as friends but who are close enough to my circle to know about the J-Conn coup.
“Jacob Houghton?” I shrug. “He’s an investment broker. I don’t know him well, but from what I do know, he’s . . . well, he’s kind of a douche. Why?”
“I know him. And if Steve hasn’t unfriended me on Facebook yet . . .” She sits at the table and opens her laptop, her fingers moving quickly across the keys.
“Aha!” she says triumphantly, adjusting her glasses and turning the computer around so I can see the screen.
I bend down to look. She’s pulled up a wedding photo on Facebook.
My eyes go to the bride first, a middle-aged woman I’ve never seen in my life. I move to the groom next, and him I recognize—it’s Steve Ennis, Lara’s boss.
“I went to Steve’s wedding. Heck, he even had me sit at the head table with his family, which is how I know . . .” She points at the picture.
“Jacob Houghton,” I say. “Why’s he at your boss’s wedding?”
“He’s Steve’s brother-in-law, married to his sister. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except I just saw him yesterday. Jacob’s always been friendly, but yesterday he was sort of . . . weird.”
“He was also at my cocktail party,” I say distractedly, remembering that the dude was a little off when I talked to him. I’d assumed he was just bad at small talk, but . . . “You think that’s our connection?”
“It’s the only one we have,” she says. “Although I can’t think of how you and Jacob connect. You ever go after the same client?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” I scroll through the rest of the wedding photos. Then I go totally still.
“Who’s this?” I point at the woman beside Jacob in what looks to be a family photo.
“That’s Jacob’s wife, Steve’s sister. I’m blanking on her name . . . Wendy?”
“How long have they been married?”
She blows out her breath. “I’m not sure. I didn’t really talk to her much beyond the usual small talk about the centerpieces. But Steve’s wedding was two years ago, so at least that long.”
My blood feels like it’s running cold. Then hot. Then cold again.
“Why?” She looks up at me, then touches my arm. “What’s wrong, Ian?”
“Her name is Whitney. I slept with her,” I say, my voice a little hoarse.
“When?”
I can’t bring myself to answer.
“Ian, how long ago?”
I have one hand on the back of Lara’s chair, the other on the table beside her. I force myself to look down and meet her eyes. “A few months ago, after a party. I don’t think I ever got her last name.”
She exhales.
“I had no idea she was married, Lara. You have to believe me.”
“I do,” she says, touching a hand lightly to mine. “But Jacob wouldn’t. And if he’s convinced Steve to help take you down . . .”
“It can’t be that,” I say, straightening and trying to clear my head. “This isn’t a TV procedural with cliché villains.”
“We’re right,” she whispers, pressing a fist to her stomach. “I feel it here. I know we’re right.”
I think so, too, and I’ve built my career trusting my gut feelings. It’s what got me into this J-Conn mess in the first place. Maybe it can be what gets me out.
I reach for my phone. “I’ll call Vanessa.”