Positioning myself behind the reporter so I’m in Casey’s field of vision, I jam my hands into the pockets of my slacks so no one can see I’ve got them balled into fists while I stare at Casey and wait.
I must have had alookon my face, because she catches my gaze and one eyebrow arches oh, so slightly before she makes her excuses with the reporter.
As she follows me, I’ve already turned and am heading around the side of the house, where I can talk to her alone and unobserved.
“Did you get something to eat yet?” she asks when I stop and face her.
I fight to keep my voice down. “That motherfucker ishere!”
She holds up a finger to silence me and looks around, verifying we’re alone, then back to me. “Who?” she mouths.
I jam my fists into my pockets again, well aware of the first lesson she ever taught me. “Him,” I whisper, keeping my gaze down. “Junior,” I mouth.
Her eyebrow arches once more. That’s our codename for him.
I await her reply. It’s all I can do, because otherwise I’ll be tempted to destroy my career, my freedom, and take George’s campaign down with me in the process by attacking and killing the guy in front of over a hundred witnesses.
It’s a potential one-stop shop of disaster and destruction.
“Where?” she asks.
This is where I need every ounce of control I’ve got, every lesson she’s ever literally beaten into me. I take a deep breath and let it out, forcing myself to keep my voice low. “Seated directly across the table from George.”
She slowly nods.
I have to ask it. “Did you know?”
She holds a finger to her lips—be quiet.
I take another deep breath.
“He was on the preliminary list the host sent me,” she acknowledges. “I have not seen the final donation records yet, and I didn’t know he was one of tonight’s whales.”
That revelation stuns me. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here?”
“Because I didn’t want to upset you. I didn’t know for sure he’d be here tonight, which is why I gave you that warning before I left George’s. We knewthiswas an eventuality. Crossing paths. Sort of the plan, wasn’t it? Access?”
I struggle to stay calm.
She studies me. “Breathe, boy.”
I…do.
“Do you trust me?” Her gaze bores into mine now.
I nod.
She hooks an arm through mine and walks with me toward the lanai. “Let’s get some food in us, Dec. It’s going to be a long evening.”
* * * *
Despite the perfectly prepared chicken piccata, I have to force myself to choke it down. I hate that the fucker is anywhere close to George, much less seated across the table from him. After we eat, with me constantly keeping an eye on Junior, Casey orders me to stay at the back of the large formal dining room that’s really more of a ballroom.
Then she begins to make the rounds, all practiced, professional smiles and with the perfect thing to say to everyone she talks to. Her path angles toward George’s table but she does it so nonchalantly, and takes her time talking to people along the way, that it’s not noticeable what she’s doing.
Except to me.
If George knew what the fucker had done, he’d likely be going after the asshole himself.
