“My brother dated yourdaughter, you dick.”
“You’ve got nothing.” He was calling my bluff. His back was as straight as mine, his eyes flashing a warning at me. He obviously had no idea how much his daughter overheard, or how often she’d confided in me when she was worrying about whether or not she should tell her father what she knew.
It was my turn to call his bluff, so I did the only thing I could do and pulled out my phone, dialing the direct extension to Drew’s office, hoping he wasn’t there.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Calling Judge Atwood. He’s a customer down at the diner. He was very complimentary about my coffee. We got to talking about Tate and football the last time he was in—”
“Hang up the goddamn phone, Ayda. You have no idea what the hell you’re doing.”
“Don’t I?”
“Jesus. I’ll let Tate go with a warning, but it’s the only time I’m going to let this happen. You think about trying to blackmail me again—”
“I’m not—”
“This is called blackmail.”
I called it using what I had while I could. I was running the risk of getting myself thrown into a cell with Tate, and nothing would be able to help me if that happened. A nag of doubt made a shiver roll cruelly down my spine as I faced off against him.
I was about to dig my way out of the hole I’d created when Sutton gave me a look that had me swallowing mywords. He picked up his phone and dialed a number, his eyes scalping me where I stood. “Bring Tate Hanagan to my office… Yes, I’m aware of that, but it was a misunderstanding so I’m letting him off with a warning. No, he wasn’t part of the group. Asking them to buy beer for him, that’s right. Just get it done.”
Sutton hung up the phone and put his hands on his belt, the right one on his gun as his index finger ran the length of it rather than curling around the trigger. There wasn’t much more to be said between us, but he pulled up his pants before dropping his hands again and leaning on his desk.
“This is the only time I will ever be this generous, Ayda. I’m going to be watching the two of you like a hawk. You so much as put a foot out of line and you’re mine. Am I clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Wait out there,” he said, pointing to the hard plastic chairs on the other side of the nest of desks. “I’m sick of looking at you.”
I didn’t waste any more time. I didn’t say thank you, and I sure as hell didn’t linger. I was out of the door and slamming it behind me before he could so much as take another breath. By some miracle, I managed to get Tate out of there without a warning on his record, but that didn’t mean I was calm and in control. My feet tapped out a rhythm on the dingy linoleum of the waiting room until some asshole in a uniform shoved Tate through the door with a nod in my direction. Tate looked cautious and a little nervous, but otherwise unharmed as he pushed his hands in his pockets. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said he was contemplating asking them to take him back to the cell.
I turned away from him and pushed through the door tothe outer waiting room, stopping as Tate collected what little he’d had on him before he followed me like a reprimanded puppy. We didn’t say a word until we were standing on either side of my car, my shaking hands fumbling with the keys.
“A?”
“Just get in the motherfucking car, Tate, and if you value your life, keep your mouth shut.”
Now that he was free and in my hands, I was pissed off. The fear had left the moment we’d stepped out into the cool November evening. The breeze had washed away the last of the confusion and panic and all that was left in their place was anger and regret. Anger at Tate for making such a reckless move and getting himself arrested. Anger at Sutton for using that mistake to play me into his hands. He’d been trying to get to the pack through me.
Then there was anger at myself for talking to Drew the way I had. At the time, I thought I was justified. I thought I was right to blame him for something out of his power. He’d made me a promise and several reassurances, and he’d used my undeniable faith in him to make sure I saw and believed it, things I realized I still had—faith and trust.
Tate smacking Sutton had been the decision of one person—Tate himself—and there was nothing Drew and the others could have done to stop it.
I was the one in the wrong to agree to it in the first place, but Tate was the one to push it over the edge and into the territory of disaster. That meant I’d been the one to place the blame where it didn’t belong.
I’d hurt Drew, all in the name of fear. What did that make me?
A big, fat hypocrite.
“Tate, give me my phone.”
“Can we talk first?”
“No. Give me the phone.”
Of all the times to become a petulant teenager, Tate chose that one. He pulled my purse from the footwell by his feet and wedged it between him and the door so it was out of my reach. There was no playful smugness in his face when he looked at me; there was no challenge, just apologies and as much regret as I was harboring inside of myself.
