“Absolutely.”
Ben lets out a sigh. “There’s been a lot of poking around. I can’t get into the NCIS shit. They’re blocking me.”
“For good reason,” I grunt.
“I don’t know how close they are to you.”
“We’re not gonna know,” I reason, leaning against the brick wall outside. “Once it dies down, we’ll be able to poke. There’s gotta be some leads fabricated internationally, and that’s what needs to be chased.”
“They’re probably tapping this call.”
I let out a chuckle. “And the egotistical mastermind is getting paranoid. This is new.”
“Cade is a loose cannon with a lot of fucking dirt on me. This could be the end for me. I should’ve just fucking offed him.”
“Or maybe you should have considered this before you recruited him to be a part of your sick hero complex campaign.”
“Says the man who runs a whole ass contracting crew of psychos.”
“Not arguing with that,” I mutter, shoving my cold hand into my jacket pocket to warm it. “But right now, Kellan is with Martin. They’re supposed to be taking care of a simple hit a couple towns over. I set it up, middle of nowhere, bait situation.”
“Kellan will go nuts over that. He makes a mess.”
“Yep, but he cleans it up.”
“Once he gets off to it.”
I ignore that, because I’d hate to point out the hypocrite in the room. “Either way, he’s fine. He’s staying under the radar.”I think.“And Martin’s got him under his eye.”
“Blackout super shooter as the babysitter. Great.”
“Worst case scenario, Martin might snap and kill him.”
“Fair enough. Keep it up. I’ll let you know if I figure out anything else on the investigation.” With that, he hangs up without saying goodbye.
This was such a bad idea.
I run a hand over my face, feeling the dread weigh on my shoulders. Cadenevershould’ve been sent to me. Ben should’ve done what he does best—eliminate problems. But because he didn’t, that tells me there’s something between them that I don’t understand. And won’t.
I see it as a loose thread. Much better to cut it off than hang yourself with it.
“Dad!” Molly comes charging out of the restaurant, her eyes rimmed with tears. “I can’t fuckingbelievethis.” She holds her phone up.
“What?” I push off the wall. “I was just out here for a few minutes?—”
“No,” Molly shoves her phone in my hand, an email pulled up on the screen. “I fuckingfailedmy Romeo and Juliet essay! I don’t even know how that happened.”
“In your lit class?” I try to process the email, as Molly’s hand jerks around, blurring the words. “The easy class?”
“Yes,” she exasperates, leaving the phone in my hand and raking her fingers through her hair. “And the new professor wants to meet with me about it. If I can’t convince her to let me redo the essay, I’m going to end up with a freaking C, Dad. I’ve never made that low of a grade?—”
“Just breathe,” I say, shaking my head and pouring over the email.
Molly,
I wanted to inform you that, after reviewing your recent essay onRomeo and Juliet, it did not meet the expectations outlined in the assignment rubric.
I would like to schedule a time to meet with you to discuss your essay in detail, review areas for improvement, and go over strategies to strengthen your writing for future assignments. Please let me know your availability so we can arrange a convenient time.
