James hands over his laptop, fingers trembling as he pulls up the email chain. I photograph everything. Dates, times, the encrypted addresses. The deposits show up in his bank statements like clockwork. Five thousand on the first of every month, routed through a shell company I don't recognize.
“That's everything,” James says. “I swear.”
I pocket my phone. “Pack a bag. Be gone by morning.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Not my problem.” I head for the door. Tank follows, but not before giving James one last look that makes him shrink into the couch cushions.
The hallway is quiet. We take the stairs down, our footsteps echoing in the stairwell.
Tank waits until we're outside, the night air cool against my face, before he speaks.
“I'm disappointed you only hit him once.”
“Restraint.” I flex my hand. Knuckles swelling. “Emma would want me to let him go.”
“Would she?”
“She wouldn't want me to be that guy.”
Tank grunts. The sound might be approval.
He shoots me a sideways glance. “So what now?”
I exhale, watch my breath fog in the cold. “Now I find out who's pulling the strings. And I get Emma back.”
“Assuming she talks to you again.”
The words hit harder than James's jaw hit my fist.
We reach our vehicles. Tank mounts his bike but doesn't start it. He looks at me across the chrome, expression unreadable.
“I don't know what happened tonight,” he says. “And I don't want to know. Whatever you did, you'd better be ready to grovel. And I mean properly. Not some half-assed flowers and an apology.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He shakes his head. “Emma's good people. If you're not willing to fight for her, really fight, then she deserves to move on to someone who will.”
I meet his eyes. “I'm not giving up on her.”
“Words are cheap, brother.”
“Then watch me.”
Tank holds my gaze for a long moment. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he nods once and fires up the bike.
“Get some sleep,” he says over the rumble of the engine. “You look like death warmed over.”
He pulls away, taillights disappearing around the corner.
I stand alone on the empty street, James's information burning a hole in my pocket, and think about Emma. About the look on her face when she got into that car. About everything I should have said and didn't.
Tank's right. Words are cheap.
Time to prove what I'm willing to do.
CHAPTER 39
