His jaw works as he smooths his tie and regains his composure. “Care to tell me what this is?” He snatches the report and, with a flick of his wrist, lets it flutter to the floor at my feet.
I force myself to bend and pick it up, though every part of me wants to leave it there, to show him I’m not a fucking dog. But I have to keep up an air of ignorance.
Sure enough, it’s the report that Officer Cully filed. Except it fails to stick to the story I gave him. The small area for officer observations states suspicion of arson post-accident.
Fucking weasel.
I’m going to have to show him who, exactly, he should be more afraid of.
“It looks like Caleb wrecked his car.” I shrug, trying to stay nonchalant despite my annoyance.
James’s lips flatten into a displeased line. “It looks like a cover-up.” His voice is almost a growl now, tight with disdain. “A poorly done one, at that.”
“Audis are known to explode on impact,” I counter smoothly. “Your lapdog is reaching.”
“Hm.” He knocks back the rest of his drink in one swift motion. “We’ll see. I have Arnold looking into it.”
My fists automatically clench at the mention of Arnold. “You put that prick on our tail?”
“Both my sons disappear for a day after one of their cars is towed in like scrap metal. Of course, I did.”
I catch a worried gaze from Caleb, and I have to bury my own concern to give an imperceptible shake of my head. There aren’t many people who can get under my skin, but Arnold has been there since before I even learned to drive, let alone hardened the soft spots. If I acquired how to manipulate the law from James, I mastered the art of crime from Arnold. And not because I wanted to, either. If Arnold is digging around, we have a problem.
“That sociopath is going to make trouble where there isn’t any,” I grind out.
“We’ll see,” James says again, calling my bluff.
Fuck.
This is not going to work unless he calls off Arnold. Backtracking, I quickly tuck in my anger and force my shoulders to sag.
“Look,” I sigh as if giving in. “Caleb fucked up drag racing out on Industrial. There’s nothing nefarious going on besides a kid too afraid to tell his father he wrecked his car.” I pause, raising a brow to let him know we both know why that is, before continuing. “He called his older brother to clean it up, and I did. Would you have preferred I didn’t? Because I don’t think Columbia accepts students with a record.”
James seems to contemplate this, his gaze sweeping between me and Caleb as if he can spot the cracks in our story with just his eyes. And I don’t doubt he can. In another life, he would have made a ruthless interrogator.
“And where were you two all day?” he finally asks.
“We went into the city.” I resist the urge to glance at Caleb. We never discussed what we would say—which is mostly my fault—but checking that he’s on board now would be a dead giveaway. “I showed him what happens to people who play recklessly but don’t have the same resources as us.“
“Hm.” James turns and pours another drink. “So you’re saying Cully is inept, then?” he asks with his back to us.
Damn it. He’s testing me. It was never my intention to bury Officer Cully, but if it’s him or us—or rather, him or Kira and Nix—then so be it. He shouldn’t have tried to play teacher’s pet. And I can’t back down now.
“I told him to just file it as an animal-avoidance collision,” I say. “Putting arson in the report is only going to draw unnecessary attention.”
“Shame.” James turns back to us, seemingly accepting our story—for now. “I really thought he had promise. But no worries. I’ll have Wayne handle it.”
Caleb stiffens at the mention of Wayne, and I don’t have to turn to know the pieces are finally clicking into place. Wayne, as inMarshal Wayne—the name on the badge we pulled off the body. Yeah, little brother… your girlfriend killed our father’s favorite dirty cop.
Chapter Seventeen
Kira
I’m off my game. I can tell by the one-dollar bills I’m getting. I typically get at least fives. And my apron feels lighter than usual. I wipe the sweat from my brow and pour the final drink of the night. I just did last call, and, of course, the three stragglers wanted to take advantage of it. But despite having only three guys left in the bar, I’m still sweating. I haven’t stopped.
“I’m gon’ need a cab, honey,” mustache mumbles to me as I hand him his drink. His words are thick and lazy. He leans on the bar to hold himself upright. “You’ll call me one, won’t you?”
“Call it yourself,” I huff and turn my back on him.
