Iggy’s mouth tightens. “When I heard that on the street, I knew it was bullshit. When I finished everything late that night, and passed the warehouse on Burgundy, the one they say Robert was held in, I saw a bunch of guys standing around.”
My breath catches. “And?”
“They weren’t men I’d ever seen around your dad.” He meets my gaze directly. “I recognized a few of them, and none of them were Boudreauxs.”
My heart thumps hard against my ribs. “You’re positive.”
“Completely. Someone wanted everyone to think they were. But I know.”
The implications press in from all sides. I already knew my father wasn’t involved. That’s not his M.O. But having a tangible alternative gives my hunch credibility.
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” I ask.
He exhales. “When would I have told you? You were taken almost immediately. Before that, you had no real connection to Robert Stone or his business. Now you do, whether you want it or not.”
My hands curl at my sides. “I have to tell Ridge.”
Iggy’s voice sharpens. “You think that’s smart? The more you know, the more dangerous this gets.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “He deserves the truth. He’s beenchasing ghosts since his father died, and if this helps him at all get answers, I’m not sitting on it.”
He studies me for a long moment, then nods once. “Just be careful. This is not a game.”
“I know.” I pause. “Would you talk to him if he has any questions? Maybe you could describe who you saw?”
“I will,” he says. “I don’t want my name dragged into this, but I know at least one of those guys works for Duvall.”
That name rattles me to my core. I’ve never had any direct interaction with them, but I’ve heard my father talk about them.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll talk to Ridge and reach out.”
As I turn away, my thoughts are already spiraling, pieces snapping together too fast to keep up with all of it. If the Duvalls were involved, Ridge needs to hear it from me. He may dismiss it for all I know, but I don’t want there to be any more bad blood between my father and him.
Later, stretched across my bed at my dad’s house, I stare at my phone, my thumb hovering over Ridge’s contact.
I acted like I didn’t care that he gave me his number last night, but I put it in as soon as I got home.
It was quick, almost mechanical, like neither of us wanted to acknowledge what it meant in that moment. I saved his number anyway.
Now his name sits on my screen, my thumb hovering over the message icon like it’s a loaded switch.
Should I text him?
What would I even say that wouldn’t open a door I’m already standing in front of?
The screen changes before I make up my mind.
A text bubble slides in.
Ridge.
I stare at it for a second, my pulse skidding. I never gave him my number.
Of course he has it.
Midnight. The bunker. If you can sneak out, I’ll be there. If not, don’t risk it. I’ll try again tomorrow.
For a second, I just stare at it, my breath stopping like my body has forgotten what comes next.
