No wonder, he’s keeping a low profile and hasn’t shown his face in here all week.
The guys are barely at the house, sometimes only coming home just before we need to get up for school, and the camera footage, so far, is giving me jack shit. Dar has messaged me a couple times, and he’s not pleased at the lack of progress, but I can hardly pull the intel out of my ass. I remind him that patience is a virtue and ignore his texts the rest of the time.
At some point, Theo installed a camera behind the TV in my room, but I don’t remove it, enjoying tormenting them by prancing around my room naked at every opportune moment and indulging in a nightly live porn show involving various scraps of lingerie and an assortment of different dildos and vibrators.
But I do remove the tracking device on my cars and my cell, and my firewall blocks Theo’s attempts to gain remote access to my tablet.
I’m not naïve. His skills vastly outweigh mine, so it’s only a matter of time before he infiltrates my system.
Hence why I spent the earlier part of the week transferring all important documents to the cloud and wiping the tablet clean. I can access the cameras in their room via the cloud too, so I’m feeling pretty confident in my self-protection skills as I head into the city after school ends on Friday to execute the next part of my plan.
At least, their lack of interest affords me time to set some things in motion. Diesel already arranged for a guy to move Dad’s cars to the cabin, and the text he sent to my burner cell earlier confirmed the op was a success.
Honestly, watching the expressions on the guys’ faces when they entered the half-empty garage this morning was priceless and worth the pretty penny it cost me to get Dad’s cars to safety.
I pull into the familiar law offices a half hour after leaving school with an ache in my heart. I cut the engine and sit in the SUV for a few minutes, looking up at the impressive glass building with a weight pressing down on my chest.
All of Dad’s colleagues attended his funeral, but the only person who has reached out to me in the months since is Lincoln, Dad’s assistant and righthand man.
They were close.
More akin to best friends than work colleagues, and I know Dad respected and trusted him. Which is why I’ve taken a risk, and I’m on my way up to meet him.
I get out of the car, grabbing my bag and heading toward the entrance. After I check in at the plush reception desk, I’m kept waiting for a few minutes, and then, Lincoln appears, enveloping me in a big hug before guiding me to one of the smaller meeting rooms on the ground floor.
“You look good, Harlow, but how are you really?” he asks when we are seated across a table from one another.
“I’m doing okay. I still can’t believe he’s gone, and I miss him so much, but I have to keep going. I know that’s what he’d want for me.” I shrug, downplaying it.
Truth is, I don’t let myself think about Dad too much.
Because it has the potential to break me, and I can’t let that happen.
“This place isn’t the same without him,” Lincoln says. “He always had this all-consuming presence, and he commanded a room just by stepping into it. More than that, I respected and admired him, and he inspired me in a way no one else ever has.”
“He was one in a million, and he’d be proud to know that.”
He taps a finger off the top of the table. “I heard about your mom’s engagement.” He scrutinizes my face closely. “It seems a bit…sudden.”
I snort. “That’s one way of putting it.” I sit up straighter, leaning my elbows on the table as I peer earnestly into his eyes. “You know who’s she engaged to?” He slowly nods. “And you know who he is?” He nods again, but I’m not surprised. Dad and I may not have talked about it, but I know The Sainthood was pulling his strings. I guessed Lincoln would be clued in.
“I debated about whether to contact you when I heard the news,” he volunteers. “But I didn’t know if you knew.”
“That The Sainthood were the ones behind my kidnapping and Dad was under their thumb?” I ask, because why beat around the bush.
His eyes pop wide. “Shit. You knew that?”
“Only relatively recently,” I confirm. “And I never talked to Dad about it.”
I regret that now.
I regret so much of what has transpired over the years.
But I can’t turn back the clock. I can’t undo my mistakes.
I can only try to make them right.
“He would hate that, you know.” His expression turns sad. “He tried so hard to protect you.”
