“With your input, no doubt.”
“Do you even know the woman you’re defending?” Guy asks.
“Very well.”
I snap my fingers between them. “Stop bloody pissing around me, both of you. We’re here to have a nice dinner.”
Guy’s drink is delivered, and we order our food.
A tense start, but nothing unexpected. Guy and Alistair are similar, so I knew things would be a little rocky at first. They’ll find common ground, though.
“What do you do for a living, Guy?”
I groan.
Guy sits easy in his chair, taking each question in his stride, whereas I’m considering swigging my wine directly from the bottle. “I was chief of police in San Francisco.”
Alistair’s brows fly up, and he grins at me. “Seriously? A cop?”
“Ex-cop,” I point out. “He’s retired.”
“Of course he is. You know his pension will suck, right?”
“Well, it’s a good job I’m filthy rich then,” I snap back.
Guy looks at me. “You are?”
“I’m … comfortable.” To the tune of eleven million and stock options that will keep me wealthy until I’m a hundred.
I’ve killed a lot of important people, and I’m smart with my money.
“Are you going to move in together?” Alistair asks.
I slam my wineglass down. “Are you my father?”
“I’m the next best thing.”
“Yes, we are,” Guy says without missing a beat. “If Lina wants to, we can travel for a while, and I’ve found a horse ranch up north that we can look at together. If we decide we like it, we can buy it.”
A smile spreads across my face. “You have?”
“Yes.” He kisses my knuckles. “Whenever you’re ready.”
He’s made plans. With me. For me.
For us.
No one’s ever done that for me before.
“We’ll do some work with the bureau first, though. If that’s what you want,” Guy adds.
Alistair pauses his glass at his lips. “The bureau?”
“They’re helping us with the Sinclairs,” I say.
Our food arrives, but Alistair doesn’t touch his. He continues to stare at me.
“You’re not going to kill Sawyer yourself?” he asks, and I focus on cutting my steak as I shake my head. I hadn’t told him because I wasn’t sure how he was going to react. He spent a lot of time and money finding Sawyer Sinclair, and I’m essentially throwing it back in his face. Finally, he picks up his knife and fork. “Good.”
