“Yeah,” I replied, slipping on my sneakers. “I have some things to look into, so I’ll be back later this week.”
“Oh…” she trailed off. “I was hoping you’d stay for dinner.”
I choked back a laugh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The idea of sitting across from my mother in awkward silence made my ass itch.
Her brows pinched. “Why not?”
I looked at her in her cashmere sweater and slacks—who even wore that casually around the house? “We haven’t shared a meal together since I was in high school, and that’s onlybecause I lived here. You just don’t want to be alone. None of the country club ladies picking up the phone?”
“I was thinking we’d ought to change that,” she said softly.
I sighed. A normal person would’ve felt something. Maybe a glimmer of softness because who wouldn’t want their mother to spend time with them? But that part of myself died years ago.
“Why now?” I asked. “You’ve gone years without reaching out to me. I didn’t even know my own father had kidney disease. Most of my life you made me feel invisible. I gave up trying to have any kind of relationship with you a long time ago.”
Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but no words came out.
“I’ll see you in a few days,” I said, walking out before she could say something that would definitely piss me off.
Piedmont Park was quiet this time of day, with a few runners passing by every few minutes. I’d only worn a hoodie over my jumpsuit, not factoring how much the temperature would drop once the sun went down. I shivered and pulled my arms into the sleeves of the hoodie. Our bench sat on a path that faced the Atlanta skyline—the glass towers catching the orange and pink of the setting sun. It was peaceful, but my leg bounced with anticipation.
The crunch of leaves behind me gave him away before I looked back.
“How you gonna give me a time and be late?”
“Got caught up in some work shit with Slim.”
My eyes flicked to his hands. The bruised knuckles told me the “work shit” involved somebody fucking up.
“So… what was so important that you couldn’t say over the phone?”
He flexed his hands and exhaled like he was trying to find the right words to say.
“Did you know your pops was a gambler?”
I reared back. That was the last thing I’d expected to hear.
“Huh? No. Where the hell is that coming from?”
“His records are hella clean. Even in the classified government servers, there wasn’t shit about him—except him being exemplary in service. So, I went deeper,” he said, eyeing a person jogging past. “I started digging on the dark web, trying to see if anyone had come up on a large amount of money recently. His name popped up on this list called Order of Oleander. You heard of them?”
“Sort of.”
There’d been enough whispers floating through the Agency to piece together a blurry picture. They were the elite—people who operated on the edges of power—tech giants, politicians. They had enough influence to start wars if they wanted.
“It’s like some secret society type shit,” he went on. “One of their big things is these underground gambling tournaments. High stakes, invite only. Buy-in starts at a million dollars.”
The wind picked up, sending a chill through me. I resisted the urge to lean into him, and wrapped my arms around myself under my hoodie instead.
“I can’t see him getting involved with something like that,” I said, staring out across the lake. The sun had dipped below the buildings and lights began flickering on, shimmering on the water. “He was too disciplined. Everything in his life had purpose. Gambling doesn’t fit.”
Fontaine tilted his head. “That’s exactly why it makes sense. It’s always the niggas who live the picture-perfect lives that need an outlet. Secret vices help them blow off steam.Could’ve been worse. At least it wasn’t some freaky frog shit.”
“Thank God for small favors.” I laughed dryly.
My fingers slipped into my sleeves as I pulled my hood up. “Either way, I can’t just reach out to these people. I need to see if anyone at the Agency has a contact.”
“You gonna talk to Parker?”
