“Hiding money where?” A new piece to the puzzle.
“Off-shore accounts, along with regular visits to the Caymans, Panama and Singapore.”
“Do you have access to these accounts?”
“Of course, you know your father, he underestimates everyone. Typical son of a rich man. They think they’re smarter than everyone else.” She huffs into the phone. “I also know where he hides duffel bags of cash.”
“What?” Mind blown. “Where?”
“In the gardener’s shed.”
“The one in the old section of the house?” The one I passed when I was making my escape from my pervert of a father?
“The very same.”
“Did he tell you about that too?” I ask.
“Not exactly. I found it by accident and saw at least five duffel bags filled with wrapped thousand dollar bills.”
“What wereyoudoing in the gardener’s shed?” My mother didn’t even take care of the house plants.
“That new landscaping service your father hired. I had to show the boss where all the equipment was located, and while we were down there, he showed me some of his equipment . . . I mean, have you seen the boss of that crew? He’s a cross between Jason Momoa and The Rock, so . . . after he left, I was lookingfor something to wipe the mud off my shoes, and there they were, stuffed behind one of the work benches.”
“I don’t believe this,” I mumble.
“About me and the gardener?” my mother asks.
“No, that I believe; I’m referring to the money.” Never let it be said I had a normal upbringing.
“I made sure I hid the bags better.” Heavy sigh. “Your father’s never been good with details. He’s too used to everyone doing everything for him. I’m the one who keeps the office staff organized, along with supervising all the listings and sales. He likes to be the face of the company, not the worker bee.”
Somehow my mother’s words don’t surprise me, making what I’m about to do tomorrow night all the more devastating for him.
“Mom, this is very important, and it’s also very important that you keep all this information to yourself. In the next few days, things might get a little crazy, and you might hear some disturbing things on the news.”
“Not here,” my mother interjects. “No TVs, no media of any kind allowed. The only reason you were able to reach me on my phone was because I’m in my room.”
“Okay, great.” When I grow up, I definitely want to be my mother. “We’ll speak again in another few days.”
“Wonderful.”
The call disconnects, and I piece together all this valuable information. Offshore accounts, duffel bags full of money. Maybe some of that illegal money could go to do some good.
BOLT
I couldn’t get away from Nicoletta fast enough. Any minute, she was gonna start asking me questions about how I felt, or worse yet, how she felt. Shit, how could I answer any of those kinds of questions?
And what makes it worse is I’m confused too, but all thathas to be stored away. We have a job to do tomorrow, and she and I being focused is the only way we could pull it off.
Convince her father we mean no harm. Convince him Nicoletta has moved on and isn’t a threat. Then pull the rug out from under him with the surveillance video. None of that could happen if we were second-guessing each other, or worse, in some kind of cat-and-mouse game ourselves.
For the next twenty-four hours, we’re just two people doing a job together. Two people on the same page, bringing down that bastard, Clark Williams.
Forget anything between us.
Forget how she lights me up like no other.
Forget how I want to barge back into the living room and take her—slow and dirty, then hard and fast.
