Staying On Top(17)
“I’m okay with it.”
I poured my own glass and settled in the overstuffed chair next to the love seat to keep some distance between us, unwilling to let the sparks I felt around her cloud my judgment.
“So, what do you think? Do you want to help each other out?”
“There are many, many ways I can envision the two of us helping each other out,” I replied without thinking. “But as far as finding your dad . . . I mean, what good would that do?”
She ignored my suggestive statement. “We find him, we turn him in, the FBI helps you get your money back. It’s not that hard to figure out.”
Maybe not, but something bothered me. I couldn’t put my finger on what, and maybe it wasn’t anything at all. Maybe I was paranoid, and I should go ahead and count her appearance as a blessing fallen from the sky, but . . . “You would do that? Turn in your own dad?”
To her credit, she paused. Something flickered in her eyes, there and then gone before I could pin it down or even begin to figure out what caused it. In its place, a mask of indifference that I so did not believe, descended.
“Honestly? I don’t know what I’ll do when the moment comes. But I want to see him, and if you know where he is you’ll have enough leverage to at least get your money back. Win-win, right?”
It sounded right. But also wrong.
I mean, I wanted my money back. Badly. My still-questionable obliques scared the piss out of me—the idea that it could all be over in a moment and I’d be left with nothing. No way to make money, nothing to fall back on, since 80 percent of my life had been dedicated to this sport. Her offer tempted me, to say the least.
“What’s your plan? Use the same private investigator you used to find me?” Another knock at the door closed her mouth, which was distracting as fuck. “Jesus, are we having a ten-course breakfast?”
“No. I was hungry after this stupid long flight but I didn’t want to waste any time. I’ll give you the cash, if you want, but I mean . . . you kind of owe me.”
“Owe you? Your father ripped me off—I’m guessing you’ll get your fair share of that sooner or later.”
“I don’t know about fair. That’s not really a concept near and dear to my father’s heart.”
She let in another porter, this one bringing waffles, fresh fruit, and biscuits with jam. Thank God no Vegemite, because as much as I loved this country, that shit was an atrocity.
“You think I owe you because you’re offering to find your dad. Except you have no idea where he is, either.”
“When did I say that? No one knows my dad and his habits better than I do—shit, no one else knows my dad and his habits at all. I can find him. I know it. But . . .” She cut her waffle, flicking a dubious glance my direction.
“But what?”
“I’ll need your financial details in order to lure him out of hiding when I find him.”
“I’m sorry, when you find him?” She went still, but there was no way that was happening. “I have six weeks off. If you’re going to find your dad, I’m going with you. And I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t give my financial details to Jesus right now.”
“You don’t have to do that, Sam. You can trust me. I’ll be faster on my own, and my dad’s defenses won’t be up if it’s just me, and . . .”
“You can stop talking. I’m coming with you.”
Annoyance tangled with frustration tightened the muscles in her face. Now she looked more like the Blair Paddington I’d met in Switzerland, the girl who had unwillingly lit such a fire of interest inside me.
“No, you’re not. I’m going alone, and I can try to get your money back or not. Without your details, he has no reason to meet me, and I have no way to get your money back. I came to offer you my help, not to babysit you on a trek across the world.”
“Excuse me, but there would be no babysitting. I have contacts and friends in a dozen countries, speak five languages, and have the desire for justice on my side. In what way would I be a hindrance to you?”
“First of all, I didn’t invite you. Second, my father has pretty specific security mechanisms in place, and you’re pretty high profile, which means he could find you anywhere in the world in under ten minutes. How do you think I did it?”
“So, if that’s true, what makes you think he can’t find you even faster? You’re his daughter. If you take me with you, I promise to pull my weight and give you a percentage of anything I recover.” It was a last-ditch move, a shot in the dark, but my curiosity overrode everything else.