“That’s probably...that’s probably the best choice, Mom.” I cut a glance over my mom’s shoulder at Adam, who gives me a little nod. “Just tell them what you know. That’s all you need to do.”
She drops her hands to her sides, then reaches out again and pats my arm just above the elbow. “Whatever it is, honey, you can tell me.”
“I will. We will.” I guide her a couple of steps closer to Adam. “What are you doing in the city?”
“The police asked us to come.”
My stomach turns over. “That doesn’t seem like—”
“I know.” Adam cuts me off. We don’t need to say out loud that my brother could be a sitting duck in the city. Things have almost certainly started to go wrong for Charlie by now, unless the police have chosen to do nothing in the interest of tracking him and his people. There’s just no way to know.
I lower my voice. “Where are you staying? Not at your place, I hope.”
“The Times Square Sheraton,” my mom says, trying to put a smile on her face. “I got a bonus at work and I thought we could make a vacation out of it.” She blushes a deep red. “Not that I think this is a vacation....”
I put my arm around her shoulders. “I know what you meant, Mom. But don’t worry about the bill. I’ll pay for it.” Out of the savings I’ve spent years scraping together, but she doesn’t need to know that.
A sergeant approaches, along with a detective. The instant they introduce themselves, I’ve already forgotten their names. Now that I know my mother and brother are safe—at least for the moment—my mind turns back to Jett. Jett’s face. Jett’s hands. Jett’s heart that I’ve broken, stomped underneath my high heel like a worthless piece of trash on the sidewalk.
No—what I saw in his face wasn’t heartbreak. It was anger. It was rage.
Anger at having his heart broken.
The detective is still talking. “Mrs. Chandler, we’d like to speak with you first. This should be a quick interview.”
“Okay,” my mom says slowly, looking at me, then at Adam.
“Come back with us to my office.”
She kisses each of us on the cheek like she might not see us again, then follows the pair of them out of the room.
Adam sighs, then his eyes flick around the station. Nobody seems to be paying attention to us, but I can guess what he’s thinking. We don’t want to seem like we’re conspiring, getting a story straight...anything like that. Of course, my only experience with this kind of thing is from crime shows. Adam? I’m not so sure anymore.
But I have to say one thing.
“I didn’t throw you under the bus. I told them Charlie threatened you, and that it was about money. That was it.”
“I’ll tell them the rest. You don’t have to worry about it, Angie. They’re going to want to meet with me next.”
I roll my shoulders back and straighten my spine. After that, it’ll be me—and we’ll rehash all the things I told them yesterday, but in greater detail. Where exactly did I meet Charlie? What time? What was he wearing? Was there anyone with him? I settle in, start organizing my memories.
If I’m going to lose Jett, I might as well help end Charlie’s reign of terror.
Chapter Forty
Jett
Moving on is impossible when the police call me three times a day with updates.
It seems like it’s been forever, but it’s only been three days, and already I can feel myself becoming snappish, the kind of asshole I always hated growing up.
I don’t want to hear anything else about Angelica.
On Monday, the doubt clouds my mind like a thunderstorm descending over the city.
Everyone’s words go in one ear and out the other, and after meetings, when I look down at the legal pads in the leather portfolios I’ve taken to carrying with me, I don’t remember what my notes are supposed to be about.
If I made such a great fucking choice, why is it eating me alive?
By noon, I’ve had enough. I’ve also had enough of being alone at my penthouse. I never ended up asking Connor to go out, and now my chest is dull and heavy and somehow like a live wire, raw and exposed, at the same time.
Maybe a night out would have lifted the weight a little bit.
“Emily.” My voice is loud and clear. I stand up from behind my desk, grab my suit coat, and pat my pocket. Phone is secure. “I’m out for the rest of the day. Reschedule everything for later in the week. Wednesday at the earliest.”
“Mr. Brandon?” she says, standing up from her own desk as I come through the outer office. “Are you feeling all right?”