Melinda’s Wolves(80)

Keegan smiled, a forced upturn of his lips Trace had never seen. “Good. She’s gonna be pissed if you make her leave her car at work.”

“Yeah, but I guess it’s my turn to be on the receiving end of her wrath. You usually get the brunt of it.”

“You going home?”

“Thought we’d come back here first. That okay?”

Keegan tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling as if it might provide answers. “Don’t.” He lowered his gaze. “I hate to say this, but I don’t think it’s safe here. Maybe it would be better if we didn’t flaunt our involvement with each other or with Melinda for now.”

“Pardon.” Trace grabbed the back of the chair opposite Keegan’s desk and squeezed. “Since when are you the type to keep your relationship with us a secret?”

“Since a guy is dead and he sent me an email the day before he died that might have caused me to become an accomplice to his plan to take this casino down.”

Trace nodded. He agreed wholeheartedly with his mate. There was every chance he could be targeted if whoever killed Friedmont found out Keegan knew everything about the under-the-table dealings that had gone on for the entire first year of construction. “I’ll take her home.” Trace turned to leave but stopped in the doorway to look back. “You aren’t fooling me, by the way. I’ll cut you some slack for now because I know you’re busy, but whatever you blacked out on that screen better come up in our next conversation this evening.”

Keegan’s shoulders slumped. He nodded, not saying a word.

Trace left, a feeling of unease making him look in every direction as he headed for his car. He was in uniform. That often bought him a safety net, but not always. People killed deputies every day for lesser offenses than knowing too much about a crime.

•●•

Keegan blew out a breath and grabbed his cell phone.

Two minutes later, Mitch entered his office, shut the door behind himself, and took a seat in the hideous plastic chair that invited no one to make themselves at home.

“Got an email.”

“Another one?”

Keegan turned his screen around and let Mitch see for himself. For now he didn’t want to share with Trace or Melinda. Hell, he didn’t want to share with Corbin. That was why he called Mitch.

Keegan and Mitch went back many years. He thought of the man as family. And he trusted him with his life.

Not that he didn’t trust Trace. They’d been like brothers for nearly their entire lives, but Trace was a cop now. He had obligations that extended past friendship. Only Mitch could understand what Keegan was up against and react in a manner appropriate for his position.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Mitch ran a hand through his hair. “Who knows about this?”

“You.”

Mitch lifted one eyebrow. “I just saw Trace leave your office.”

Keegan nodded. “You did.”

“And you didn’t tell him?”

“No.”

A deep inhale preceded Mitch closing his eyes. “We’re in over our heads.”

“Well, I am. You aren’t yet.”

He looked up. “We’re a team, you and I. Hell, I’m your boss.”

Keegan nodded. “Maybe it would be better if you weren’t so obviously involved. Clearly someone knows I was the recipient of an email from Nolan Friedmont. That doesn’t mean they need to realize you know about it.”

Mitch shook his head. “We’re in this together. Not going to leave you hanging out to dry on this. We have to tell the authorities.”

“I know.” Keegan leaned on his elbows again, putting his forehead in his palms. “I was hoping you would talk me out of it. Buy me some time.”

“You need to send Melinda away.”

Keegan lifted his head. That thought hadn’t occurred to him. But it was a good plan.

“Maybe have Trace take her somewhere for a while, until this situation is resolved.”

Keegan chuckled. “Right. You don’t know my mates.”

Mitch nodded. “Yeah. Good point. Serena would no sooner be told what to do than eat dirt for dinner. I hear ya.”

“Nolan Friedmont is dead for knowing this shit.”

“Maybe he got himself dead for something else?”

“I’ve been hoping that, but this email implies the sender is well aware I know what the builder did.” Keegan shuddered. His head pounded. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

“You need to get out of here. Go home. Spend the evening with your mates. Get the Cambridge sheriff’s office involved. I’m sure they would send a man out to the house for the night or at least do several drive-bys.”