SHANE
The minute my father heads for Derek’s office, I follow, and the ways I want to get Derek the fuck out of this company, and Emily’s life, are too many to count. Standing in my doorway and giving her room to deal with him, as I know she would want, rather than rescue her, had about killed me. But that would have also made her look weak and set her up as more of a target for brother dearest.
My father disappears into Derek’s office and shuts the door. I pass Derek’s secretary, wondering if she knows he’s fucking Adrian’s sister as well as her, probably in the same day. I don’t look at her. I walk on by and open my brother’s door and enter, shutting it behind me. Derek laughs. “Did I offend your little girlfriend? Are you here to protect her like my father?”
The surprise in his taunt isn’t the taunt itself, but the reference to my father, who I look at now, arching a brow.
“I don’t have time to hire a new secretary and Emily has a mind of her own,” he snaps. “I’m not counting on your bedroom skills to keep my secretary.” He cuts a look at Derek. “Leave her the fuck alone.”
Derek gives me an amused look. “Your turn. Defend her honor. Get it over with.”
“Actually, Emily’s the kind of woman who’ll grab you by the ball sack and get a hammer. Please. Keep agitating her. I want to watch.”
“I do like it rough,” he says, successfully making me want to punch him, but that would empower him, not me.
“We need to move past getting laid to staying out of jail,” I say, leaning against the door and crossing my arms in front of me. “Not only did Brody Matthews die, but he did so with our pill bottles in his medicine chest.”
“And you know this how?” Derek demands.
“Because I know a hell of a lot more than you think, Derek. Brody’s ex ran her mouth at Eric’s plastic surgery office. I did damage control, but it might not be enough. The Feds are looking into a connection between a drug they call Sub-Zero and professional athletes. If he has a bottle left over, with pills in it—”
“He won’t,” Derek says.
My gaze jerks to him. “Did you kill him?”
“He had a car accident.”
“That you arranged?” I ask.
He leans on his credenza, arms folded in front of him. “No one made him drive his car into a tree.”
“So Adrian Martina arranged it,” I say. “Same thing.”
My father says nothing, asks nothing, which tells me he’s far more in the “know” on this than I had hoped. I look at him. “You know about all of this, don’t you?”
“Be specific,” he instructs, his noncommittal answer his standard formula, but the fact that he sits down as if he can’t stand, taking a submissive role, is not.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s be clear. I’ll tell you what I know. I’ll tell you what I expect.”
“Save your breath,” Derek says. “Because this endeavor is worth a lot of money.”
I focus on my father, speaking to him, setting him up to remember this conversation when the raid takes place. “Our drug Ridel is being used to package Sub-Zero. The Feds are looking into a connection that led them to Brody’s accident last night. Should they find Ridel bottles, they will test what’s inside. Furthermore, Brody’s wife was ready to tell the police he’d been using Ridel and acting weird. I paid her off, and it wasn’t cheap, and she’s agreed to leave the country. Now, I have to keep her silent throughout his funeral, when grief drives people to do things they wouldn’t otherwise do.”
My father shows no reaction. “Is this where you threaten to walk?” No denial. No concern. “Because considering what you’ve done to cover this up, I think it’s too late to abandon ship and not go down if it sinks.” The edges of his mouth quirk ever so slightly.
And there it is. My father, the master game player. I’m trying to set him up, and he’s trying to turn the tables. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. She hasn’t been paid. You or Derek need to issue the payment off your employee account. Personally, I’d say you have the least risk.”
Ridiculously, my father’s look transforms to one of pride, and I’d be flattered, but I know him. I’ve simply extended the game he wants to play. “How much?”
“Three hundred and moving expenses,” I say, “so make it four.”
“Cut the check, Derek,” my father says.
“I didn’t make this deal,” Derek says. “It could be a setup. I’m not cutting the check.”
“He’ll cut the check,” my father assures me.
“We sidestep one problem with this,” I say. “This will not end well for us if don’t get out of business with Martina.”
“This is where you threaten to get out,” Derek says.
I push off the door and look at him. “No. This is where I threaten to get you out if you don’t get Adrian Martina out.”
“We were already in a war,” he says.
“But I haven’t drawn my blade. I let the word ‘brother’ matter. But one man is dead now. That changes everything. That makes you a murderer and no one I recognize or wish to call family.”
“Am I supposed to be afraid?”
“I hope you aren’t, because people who don’t feel fear are always the first to fall.”
I turn and reach for the door, and he says, “Then you’re afraid.”
I suck in air and let it out, turning to face him. “I felt fear in my gut before every trial and negotiation I ever won. And you know what I feared? Losing. Which is why I don’t let down my guard and I always win.”
I give him my back and exit his office, making my way past his secretary again without a look, my gaze going to my secretary’s empty desk, which can mean only one thing. She’s with Emily, which isn’t a bad thing. I respect Jessica and I believe she’s a friend to Emily and me, when Emily, I know, needs to feel a sense of family that mine doesn’t even give me. Cutting down the hallway, I cross the lobby and take the path leading to Emily’s desk. Rounding the corner, I bring her into view where she sits at her desk with Jessica squatting by her feet.
Emily whirls around to face me while Jessica pops to her feet, and I close the space between us, leaning forward to rest my hands on Emily’s desk.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course, I’m fine. I’m no wimp but I’m pissed off at myself for not being more prepared for him.”
“She blamed herself,” Jessica supplies, going on to prove why I think she makes a good friend to Emily by adding, “I told her Derek’s the problem, not her.”
“Jessica’s right,” I agree, “and I know you know that.”
“I should have been prepared for him. I knew he could have—” She pales and faces Jessica. “I need you to leave.”
She gives a mock look of dismay. “That’s just rude.”
Emily grabs her arm. “Oh God. I’m sorry. That sounded horrible. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“No worries,” she says. “I’m no wimp, either.” She gives me a wave and heads for the lobby, while Emily twists back around to face me.
“Derek called me Ms. Stevens,” she says softly, “and he emphasized Ms. Stevens. Do you know where I’m going with this?”
“My office is wired. Considering I have it checked frequently, that’s new and poorly timed.” I soften my voice. “Sorry, sweetheart. What’s between us should stay between us.”
“It’s not your fault, Shane, though what is also poorly timed is the lunch with your mother I forgot about. I’m going to be wondering if she knows, and considering this is your mother, she’ll just tell me.”
“You don’t have to do the ‘make nice with my mother’ thing.”
“Have you told your mother that?” She holds up a hand. “It’s fine. Declining your mother’s invitation will only ignite the chase with her.”
“You figured her out pretty fast.”
“She’s not hard to figure out, but I should probably go get my coat.”
“I’m going to go to the apartment to work for a little bit until I clean my office of bugs. What time are you leaving? I’ll bring it to you before you leave.”
“One, but I can walk down with you.”
“I’ll be back long before you leave.” I study her for a few beats, amazed at how cool and collected she is, considering everything that has happened this past week. “But again, you don’t have to play nice with my mother.”
“You said that. And contrary to the example I just set, I can handle myself just fine. And I’ll be ready for Derek next time.”
I want to grab her and kiss her, but instead I say, “Call me if you need me.”
“And you call me if you need me.”
“Sweetheart, I was already needing you sixty seconds after you left my office.” I wink and push off the desk at about the same moment my father rounds the corner, the two of us stand toe-to-toe.
“Did you look at the paperwork I had Emily bring you?” he asks, as if the encounter in Derek’s office never happened.
“Is that a bribe or an offering to Mike?”
“In my office,” he says, and he starts to walk around me.
“I’m not following anymore,” I say. “Not to your office. Not to hell.”
I suck in air and he levels me with a stare. “In my office, son.” He turns and walks into his office, and that’s when the hacking ensues. Deep, gut-wrenching hacking. I can feel Emily staring at me, willing me to follow him into the office. Damn it. I walk forward and find him standing almost in my face, anger burning in his bloodshot stare. I shut the door and he blasts me. “We don’t talk this kind of business in front of others. Even if you’re fucking her.”
He’s volatile in a way I do not know him to be. Vile, yes. Rude, yes. But not volatile.
“That proposal,” he continues, “offered you good, clean business the way you like it.”
“But what you’re using it for isn’t good and clean, now is it?”
“Why will it matter once I’m gone?”
“That’s not a no,” I say. “And it matters because whatever deal you’re using it for will still exist. Besides, a deal that big will take investors.”
“Just sign the damn paper.”
“Does Mike know about this?”
“No one knows about this but you, and it needs to stay that way.”
“You think Mike won’t approve.”
“I don’t care if he approves.”
“You want to own him and his vote.”
“Just sign the damn papers, Shane.”
He walks to his desk and when he faces me again, I say, “I’m not doing anything to give you all of the power.” I face the door, my hand going to the knob.
“I have investors to do this on my own. I will do it on my own.”
The meeting with the bankers that never happened. He’s bluffing and I’m done being a token in his game. I exit the office and shut the door. Emily looks at me, and the moment she sees my face, disappointment fills her. I think she’s fallen into the same trap I always have. The one where I think my father will change but he never does. I give her a nod. The door behind me opens and I start walking, but right as I round the corner, I hear my father ask Emily, “How much influence do you have over him?” and I stop dead in my tracks.
One hell of a lot, I think, but she replies, “Seriously?” as if he’s crazy, before laughing and asking, “How much do I have over you?”
“Some,” he says thoughtfully, “or I wouldn’t drink that damn tea you bring me.”
“You ask for that tea,” she points out.
“Because you made me drink it the first time, and no one but Maggie makes me do anything. So I ask again: How much influence do you have over my son?”
“I couldn’t make Shane drink the tea.”
She knows damn well I’d drink the tea if she wanted me to try it, but her loyalty to me shown in this response is golden in ways no one else in my family is. And my father is no fool. He knows she’s loyal to me, not just because she told him she is, but because it shows in her actions and words. And yet, curiously, he wants her by his door. I cut through the lobby and exit, quickly grabbing an elevator alone, repeating that thought. He wants Emily by his door. It speaks of him protecting me, but my father protects no one but himself. “What are you up to, Father?”
Exiting the elevator, I punch in Seth’s number, and he answers on the first ring. “You need to sweep my office,” I say.
“I swept it yesterday.”
I enter the elevator to the garage. “Well then, it got bugged last night,” I say, punching my floor.
“I won’t ask how you know,” he says. “But I can’t get there anytime soon. Right now, I’m meeting with the team we discussed last night, but I have another situation. I don’t have a certain woman under control. She’s not taking my calls. I’m hoping she’s sedated from the stress. Once I finish this meeting I’m headed there.”
“Keep me posted.” We end the call and I enter the garage, already dialing Mike’s office, but I hang up before I get an answer. There is more to the story with Mike Rogers than meets the eye, though the man is a damn ghost as of late. That in itself is a signal of a bigger picture. I slide into the car, and dial my mother, who doesn’t answer. I don’t leave a message. I’m not sure why I don’t leave a message. Something is bothering me that I can’t quite nail, and when I get these feelings, there is always a winning play within reach.
EMILY
The energy Brandon Senior brings to the office when he’s in poor health makes me wonder what this place must have been like when he was in his prime, and certainly explains how it became a big success. The morning plays out with him barking orders, and the phone ringing off the hook with what feels like a million questions about the board meeting, as well as me juggling yet more changing arrangements. Come noon, I try to get lunch for Brandon Senior, concerned that he refuses to eat considering his blue suit and yellow tie look like they were made for his big brother. The man is dying and I have gut-wrenching moments when I think about how soon he may be gone from this world, and Shane’s life, that always seems to trigger memories of my own father.
It’s almost time for Shane’s mother to arrive for our lunch, and I dart into Senior’s office despite him being on the phone and set the file he’s been demanding on his desk. I’m about to head back to my desk when he ends the call, and surprises me. “Is that a new dress, Ms. Stevens?”
“It is,” I say, feeling awkward about this leading to Shane, but instead he says, “About damn time. Funeral black does not suit me and that’s all you ever wore.”
He’s wrong on my wardrobe, but I say, “No black. Duly noted. Are you sure you don’t want some lunch before I leave?”
He leans back in his chair, ignoring my offer of food. “That’s right. You’re lunching with my wife today.”
“I am. I hope that’s okay?”
“As if I’d have a say in the matter. This is my Maggie we’re talking about.”
“I kind of like that she’s the only person who can get her way with you. It’s rather romantic.”
“Do you get your way with my son, Ms. Stevens?” he asks, bringing us back to the earlier conversation about my influence on Shane. “Would he drink the tea because you told him to, as I did?”
“We’re back to tea?” I ask, finding it such a weird analogy, but clearly it’s some sort of head game.
“Yes,” he confirms. “Tea. Would my son drink the tea if you told him to?”
“I don’t even know if he likes tea,” I say, trying to beat him at his own game.
“Assume he doesn’t. I sure as hell don’t.”
“I fear I am going to disappoint you, but it’s very doubtful he’d drink the tea.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “What would you have done today with Derek had I not appeared?”
“Told him my boss is an asshole and that I had to get back to my desk.”
He shocks me and laughs. “Shane would drink the tea.” He waves me off. “Now go have your lunch and get it over with. I have work for you to do.”
Really truly confused by the softer side of Brandon Senior, I wonder if it’s part of his game. A way to reel me in? Shane does call him a master. “Shut the door behind you and tell my wife I’m in a meeting.”
I exit into the exterior office to find Shane waiting on me. “I owe you this,” he says, his gray eyes warm as he indicates my coat draped over his arm, and it looks way better on him than me.
“I all but forgot it. It’s been a crazy, busy morning.”
He leans in close, the heat of his body warming me. “I like how you smell today.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“I like how you taste today too.”
“Shane, honey!”
At the sound of Maggie’s voice I all but jump with guilt, heat rushing to my cheeks, while Shane’s eyes light with mischief. I glower at him and quickly right my expression before we both turn to greet his mother, who is as elegant as ever in a light blue pantsuit and boots.
“Tell me you aren’t stealing my lunch date,” she says, rushing to Shane and giving him a hug.
“I wouldn’t dream of stealing your date or the time you intend to invest in scaring Emily.”
My lips part in shock, while it’s Maggie’s turn to glower. “Don’t be silly,” she says. “I don’t scare her in the least, which is part of what makes her interesting.”
“I called you this morning,” he says. “Did you forget to call me back?”
“I have no message.”
“I’m in your missed calls.”
“Oh please. No message means don’t call back. You’ll call me when you get time. Besides, I had a meeting at the Capitol this morning.” She holds up all her fingers and waves them. “That’s right. The Capitol. My interior design business is taking on a life of its own.”
“How exciting,” I say. “Are you redoing a specific part of the interior or is it a broader scale project?”
“One senator’s office,” she says, “but it’s a start.” She checks the time on her dainty diamond watch. “Shall we go? With the snow outside, we need to drive anyway, so I thought we’d go to a place a few miles away.” She points to the office door. “I should say hello to my husband quickly first though.”
I hold up a finger. “Oh he’s—”
She goes into his office and I cringe. “I wasn’t supposed to let her in.”
Shane laughs. “It’s my mother. You never had a chance to stop her and my father knows that.” He holds up my coat to help me into it, and I slip my arms inside, only to have him lean in close, and murmur, “I’d drink the tea.”
I whirl around. “You heard?”
“I did and you were protecting me.”
“I was, but do you think—”
“All right then,” Maggie says, reappearing. “We are off.”
“I need to talk to you, Mother. Come see me when you get back.”
She points at her watch. “I have meetings. I’m not coming back up. I’ll call you.”
Shane does not look pleased and I wonder what he thinks she’s avoiding. Maggie laces her arm with mine and drags me forward, giving me no chance to even tell Shane good-bye. In fact, I have to wave at the receptionist and shout out, “Call me if there’s anything urgent!” before we step into the hallway.
“Gorgeous coat, honey,” Maggie says, punching the elevator button. “Did Shane buy it for you?”
And there it is. Her games and really, I think she is as much a master as her husband, because this is a subtle attempt to hit a nerve that sets me up to run my mouth later. I don’t take the bait. “You do know I get paid extremely well for working for your husband, don’t you?”
“Really?” she says. “How well?”
“Well enough that I was willing to take the title of secretary.”
“You’re a paralegal, right?”
“Yes,” I say, choking on the lie I need to get used to telling, but lies just don’t become me. “And I’m making more than I would in that role elsewhere.”
We step onto the elevator and this time she punches the button. “Well, you certainly earn it. He’s difficult. He always has been, but the cancer has made it worse.”
There is no grief in her voice, no torment like I feel in Shane when he speaks of his father. More like agitation, but then, he’s sleeping around on her, even now. “How long have you been married?”
“Thirty-seven years. I was a teenager when I married. Young, in love, and pregnant.”
“Oh. I had no idea. That must have been hard.”
“Believe it or not, back then your cranky boss was a charmer like Shane.”
“I see glimpses of that side of him.”
She sighs. “Me too, but it’s rare.” She stares ahead and for a moment doesn’t speak, and this time I do sense torment in her that she doesn’t wish for me to see, several floors passing before she’s back to chatter. “The restaurant is excellent and Mike Rogers, our stockholder, owns it, so we always get extra-special treatment.”
“Mike Rogers,” I say. “I hear his name all the time but have never seen him. I guess that will change at the board meeting next week.”
“Ah yes,” she says, the car stopping at the lobby level. “The board meeting.” We exit the car and walk to the garage elevator. “My husband is going to announce his retirement to prevent news of his cancer from leaking and then set a vote for the head of the table.”
“I figured as much but he’s been very hush-hush,” I say as we exit into the garage.
“Well, whatever you do”—she hits a clicker and a silver Mercedes I know is one of the most expensive they make, beeps—“don’t tell him I told you. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
We climb into the car and she starts telling me all about the food at the restaurant, and in only a few blocks we’re in the parking lot, with a flurry of snowflakes around us. She parks the car and her cell phone rings. She kills the engine and digs it out of her purse, glancing at the number. “The senator I’m working for. I have to take it.”
“Of course,” I say, removing my cell phone, with Shane on my mind.
I pull up my text messages and send him a note: What was I thinking? I should have gone along with your father and let him think I could influence you. Then I could have found out what he is up to. I’m a horrible spy.
His reply is instant: I don’t want you playing spy. You were perfect and I’ll show you how perfect tonight.
I type: Promise?
His response is exactly what I expect: Promise. And I never break a promise.
I smile and almost laugh.
“Is that my son you’re talking to?” Maggie asks, clearly having ended her call.
I glance up to find her staring at me. “Yes. It’s Shane. He’s good at making me laugh, which is perhaps the reason I can’t stay away from him.”
She gets a rather distant look, several beats passing before she agrees. “It’s certainly not a bad quality. Shall we go eat?”
“Yes. Please. I’m starving.” We both pull up the hoods to our coats and exit the car into the cold, snowy day, meeting at the trunk and making a mad dash for the restaurant.
One of the staff opens the door for us, and we rush into the warmth, tugging our hoods back down. We are greeted warmly by a thirty-something pretty blonde in jeans and boots who clearly knows Maggie. “We have your regular table ready, Mrs. Brandon. This way.”
“Mike’s a rancher,” Maggie explains, “so this place is all about that piece of culture.”
Boy is it, I think, as we are led to the left, where neon signs and cowboy hats decorate the walls. There’s even a jukebox by the pale wooden bar that matches the floors. We walk up several steps and claim one of only four booths that overlook rows of tables, with five big screens mounted on a wall above us. The waitress leaves us with menus, takes our drink order while we are still standing, and then both Maggie and I shed our coats before sitting down across from each other.
“Do you ride?” she asks, smoothing the collar of her silk blouse.
The Texas girl in me opens my mouth to say “yes” but I quickly amend my words, before I speak them. “Cali isn’t big on horses. At least, not in L.A. It seems like fun, though.”
“Oh it is. Shane loves to ride. We own the adjoining property to Mike’s just outside of Denver. Much smaller than his, as ours is simply a pleasure spot, and his is big business, but we have horses. You should come out one weekend.”
Shane and horses. Somehow, I have no idea why it fits him, but it’s hard to see prim and proper Maggie riding. “Thank you,” I say, but I’m confused as to why she’s being so nice when I’m supposed to be Shane’s one-minute woman, and therefore off Derek’s radar. “I am not sure Shane would want me to join you.”
She rests her elbows on the table and studies me. “Really? Because I saw how you two looked at each other.”
I don’t blink or look away. “What happened to warning me away so I don’t get hurt instead of teasing me with what I can’t have?”
“You already have him and from what I understand, it’s driving Derek crazy.”
“Okay, you’re very confusing,” I say. “In one breath, I have Shane, and in the other I’m the score sitting outside your husband’s door.”
“Whatever you started out being for my Shane, you’re more now and we both know it.”
“I don’t know it.”
“If you don’t, you will. But I think you do, and I think it’s lovely.” She opens her menu. “So, do you want recommendations?”
I’d push again toward the one-minute girl agenda, but who am I kidding? She’s made up her mind, and I have a feeling she’s made her thoughts clear to Derek, thus his attention this morning. “Recommendations would be great.” And from there, I am thankful for the reprieve from the darts being thrown at me, as the conversation turns to food, before we place our orders for overstuffed Texas baked potatoes that she swears are gourmet.
“Maggie Brandon.”
At the sound of a deep male voice, I look up to find a linebacker of a man, who I can only describe as a gray fox, his white dress shirt stretched over broad shoulders and rolled up his powerful forearms, his light blue tie a perfect match for his eyes.
“Mike,” Maggie says, accepting his hand, and oh wow. Her eyes warm the way I think mine do when I see Shane. “I had no idea you’d be here this afternoon.”
“Lucky it worked out this way,” he says, and he’s still holding on to her, and I’m pretty sure I don’t exist.
He releases her finally, though, and turns his attention to me. “You must be the Wonder Woman keeping David in line. Emily, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say. “Emily, and I assume ‘David’ is Mr. Brandon.”
Maggie and Mike laugh. “Yes,” Maggie confirms. “That’s him.”
The two of them then share another look that is a little too familiar, and seems to be some kind of silent communication before Mike refocuses on me and extends his hand. “Forgive me,” he says, as I accept it. “I’m Mike—”
“Rogers,” I supply, and already he’s released me. No lingering grip for me. “I call your offices often.”
“Indeed,” he says. “And always urgently.”
I have no idea why, but I feel a little protective of Shane’s father, and I say, “He doesn’t exactly have a lot of time.”
“He never has,” Mike agrees, and I’m reminded that Brandon Senior’s retirement announcement is about hiding his cancer. Mike is close to Maggie, but I don’t think he knows, or he’s pretending not to quite well.
He glances at his Rolex and then back at Maggie. “You ladies enjoy your meal.”
“We will,” she says.
He gives her a nod, then turns one on me before disappearing into the main restaurant. Our food arrives at that moment, and Maggie is noticeably less talkative while being reserved on the eye contact. We chat about my dress but she doesn’t ask if Shane bought it this time. Her phone beeps and she looks at it. “That would be the senator. I need to find a quiet spot and call him. I’ll be right back.”
“Of course,” I say, removing my phone, texting Shane: I met Mike Rogers.
He doesn’t reply. And doesn’t reply. It’s not like him, but he’s a busy person, I know. I flag a waitress and ask for a bathroom. Once directed, I hurry through the bar and into another dining room, turning a corner to catch a glimpse of Mike with his hand on Maggie’s waist. I duck back around the wall and flatten, my fist balling at my chest.
“I have to get back to Emily,” she whispers, sounding breathless.
“But I want you more than she does, I promise you.”
That’s all I need to hear. I dash forward and back toward our seats; my mind is racing right along with my heart. Once I’m seated, looking like I’ve never left, it hits me then that Mike knew who I was without being told, so he had to know who Maggie was lunching with today. And Brandon Senior’s reference to her being gone often the other night when I was with Shane. My God. Is Brandon Senior having an affair because Maggie’s having one while he’s dying? Or vice versa? My hand goes to my throat. Oh no. Maggie controls the vote if she controls Mike. Which son has she picked to run the company? And how am I going to tell Shane any of this? I dread the way it’s going to hurt him.
“I’m back,” Maggie says, “and I can’t believe this, especially since our last lunch got interrupted, but I have to get to the Capitol now.” She flags down a waitress. “Do you want to stay and take a taxi service, or get your food to go and ride back with me?”
She has to get naked with Mike before the Capitol is what she really means. “I’ll get a taxi. You go on ahead.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course.”
“Okay then.” She stands and puts on her coat. “The bill is paid and dessert is on the house.” I blink and she’s gone. Feeling like I have whiplash, and with a whole lot of dread at what my spying skills now require I tell Shane, I flag down our waitress and arrange a cab. Once I’ve tipped her well, she steps away and my gaze catches on the headlines on one of the TVs, my stomach falling. I can’t be seeing what I think I see. I rush closer to the screen and read the headline: WIFE OF BRODY MATTHEWS COMMITS SUICIDE AFTER HIS TRAGIC DEATH IN A CAR ACCIDENT LAST NIGHT. This is insanity. I dial Shane and I get his voice mail. I head for the door and try again. My cab is waiting and I pull up my hood and rush forward, climbing inside, spouting out the address. Again, I get Shane’s voice mail and I text him. And I wait, knowing there is more to this that meets the eye and knowing that somehow, some way, Shane is connected. That terrifies me.