“That’s bullshit.” Journey glared at the door. “I’m going to take care of this.”
“No, don’t.” Samara stepped into her line of sight. “If you and your mother get into a fight over me, it will just make everyone else on this floor miserable for the next week.” Not to mention the fact it wouldn’t do any good. Lydia obviously wanted her out of the office—out of the city—for the next week. In all her years of working for this company, she’d never once been ordered on vacation. Something is going on.
“Samara, this is wrong.”
“I know.” She walked over and took her friend’s shoulders. “Can you drop by later and pick up the stuff I have for the bid? It’s at my place. You have to pull this off.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Journey turned contemplative. “Does this mean you’re going to take over negotiating with that jackass Frank Evans for me?”
“Not a chance.” She hugged Journey. “It will be okay.”
“You just got shafted and you’re comforting me.” Journey shook her head. “That’s so messed up.”
“It will be fine. There will be other projects.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re taking this suspiciously well.”
“I know when to pick my battles.” Several things Lydia had said had her suspicions rising. The woman shouldn’t have known about the specifics of the fire, but it was possible that Beckett had shared them with her. Samara wouldn’t know until she asked him.
Taking a risk.
So be it.
“If you need anything—anything at all—this week, you let me know.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Journey gave her another suspicious look, but moved back to resume her seat. “I’ll be by later to grab that stuff.”
“Actually, I’ll have it couriered to you. No reason to waste more time.” She smiled to reassure her friend, but Journey just looked more worried. Samara sighed. “Look, I’m angry and upset and I just want to drink too much wine and rage about the injustice of it all.”
Journey stared. “Okay,” she said carefully. “Tell Beckett I said hi.”
She paused. “I never said I was going to Beckett.”
“You didn’t have to.” Journey gave a soft smile. “Might as well make the best of a shitty situation.”
That wasn’t why she was going to Beckett, but she didn’t correct her friend. Samara would never do anything to hurt Kingdom Corp but…If Lydia really was behind the arson or, God forbid, Nathaniel’s death, then Samara was under an obligation to do what it took to bring that to light. She wasn’t a detective, but outside of the King family, no one knew the woman as well as Samara did. “I’ll call you later.”
“Talk to you then.”
She headed home and got everything packaged up and couriered out. Samara stared at her phone. She didn’t have to make this call. She could go on the vacation Lydia pressed on her. The Hamptons house was a small slice of paradise. She and Journey took a long weekend there every year and spent three days sunning themselves on the beach, drinking too much, and unwinding. Maybe if she left Houston now she’d get her head on straight and come home with her priorities in order.
But if she left now there would be no answers. Beckett might think the worst of Lydia, but no one else would believe him. He had the disadvantage of being seen as grieving, and while that gave him some leeway with his actions, it also counted against him when it came to his credibility.
I might be wrong.
She couldn’t guarantee it, though.
What would she have done in Beckett’s place? If it had been her amma who suddenly died and there were no answers to be had. If there was someone who had answers, she’d want them to come forward. She’d beg them to come forward. Samara might not have concrete information, but she could get it given enough time.
She’d lose her job if she did.
She paced around her apartment, round and round as she argued with herself. There were no answers here. There were no easy answers at all. With a sigh, she pulled the theoretical trigger and called Beckett.
He didn’t make her wait. “Samara, is everything okay?”
She blinked, his concern stopping her in her tracks. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
A pause, like she’d surprised him. “You may have forgotten, but just forty-eight hours ago, we were running down far too many flights of stairs.”
For some reason, she got the feeling that hadn’t been what he was originally going to say. Samara forced some lightness into her voice. If there were things she wasn’t willing to say over the phone, it stood to reason that he might have some as well. “I’d like to see you tonight.”
“I may have to work a little late, but why don’t you just meet me at my condo. I’ll have my doorman let you in.”
She pressed her lips together. “Beckett, that’s not necessary. Just text me when you’re done at work, and I’ll come over then.”
“Humor me. You’ll be safe at my place.”
Safe. Beckett definitely knew something she didn’t. Samara pictured Lydia’s face as she pushed her to leave the city for the week. Surely Lydia wouldn’t hurt me to get at Beckett. That would require him to actually care about me.
She hated that she even considered it a possibility.
She hated even more the fear that threaded through her.
“I…Aren’t you worried that I’m going to snoop through your stuff and report back to Lydia?”
He snorted. “I’ll see you tonight, Samara.”
“See you tonight.” She hung up and glanced at her clock. It was only noon. Six hours to go until she saw Beckett.
She had work to do.
Chapter Eleven
Beckett didn’t cut out of work early. Knowing Samara might be in his condo, waiting for him, made staying a herculean effort. He managed. He walked through his front door at five fifty-five to the scent of something spicy cooking.
He closed the door and leaned against it and, just
