Damn you, Lydia. “I’m here to speak to Ms. King.”
Another loaded look between them. “We’re going to have to ask you to leave the premises. Immediately.”
“For fuck’s sake, Max, I know your kids’ birthdays. And Jacob, who was it that made sure you were taken care of when you hurt your ankle falling down the stairs?”
Jacob wouldn’t meet her gaze. “With all due respect, Ms. Mallick, you aren’t with the company anymore.”
And that was all that mattered to them. Years of learning details about the various employees to create a better working space in Kingdom Corp and it was all shit the second she stepped out of line. So much waste. Her throat threatened to close and she swallowed hard. “I would think ten years of employment would grant me a single meeting.”
Max lowered his voice. “If you try to make a scene, we’ll be forced to call the police.”
Beckett finally spoke. “That’s a great idea. Why don’t you ring my aunt and let her know that Beckett and Samara are here and we’d be delighted to speak to the authorities about what she’s spent the last week up to—specifically my father.” He sounded charming and totally reasonable, and the two guards didn’t seem to know how to deal with it. They’d prepared for a specific scenario—Samara trying to bully her way back into the building. They hadn’t planned on Beckett being reasonable. Smart man.
He pointed at the deep purple chairs situated near the doors. “Why don’t we wait there while you call up to her? I promise we won’t try to bum rush you.”
Max finally nodded. “Please don’t move from the couch.” He didn’t have any weapons on him aside from a pair of handcuffs, but Samara had little doubt that he’d use them as he deemed necessary.
Since getting wrestled to the floor and cuffed in the middle of the lobby wasn’t on her to-do list today, she let Beckett guide her to the couch. “What if she turns us away?”
“She won’t.”
She could do with some of his confidence right around then. Samara’s knee got to bouncing and she couldn’t force it still. So many things could go wrong. Why hadn’t she thought of those things while they were driving in here and parking? Lydia could refuse to see them. She could have them arrested for trespassing. She could have had them followed while they chased Walter down. If Samara and Frank could follow Walter and Beckett, there was no reason someone couldn’t have been following them.
Round and round her thoughts went, circling until she had to fight to keep from jumping to her feet and yelling for Beckett to run, to get as far from this poisonous place as he could before it seeped into him, too.
“Breathe.” He shifted closer, his thigh pressing the length of hers. His words were barely more than a whisper, designed not to carry beyond the two of them. Not even to the camera currently pointed at them. “Just breathe, Samara. You’re safe.”
She was no safer than he was.
Lydia was hardly the mob, but if she wanted to, she could have them smuggled out of here so she could follow through on her plan to remove Beckett—permanently.
“I have everything under control.” He covered her bouncing knee with his hand. “Trust me.”
“I do trust you. It’s her I don’t trust.” How quickly things had turned around. A week ago, she’d been a confident businesswoman who knew her place in the world and embraced it without reservation. She knew there was an ugly underside to her job, but she’d never thought it was this ugly. Questionable—and maybe a little illegal—activities were a far cry from murder.
Jacob walked to them, looking like he’d eaten something sour. “I’ll take you up.”
Beckett squeezed her knee and rose. He gave her a reassuring look that did nothing to calm the fears inside her clamoring that something terrible was about to happen. She kept her back straight and her chin lifted and tried to keep her fear off her face. It was all she was capable of at that point. Trust Beckett. Trust that he knows what he’s doing.
“Not too late for you to turn back,” he murmured.
And leave him to face this alone? “No. I’m going up.”
“Okay.”
Then they stepped into the elevator and it was too late to change her mind.
Beckett could feel little shakes working their way through Samara’s body, but she kept her eyes pinned on the back of the guard in front of them. He’d hedged his bets as best he could going into this confrontation, but despite his reassurances, he didn’t know beyond a shadow of a doubt that things would play out like he’d planned.
The elevator doors opened and they followed the security guard into the hallway. It didn’t look any different from the last time Beckett had been there, but it felt different. Menacing. Cold. Filled with the promise of violence.
The guard—Jacob—stepped aside and positioned himself with his back to the wall next to Lydia’s office door. “Go ahead.” He didn’t have a weapon on him, but he had the feel of a solider protecting his commanding officer.
Beckett touched the small of Samara’s back and they walked through the door together. Lydia sat behind her desk, looking every inch a queen in her white pantsuit, flanked on either side by Journey and Anderson. Journey looked like she hadn’t slept in days, and he had a moment of regret that he might be the cause of it with all the government-contract bullshit. On the other side, Anderson was her polar opposite, from his blue eyes and dark hair right down to how well rested and alert he looked. His suit was perfectly unwrinkled, and if he’d been on a plane that day, there was no evidence of it.
He came.
No time for relief—not yet. He had to play this exactly right.
Beckett shut the door behind them. He had
