“You want to talk about it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. The thing I keep coming back to is that he was drunk behind the wheel. Where the hell was his driver? My old man hasn’t driven in decades, but he suddenly decided it was a good idea—and then promptly drove into a telephone pole? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Frank shrugged. “People do weird shit when they drink.”
He couldn’t argue that, and yet…Nathaniel King did drink, often and far too much, and he’d never made the choice to drive before. Beckett glared at his bottle. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he repeated.
Frank drank his beer and watched Beckett in the eerie way he did sometimes, as if he could read thoughts. His dark skin seemed to drink up the shadows around him, giving the impression of menace that wasn’t quite an illusion. “You want me to look into it?” Frank had his fingers in countless pies in the city. Officially, he was a real estate mogul, but he also dealt in information, though to what endgame Beckett had never quite figured out.
He hesitated. It might be that the very same guilt Frank accused him of feeling was driving this insistence that something was wrong. It was entirely possible—probable, even—that the night of his father’s death had played out exactly like everyone said. He could be sending Frank on a wild-goose chase that would only result in Beckett looking bad, no matter how discreet the search for answers was. The last thing he needed was for word to get out that the new CEO of Morningstar Enterprise was paranoid and full of conspiracy theories.
He took another pull from his beer, forcing himself to drink more slowly this time. But what if something fishy was going on? If he turned a blind eye and pushed forward without looking into things, he’d always wonder if he could have done more. If he could have found answers. “I’d appreciate it.”
“Consider it done.” Frank motioned for two more beers and sat back. “I hear you saw Samara.”
Beckett slumped down in the booth. “How the hell would you know that?” He glanced at his phone. “It was three hours ago. There were exactly two other people in the room, and I know for a fact that Samara isn’t running to you and telling tales.” For whatever reason, Frank seemed to enjoy needling Kingdom Corp whenever the opportunity arose. Since Beckett’s aunt held grudges like no one’s business, it had created a mutual animosity and ensured that none of her employees gladly dealt with Frank.
“Maybe that’s exactly what I have set up.”
He rolled his eyes and flipped his friend off. “For real, how did you know?”
“A guy I know was getting coffee across the street and saw her leave.” Frank grimaced. “It doesn’t sound as intimidating when put like that.”
“Trust me, you have the market cornered when it comes to intimidation.” He finished off his beer as the bartender sauntered up with another pair. She gave Frank a lingering look and put a little more swing into her walk as she headed back the way she’d come.
Frank didn’t look over once. “Nice dodge. Samara.”
Beckett could tell the man to drop it and Frank would—their unspoken rule—but Beckett found himself wanting to talk about something that wasn’t his old man. His feelings regarding Samara weren’t any less complicated, but they were still easier to deal with. “She was standing in for my aunt at the reading of my father’s will. That’s it.” That, and for a moment there in the hall, she’d given off definite vibes. She’d locked it down fast, but there was no denying the chemistry between them. Their single night together hadn’t even taken the edge off.
“That’s it.”
“You don’t have to sound so put out about it. I don’t know what you expected me to say.”
Frank crossed his arms over his chest. “Seems the two of you have unfinished business.”
“The only unfinished business we have is the upcoming government contract. Once I secure that, I won’t have to see her again.” Until the next time.
When Frank only raised his brows, Beckett growled. “What do you want me to say? I can barely stand to be in her presence without losing my fucking mind—and not in a pleasant way. We hooked up. It’s done. End of story.” He glanced at the clock again, and pushed to stand. “I’m out. I need some sleep before I face down the dragon tomorrow.”
“Good luck.” Now it was Frank’s turn to hesitate. “If you change your mind about wanting to talk…I’m here. If anyone knows about complicated relationships with parents, it’s me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He wouldn’t put them both through the agony of that conversation, though. If Beckett really wanted to purge his demons, he’d find a bottle or a shrink—or both, since he wasn’t willing to face down the latter without the former in hand. “Catch up with you later.”
He paused by the bar to pay for their drinks and headed out into the night. The sticky air clung to his exposed skin and he inhaled deeply, pulling it into his lungs as if the humidity was solid enough to keep him on his feet. He needed to sleep but his racing thoughts wouldn’t still, a hamster on its wheel, frantically spinning, spinning, spinning. He headed for the condo because there was nothing else left to do. He couldn’t wander the streets indefinitely, and if he was going to speak to his aunt in the morning, he couldn’t walk in there with bloodshot eyes and swaying on his feet. She was a predator, and she wouldn’t hesitate to capitalize on perceived weakness.
Beckett strode across the street, the emptiness of his condo looming. It shouldn’t matter that it’s empty now. It’s always been empty. He slowed and stopped, looking up at the building.
I’ve never been completely alone
