“Ma’am,” Jared said, nodding politely.
“And this is Dax Freed.”
Dax winked. “Howdy.”
Howdy? Was he putting her on? She took in his faded jeans and worn cowboy boots and thought, nope, he wasn’t putting her on. This man hailed from somewhere in the south. Or maybe the southwest.
Beside her, Colt shifted in his seat. “I’m going to assume you found something, or we wouldn’t be here.”
“Nothing definitive,” Ian said. “But not the kind of thing I wanted you talking about outside of these walls.”
Angie darted her gaze between Colt and Ian. Jace was frowning, which wasn’t good.
“Do you have the spreadsheet, Miss Turner?” Ian asked.
“Yes.”
“And yours is the only copy you know of?”
Angie nodded. “We keep everything in the cloud at work, but I made a copy of Martinelli’s work because I didn’t want to mess with the original. In case I needed it for proof later—proof that I wasn’t the one who’d screwed everything up.”
Ian nodded. “Makes sense. Is your copy in the cloud?”
“No. I emailed it to myself so I could work on it at home.”
“Does anybody know you did that?”
Angie frowned. What was he getting at? “I don’t see how.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
“Just Colt. And now everyone in this room.”
He acknowledged the information with a smile. “You emailed someone at the Cardinal Group to tell them you were having an issue with the account. Correct?”
“Yes. I told them I needed to clarify the figures. I thought they’d send updated bank statements. I sent my queries to the company secretary. There was no need to involve anyone else at that point. This kind of thing is not all that unusual. I mean Martinelli’s spreadsheet is a little suspect, sure. But things get entered wrong, statements don’t line up, and it’s usually some little mistake somewhere along the way. Accounting is mostly an unexciting job. It’s logical. Things make sense. And when they don’t make sense, you go back and look for where you went wrong. Or, in this case, where Charles went wrong. I didn’t have any reason to believe there was anything criminal going on.”
“Just clarifying things, Miss Turner.” Ian turned to Dax Freed, who’d taken a seat across the table.
All the men were sitting. Waiting.
For what, she didn’t know.
“It’s all you, Freed,” Ian said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The television screen flickered and the presentation began.
Chapter Ten
Jenny Clark didn’t have the kids that week, which meant she was free when the phone rang. She knew who it was without looking. She’d given him his own ringtone.
“Jenny,” he said, sounding masculine and commanding. He made her shiver with that voice. “I need you to do something for me.”
Jenny gripped the phone tight and stared out the window at the building opposite. She hated this apartment she’d had to move to when Dwight successfully hid his assets—their joint assets—from the lawyers. He’d lied and cheated and what happened to him? Nothing. He moved into a great house near the waterfront, started seeing a woman ten years younger, and had the kids every other week.
Meanwhile, she’d had to downsize so she could afford to take care of their kids properly. He paid child support, but he’d gotten that argued down too since they shared custody. She hated him. Funny how you could love someone so much at one time and then hate them at another.
“What do you need?” she asked.
She tried not to let disappointment color her voice. Hadn’t she done enough already? She’d risked a lot for the man on the other end of the line. She’d let him into the building after hours so they didn’t have to meet at a hotel. And then she’d erased files for him. Or she’d logged in and let him do it while they slugged back bourbon and laughed.
All those Cardinal Group files. Bank statements, credit card statements, spreadsheets. It had felt wicked and empowering at the same time.
She shouldn’t have let it happen, but he’d paid her when it was over. Ten thousand dollars in cash delivered to her apartment by courier this morning. The day after the fire. Jenny tried not to let it bother her, but it somehow did. She knew she wasn’t responsible for the fire, and yet it must have started soon after they’d left the building.
Still, she needed the money. If she got enough, she could go back to court. Fight for majority custody. Her kids should not be raised by Dwight and his bimbo.
He’d said the money was for her, because she needed it. Not because she’d been drunk and logged into the server for him. Not because she’d set fire to the building, because she definitely had not. But what if they’d left the space heater on? Was that possible?
There was another cloud in her sky. Angie Turner knew something about the Cardinal Group’s files. She’d been working on them. Jenny hadn’t known when she’d let him delete them. It didn’t really matter who had been working on them—but why had Angie asked her specifically if she knew about wonky accounting?
Jenny shivered. She would have to tell him about it. She started to clear her throat, but he spoke.
“I need you to meet me later,” he said. “I want to see you.”
A current of pleasure slipped into her veins, soothing her. He didn’t only want her to do things for him. He wanted her. They hadn’t had sex since the night he’d deleted the files. Before that, he’d bent her over the desk and—
She shuddered with the memory of it. The raw way he’d taken her, pounding into her from behind. Pinching her nipples and telling her she felt so fucking good.
“I want to see you too. I need you.” She could tell him about Angie’s question later. After they’d made love.
He chuckled. “I can’t wait to fuck your hot little pussy tonight.”
Jenny’s throat tightened. God. “What time?”
“Meet me at nine. You know the place.”
He’d found a new place for them. Not a hotel, of course. He didn’t like hotels.
