Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
♦
I print the short report Bodie had put together on Jaime’s brother, Brian, and stick it in a folder. I’m definitely with the digital age, but I like reading things on paper and taking notes there.
It’s a short four pages. Nothing that stands out as overly concerning. By that, I was afraid he was into drugs, to be honest. It would explain needing the periodic sums of cash.
I talked to Jaime the other day from my hotel room in San Francisco, and Brian approached her for money again. I was so proud she told him “no,” but then he really put on a sob story. She held her ground, though, even though it killed her to see him panicked.
She was pissed, too. She laid a rant on me that, had Brian been listening, he would have been sufficiently cowed.
“I begged him, Cage,” she had growled in frustration. “Begged him to just tell me what was going on, and he said everything was fine. But it’s a lie. I know it. He’s lying, and I hate liars. I can’t help him if he’s not truthful. On top of that, it fucking hurts that he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. I work day in and day out where men abuse and take advantage of women all the time, and what Brian is doing now is no different. I think I need to just cut him out of my life.”
Of course, I was completely cringing with every word she unloaded on me because she was also describing the type of man I was being.
A liar.
Someone not trustworthy.
And more importantly, she’s pretty unforgiving about it too.
I’m convinced it’s not going to go well when I do tell her the truth. That my odds of keeping her after aren’t very good.
But, for the moment, I still have her, and I’m determined to help figure out what the hell her brother is up to. I can do that for her, at least.
I glance back down at the report Bodie prepared. Fencing stolen items isn’t good, and he could stand to get in a load of trouble. I suspect he might be skimming some money, and he needs to make it up. Maybe I should approach him, tell him what I know, and ask him to get his head out of his ass before he gets arrested. I’d also tell him to leave Jaime out if it because even though it appears he’s just running with some petty Irish thugs right now, they could be working for some scarier people. There’s a definite Irish mob operating in Pittsburgh. Hell, there’s one in most major cities, and they can be violent, unpredictable, and without conscience. Her brother could have bigger worries than just getting arrested by the local police. If he’s skimming, which could account for the money he needs, then he could end up with a lot worse than a conviction on his record. He could get the shit beat out of him at the very least, and there’s a whole lot worse the mob could do.
I have to figure out what to do soon, and this coincides with me telling Jaime the truth. This weekend is when I should lay it all out there, even about the information I collected on her brother.
“What are you working on?” a deep voice says, and I look up to see Jackson.
Jackson Gale is a former Navy SEAL like me. While we weren’t on the same team, we knew each other through joint training and operations. When his enlistment was coming up, he reached out and asked about working at Jameson. Like me, he loved what he did, but wanted a bit of a different environment.
And the extra money we’re paid was a huge draw.
I got him an interview with Kynan, and he vetted well. He’s been here at Jameson for just a few months, and I really like the guy.
Smiling, I glance down at the folder and close it. “Nothing big. Hey… I hear it’s your birthday tomorrow. I won’t be here, so let me wish you a happy one early.”
Jackson shrugs, sitting in the one chair beside my desk. “Just another year and another reason to eat cake.”
“You do know Joslyn’s making one for you upstairs, right?”
Grinning, Jackson’s eyes light up. “I know. My favorite… chocolate with buttercream. Where are you going?”
“Vegas for that tactical seminar.”
Jackson nods. “That’s right. Sounds fun.”
I note the sidearm Jackson has in a shoulder holster. “You heading to the firing range?”
“Just got back,” he says.
“Nice piece,” I compliment, nodding at his Walther P99. “Very James Bondish.”
“Not my preferred gun,” he replies. “I normally carry a CZ 75.”
“Czech gun, right?”
Jackson nods.
“I’ll stick with my Sig.”
“Love my Sig, too.” He laughs. It’s typically what we carried as Navy SEALs. “You miss it?”