Damage Control (Page 27)

“I can see what you and Shane have in common,” Seth says dryly. “Two brothers. Two problems.”

A little too true to swallow right now. “How long will it take you to find out if my stepfather has been found?”

“I’ll know a great deal by morning,” he says. “And we’ll get the holes in your record filled in by then as well.”

“By morning?”

“You don’t play around with the Geminis,” he answers. “If that’s who we’re dealing with.”

The comment rubs me wrong. “I didn’t pull that name out of a hat.”

He holds up his hands. “I didn’t say you did.”

“But you still don’t trust me.”

“I told you. I trust facts, not people.”

“You don’t trust me yet. Please just say it.”

Shane moves to crouch on the ground in front of me, taking my hand, but I stay focused on Seth, who gives me my answer. “All right. I don’t trust you yet.”

I let out a breath. “Thank you.”

He arches a brow. “Thank you?”

“For being honest. I like honesty right now. I like speaking it. I like hearing it.” I turn to Shane. “I know you two need to talk about me and other things right now. I’m going to go upstairs.”

“Before you go,” Seth says, dragging both our attentions to him. “If your brother calls you, we need to have a plan as to what you should say to him.”

“What should I say?”

“There’s the real possibility that he knows where you work—”

I shake my head. “No. I didn’t tell him.”

“Your fake social security number will be in the IRS database.”

“Right,” I say, hating the dread that fills me. “So he can find me and connect me to Shane.”

“The only way he’s going to look up your social,” Shane says, “is if he can’t find you.”

“Shane’s right,” Seth adds. “Tell him you got spooked and went to New Mexico. I’ll handle getting your payroll changed to our shell company there.”

I frown. “How will you explain that to HR?”

“We’ll handle it through a technology back door.”

I glance between them. “What company am I working for?”

“Drake Metals,” Seth says. “But tell him the job doesn’t start for a week, to give us time to set everything up.”

“If he finally calls, I’ll tell him, but I threw out my disposable phone.”

Seth reaches into his pocket and hands me a new one. “Leave him a message now.”

I nod and dial, hoping he answers, only to have the call go to voice mail. “Once again,” I say, “I’m calling you. I’m in trouble, which you don’t seem to care about. I’m leaving Denver. I’d like a little help here.” I end the call, emotion balling in my chest, with both men staring at me.

“You have help now,” Shane says softly, as if answering a question.

I look at him. “I know, but he’s my brother.”

“No one understands that statement more than me.”

“If he calls,” Seth says, dragging my attention back to him, “talk to him. Feed him the story about you leaving Denver. When the conversation ends, turn off the phone immediately and take the battery out. He can’t track it if it’s off and he can’t turn it back on himself if the battery is out.”

“Yes,” I say. “Okay.”

“We’re pulling your payroll off the books,” Seth continues. “That’ll make it look like you’ve left if he checks up on your taxes and new social security number. And do not say anything to either of us in texts or on the phone that you don’t want recorded or read. There are too many people rattling both of your cages to take that risk.”

“Understood,” I say, feeling sick to my stomach at the idea that my brother, the only person I thought I had in this world, could be dangerous to me and to Shane.

“I’m talking on any phone line about anything important to you or Shane or the company,” he presses.

“Understood,” I repeat, “and on that note, I’ll go upstairs now.”

Shane squeezes my hand and I face him again, finding concern in his gaze. “I’m tough, Shane. And I’m glad Seth doesn’t trust easily. It actually makes me feel safer.”

He gives a delayed nod, seeming to hesitate, but finally releases my hand. I turn and start walking, but I’ve made it to the side of Seth’s chair when he says, “You’re in good hands. I’m the best at what I do. Everyone Shane has working directly for him is the best.”

“I know,” I say. “It’s Shane.” I start walking again, and this time neither Shane nor Seth stop me. I pause at the bottom of the steps when my gaze catches on my bag sitting by the coatrack. I quickly divert, heft it over my shoulder, and head up the long row of stairs, the sound of Shane and Seth’s voices reaching me, and it’s not me they are talking about.

“No answer is unacceptable,” Shane snaps. “I need to know what is going on inside BP. We aren’t chasing our tails and playing shadow swords with my brother or Martina.”

“What are you suggesting?” Seth asks, and as I reach the last step I want to linger and listen in, but eavesdropping is a kind of betrayal that Shane and I don’t need between us. I’ll tell him I overheard and ask what is happening.