“We’ll look into it, but we still need heightened security.”
Jasper was unusually quiet, staring at me with a question in his eyes.
“Bullshit, Sadie. Why, exactly, do we need enhanced security for Kat’s wedding? Truthfully.”
Quenching my thirst for vengeance wasn’t a conversation I was willing to have with my son at the moment, so I stared at him for a few seconds, hoping for a distraction.
Luckily, one came in the form of an intruder. The French doors to my office opened, and almost simultaneously, Jasper and Terry had guns in their hands, aimed at the door.
Jameson froze where he stood, a smile on his face, hands slowly lifted like we were the fucking police. “Hello, Ashbys.”
“What the fuck, Ellison?” Jasper was furious, his face growing redder by the second as he holstered his gun. “How the fuck did you get onto the property without being spotted?”
“Or sounding the alarms,” Terry added as he angrily holstered his own weapon. “I was really hoping to shoot someone.”
“It’s not too late,” Jasper muttered, his questioning gaze still trained on Jameson. “I hope you came with something that will make me forget about kicking your ass for this breach in security.”
Jameson shrugged. “You have a hole in your security, and you should get that checked out. But you can try to kick my ass. If you think you can.” His tone was playful, almost teasing to goad Jasper before Jameson turned to me. “For the lady.”
I held my hand out, and he dropped a hot pink thumb drive into my palm. “And what is this?”
“This is all the Ashby information Bonnie gave to Mueller over the months they were meeting. It was hidden in one of the two hundred bibles among Mueller’s belongings. Agents are still sifting through his things now that word has spread he was police.”
Jasper let out a low, frustrated growl and raked an angry hand through his hair. “This is not what we’re paying you for, Ellison. We have this information already, goddammit.”
“Do you?” Jameson’s smile was playful enough that you might think he didn’t take anything seriously, but it was his strength, letting people underestimate him. “That drive holds thirty gigs of information. How much did he give you?”
“Not that much,” I admitted reluctantly.
“Look, consider that a freebie. I thought you might want a heads up on any info he might have already passed on to his handlers.”
Jameson let out a sigh and shoved his hands in his pockets, the universal sign for bad news. “I couldn’t get my hands on the audio files from the hotel room next door to destroy because those DEA fucks don’t share, but the audio was too fucked up for them to use in their own case, which means any ambient audio is fucked up too.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“So you don’t have shit?” Jasper folded his arms, a dark scowl on his face. He was spoiling for a fight.
Jameson smiled and shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I said I couldn’t destroy the files, but the one labeled DEA audio is exactly what they have and can’t use. Just to ease your worried mind.”
I shoved the drive into my laptop and clicked the DEA file. The audio was staticky, and the foreground conversation was garbled at best. I smiled.
“Not even a sound of a gunshot. Good job, Jameson.
“Thank you, Sadie.”
I nodded to Jasper. “Send the money.”
“He hasn’t given us shit,” he insisted.
“This drive might help us get Calvin to see the light. And now we know they have no direct evidence I was even at the hotel.”
Jasper glared at me. He wanted to argue, but he knew I was right. “Fine.” He tapped on his phone and waited for approval.
Jameson’s phone dinged, and he glanced at the screen with a smile.
“Pleasure doing business with you.”
“Whatever,” Jasper growled.
Jameson grinned as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. “One more thing.”
“I’m not giving you another fucking dime,” Jasper growled.
“I wouldn’t be so hasty if I were you, Ashby.” Jameson squared his shoulders and stood a little taller, almost daring Jasper to do something about his aggression before he shrugged dismissively and turned back to me.
“If you own a pair of very rare, limited edition heels, you might want to get rid of them. Don’t hide them in another residence or a safety deposit box. Burn those fuckers and scatter the ashes in the desert.”
I blinked at his words, feeling for the first time a hint of fear seep into my bones. “What? My Christin Louboutin x Sabyasachi strappy sandals?”
“’Fraid so. Beck thinks she has a partial footprint, and I don’t imagine there are many suspects who can afford to have a designer shoe collection that rivals yours.”
“Have you seen the print?” Terry stood at the bar, pouring a shot of whiskey.
“No, but a junior agent said Beck is creaming her panties that this is the evidence that will nail you. She’s convinced that you’re the only suspect with shoes like that and a vendetta against priests.”