“I assume,” Dallas began, picking up one of the large blueberry muffins off a platter overflowing with different options, “from Miss Finnel takin’ off with your brother last night, that she traded you in for him after she figured out that you were screwin’ your butler here, right?”
Brig gasped, and I could tell he was ready to blast the hell out of Dallas.
Eric was faster. “How dare you insinuate that––”
“Yes,” I said, shutting both men up at the same time. “The answer is yes.” To Dallas, I continued, “You can speak freely in front of Mr. Foster. He and Brig are together now, and as there are no secrets between them, we’d all appreciate you sharing.”
Brig and Eric both stared at me.
“That’s why Agent Bauer was asking, even if crudely”—I gave him a pointed look—“because if that’s not the case, if you’re not together, then Mr. Foster needs to leave the room.”
“Oh,” Brig said, putting an arm around the back of Eric’s chair. “No, we—yes, please, Agent Bauer. Eric and I are to be married, so feel free to discuss everything about the case with both of us.”
Dallas turned to Eric.
“Please continue, Agent Bauer. I won’t interrupt again.”
Dallas nodded, glanced at me, and then leaned back in his chair. “Croy was thinking, last night, that there had to be more to this case. He said that Lane couldn’t be what we believe her to be, that there had to be a bigger story, and you, Mr. Stanton, said that she’d been an activist but that she’d changed, and that what we thought we knew didn’t seem like her.”
“I thought so,” Brig said earnestly, “but I guess––”
“No,” he said, and then turned to look at me. “You’re wasting your time at Torus,” he declared, like it was a fact and not his opinion. “You have the instincts of a detective—you should go back to that and forget this hired-muscle bullshit.”
“There’s a bit more to it than that,” I assured him, taking half of the muffin he offered me. “I actually get to use my brain.”
He grunted.
“And you know as well as I do that being a good detective is mostly common sense and watching people,” I reminded him. “You just have to get a feel for someone and figure out their tell, their weakness.”
“Yes,” he agreed, his gaze all over me for a moment before it was back on mine. “Yes, you do.”
“So what’s Lane’s?” I asked, providing the lead-in for him.
He turned back to Brig. “Your sister is working with the fraud division of the FBI and the US Securities and Exchange Commission to uncover inconsistencies in the environmental cleanup of the various hazards created by Stanton-Downey, in exchange for private funding.”
“I’m sorry?” Brig asked Dallas.
He glanced at me before looking back at Brig. “I can’t say that again,” he replied dryly.
“No, I understood what you said, Agent Bauer,” Brig answered tightly, his tone brittle. “I just don’t understand the specifics. That’s the part I need clarification on.”
“The cleanup of the messes that Stanton-Downey created in the mid-nineties and early two thousands was facilitated by companies that are owned by your father’s friends,” he explained, brows furrowing as he looked at Brig. “So he not only made money when he cut the corners that created the environmental disasters in the first place, but then he himself took a kickback on the money the company paid his buddies to clean it up. He profited again for awarding them the contracts.”
“All without anyone at the company knowing, I assume,” I said, not even trying to hide the disgust in my voice.
“There are some who knew, but they were also skimming from the company coffers. Your father’s an evil genius,” he told Brig. “Or thought he was.”
“Oh no,” Brig groaned.
“Oh yes,” Dallas countered, reaching for his backpack, unzipping the front pocket and pulling out an iPad. He hit the home button, and up popped pictures. Using the kickstand on the case, he propped it up so we all could see. “As you see, this is Lane,” Dallas narrated in a dour voice that told me he was not happy. “And this is a very alive and well Eston Travers,” he continued, as we all looked at a series of photos of her running into his arms and hugging him tight. “And this,” he said, pointing at an adorable little girl with short, curly brown hair, “is their daughter, Annie.”
It took a moment for that to sink in.
“No,” Brig gasped, leaning forward, looking at the cute little family.
Dallas sat back in his chair and put a hand on my thigh under the table. It was casual, he didn’t grab or grope me, just rested his hand there to see, I was certain, what I would do. What I would allow.
I put my arm around the back of his chair and moved closer, pressing my thigh to his, letting him know that he could put that hand of his wherever he wanted.