Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

“And your point?”

Dallas raised his hands. “I’m just saying, you care about her. Adele has always been a sweet girl. It’s hard not to care for somebody like her, which means it’s easy to see who to go after when the time is right.”

“What does he have on her?”

“More like her family,” he admitted, pulling something out of his jacket pocket. “A list of names associated with the Saint James scandal.”

“The people he stole from?”

A head nod.

Passing it to me, I glimpsed over the names. Some were more familiar than others. “I should ask how you got this, but I’m not sure I care. What I want to know is what The Dick plans to do with it.”

His lips twitched. “Well, I’d have to explain how I got it in order to tell you what his plans were.”

I waited impatiently.

Another chuckle. “There’s a reporter named Nicholas McAllister. He works for The Times and has a long-lasting relationship with some well-off families. Pratt being one of them, naturally.”

Swiping my jaw, I set the list down and tapped it. “He was going to publish this.” It wasn’t a question. In fact, it was something Pratt would do, which was unsurprising to me.

Dallas bobbed his head once. “You remember those reports from when the trial first started? The reporter is the same one on the bylines from back then. Nick McAllister. What’s convenient about those articles was that none of them painted Murphy in a bad light, or anybody else who was suspected. It was all—”

“Anthony Saint James,” I concluded. Scrubbing my jaw, I sat back. “I take it the reporter is on Pratt’s payroll then. Murphy and Pratt were known to be friends. Their kids practically grew up together.” The Dick always put his business where it didn’t belong and acted like an ally at his convenience. Knowing Adele danced with a lot of the kids of families in the same social circles made making connections easier, especially if somebody needed a fallback guy like Anthony was.

Dallas nodded along. “Yet, the Saint James family is who is being targeted. Anthony can’t be taken down any further than he already was, but Adele…”

My jaw ticked. “Why her? Why now?”

His head tilted. “I think we both know the answer to that, boss. Richard knows where your loyalty lies and it’s not with him, or else you would’ve had him as a partner by now at IM. The more I dug into Pratt, the more I saw his investments in businesses outside his area of expertise. He’s in it with Murphy, which means—”

“He paid off the reporter to make Murphy owe him,” I said, rolling it around in my brain. It made sense. He all but threatened to do the same with me, except I wasn’t involved in the lives that he and a few others were. Unlike Anthony, I kept my nose clean. I kept my social circle small. Non-existent. The most he had on me was my aching dick that always stood to full attention whenever Della was around these days. Not necessarily comparable in the grand scheme of drugs, money laundering, and a fuck ton more that I refused to even acknowledge given their nature.

“This reporter, McAllister, did you speak to him directly?”

Dallas rested his hands on his stomach as he got comfortable in the chair. “Persuaded him to give me the list himself, but I’d put my money on it not being the only copy.”

“And what did he say about Richard?”

“Very little.”

I figured as much. “Presumably, Pratt has another copy of the list. Wouldn’t be surprised if it makes the news yet. Did he say anything about other outlets getting it?”

“No. But…” Dallas shifted slightly. “I confirmed the reason he reached out to Lydia Saint James. McAllister has a soft spot for her. Apparently the two used to be cozy once upon a time, which is probably the only reason he agreed to meet me after I reached out.”

My laugh was dry. “Did this asshole honestly think he had a chance? If he was going to release the list, then that would ruin any hope for him and Lydia. She loved her brother.” How did they know each other anyway? Lydia didn’t live in the city. She kept her distance from the lifestyle because of how people lived. I didn’t blame her. Some days, I wished I’d done the same.

Shaking my head, I stood and turned to look out the window that showcased the city skyline. “Money talks more than anything else, I suppose. It’s always worked that way.”

“I don’t think he was doing this just because of money,” he commented hesitantly.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I looked at him skeptically. “Then what? Why would a reporter who has a sweet spot for Lydia go after her niece? They might not be close, but he would have to know he’d be fucked if Lydia found out what he’d been doing behind her back. Hell, if she finds out he was part of the reason the media decided Anthony’s guilt, she probably wouldn’t forgive him.”

His tongue swiped across his bottom lip, his eyes not quite meeting mine. Whatever he knew, he didn’t want to tell me.

“What is it, Dallas?” I growled at him.

His shoulders tensed. “He didn’t outright tell me this, but I think he’s afraid of Pratt. He alluded to him getting into deeper things than we knew. Everybody knows the guy blackmails people to do his dirty work, but McAllister made it seem like he’d lost control.”