Making of Them (Beating the Biker 3)
“What about James Pearson?” she asked.
Her father’s eyes scrunched, and his lips formed a frown. It was difficult to watch him lying there immobile in his hospital bed. Tubes and wires ran out from beneath the fall of the thin blanket covering him. She wondered whether things were a bit more serious than he’d let on.
“How does he treat you?”
“He’s demanding, but he’s okay.”
“Is he now?” he tested. He sounded as if he didn’t believe her but she couldn’t bear the look on his face right now, as if she were five years old and had done something bad.
“Now, Vince,” her mother said. “You shouldn’t get yourself upset.”
But he didn’t stop. His next question came out as a growl. “What kind of business does this man do?”
Chrissy held her gaze steady as she thought over her answer. What did James Pearson do? The specifics of his business he kept from her. As long as she scheduled his meetings and kept the wheels turning in his day-to-day affairs, he didn't complain. If she asked a question specific to why they were meeting so and so, he’d wave her off. “If it’s not in the iPad, it’s not in your job description.” Not that the “flow” of his work evaded her. He met with many international business men and they discussed deals within her hearing.
“He works with multi-national companies to broker mergers and acquisitions.”
“That’s one way to put it,” he snorted.
“Vince,” her mother said with alarm.
“Do not scold me, woman. I’m talking about our daughter’s safety.”
“If she says she’s all right—”
“Stay out of this, Rose,” he said in a warning growl.
“What?” Chrissy asked. Now her father alarmed her, because he could blow up the simplest thing into a worldwide crisis. This could’ve been why her grandfather hadn’t turned over the family business to his only son, even though Vince Serafini was in his fifties.
Her father turned his head toward her, giving her a gaze full of worry.
“Do you not know who this man is? The things that make up his business? All these years of you trying to separate yourself from us, and then you work for a man like that.”
“Dad!”
“No, Chrissy, you listen to me. Your grandfather was so concerned about who hired you, he’s been investigating this man himself. It’s not good, Chrissy. There are the drugs, of course.”
“I’ve never seen—”
“It doesn’t matter what you’ve seen or not. These are facts. But the worst thing is the sex trafficking. This isn’t a few girls who like the cash. He kidnaps them, Chrissy, and sells them to the highest bidder.”
Chrissy bit down hard on her lip and curled her hands into balls at her side. Saks had tried to warn her that day, but she didn’t listen. Well, she did in one way. Chrissy had poked around to find a few answers. The women who disappeared from his employ? From time to time she’d wanted to jump ship, too. The one unfortunate woman who died in Venice? The woman was high on drugs and fell into the canal. It was sad. But it wasn’t murder. And really, despite being difficult and demanding, she didn’t see anything, aside from what people said, to indicate he was an international criminal.
Still, it was her grandfather who’d said those things, and he generally wasn’t wrong about such serious allegations. So, who was wrong? Was it herself, or her overprotective family?
Chrissy’s lower lip worried itself between her teeth. Jessica hadn’t been answering her calls, Pearson had been unavailable, and the schedule wasn’t updated. Was something wrong, or was she letting her imagination get the best of her?
“Chrissy,” her father said. “Are you listening to me?”
“Dad, what would you have me do? I have a contract with Mr. Pearson. If I break it, I’ll incur penalties that I can’t pay.”
Her father scoffed. “He’ll wish he never met a Serafini if he does one thing to penalize you. We still have family in Italy. All it will take is one phone call.”
“Dad, you don’t speak Italian.”
“I do.”
“Yeah, enough to insult someone. But a whole conversation? Grandfather has to make that call.”