Page 83 of A Tempting Seduction

“Angry how?”

“Like he'd sold his soul and couldn't figure out how to buy it back.” I closed my eyes, remembering my father's haunted expression. “Ford, is it possible Dad was doing something as a judge that brought money to Horace? Something illegal?”

“It's starting to sound that way,” Ford ran his hand through his hair. “This is getting over my head, Ruby. I think we need professional help.”

My heart sank. “I can't afford to hire anyone.”

“I can,” Ford said firmly. “Renzo is close to a guy who started a security company called Onyx here in Jasper Creek. According to what I’ve heard, they’re good. The head of the company married Trenda Avery. They do work nationwide. Renzo could make the introduction, and Simon should be able to help us figure out what we're really dealing with.”

“Ford, I can't let you pay for my problems.”

“Yes, you can.” His voice was gentle but implacable. “We're a team, remember? That means we handle things together.”

The word 'team' sent warmth through my chest. For two years, I'd been handling everything alone. The idea of having a true partner felt foreign and wonderful.

“Okay,” I said. “But I’ll pay you back when I can.”

Ford kissed my forehead. “We'll figure it out later. Right now, let's focus on keeping you safe.”

Ford called Renzo from Mrs. Patterson's parlor while I sat listening to him explain our situation in careful, measured terms. He was protecting my privacy while still conveying the seriousness of our predicament.

Before we even got out to his truck, he got a text from Renzo.

“Simon and his partner Roan can see us this afternoon,” Ford told me. “They're at their offices downtown.”

“That fast?”

“Renzo told them it was urgent. Apparently, they take threats against women very seriously.”

Onyx Security occupied a sleek building that looked like it belonged in Nashville rather than rural Tennessee. The reception area was all clean lines and professional efficiency, with a young woman behind a modern desk who looked like she could handle anything from scheduling to tactical planning.

“Mr. Larson and Miss Miller?” she asked. “Simon and Roan are waiting for you in the conference room.”

She led us down a hallway that led to a conference room, it was spacious but comfortable, with a long table and leather chairs. Two men stood when we entered, both radiating the kind of quiet competence that made me feel simultaneously protected and nervous.

“Simon Clark,” the older one said, extending his hand. He was probably in his late forties or early fifties, with dark hair liberally sprinkled with silver and intelligent eyes that seemed to catalog everything. “This is my partner, Roan Thatcher.”

Roan looked a decade or two younger, with light brown hair and the kind of build that suggested he could handle himself in any situation. Both men had alert and assessing manners.

“Renzo filled us in on the basics,” Simon said once we were seated. “You're dealing with someone from your past who won't take no for an answer, and there might be political money involved.”

“Possibly judicial corruption too,” I said.

Simon and Roan exchanged a look that spoke volumes.

“Tell us everything,” Roan said. “Start from the beginning, and don't leave anything out.”

So, I did. I told them about my father, about Horace Waters and his political machine, about Lance and the engagement I'd broken off. I explained about the parties, the wealthy men, the sudden increase in our family's standard of living after Dad had married Diane.

“Your father was a state superior court judge,” Simon said when I finished. “That has significant jurisdiction over white-collar crime.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Roan added. “If someone was paying him to be lenient with certain defendants, that could generate substantial funds for political campaigns.”

“Campaign finance violations?” Ford asked.

“Among other things,” Simon made notes on a legal pad. “Money laundering, bribery, conspiracy. If your step grandfather was running a system where judicial decisions were being bought, we're talking about serious federal crimes.”

My stomach churned. “And my father was part of it?”