Page 166 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
You’re supposed to hate your Dad, Em.
“Answer the question.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “That’s the deal.”
“He showed up at the masquerade. I had no clue who he was. Then, he showed up at the tent city and gave me his card.” I hesitated, praying Nash wouldn’t draw the wrong conclusions. “I remembered him from the day the F.B.I. and S.E.C. raided my house. We stood in front of the cottage. He asked me who lived in there and made me say your names.”
“And?”
I swiped hair out of my face to give my hands something to do. “And I did, but I also told him you guys had nothing to do with my dad’s business. Now, he keeps showing up… I think he wants to use me to get to Dad. I’m not sure.”
“So, he’s stalking you?”
“Is he stalking me?” I tipped a shoulder up. “He’s an agent. Can it be considered stalking if it’s legal?”
“It’s fucking stalking.” His neck corded, lips pulled back, but he moved on. “Question #2—did you know about the embezzlement?”
My head jerked back like whiplash. “No. Absolutely not.” My hand flew to my chest, fingers clutching my shirt. “I don’t know if I would have gone to the authorities if I’d known, but I would have told Betty and Hank. They put everything into the company. I didn’t know.” I chanced a glance at him, taking in his expression. Oh, Nash. “Is that why you've been mad at me this whole time? You thought I betrayed your family?”
That meant he thought I was responsible for Hank’s death.
A river of pity rushed through me. I flushed it from my system, knowing Nash would hate it if he knew it’d ever been there.
“I’m asking the questions. That’s the deal.” His restless tapping filled the car. “Question #3—where is Gideon Winthrop?”
I pinched the skin on my thigh, hoping to wake up from this nightmare. Each question was worse than the last and definitely not worth a trip to Eastridge to see Virginia. Trust fund access or not. “Nash…”
“It’s an easy question, Emery.”
“Not for me.”
I hated my dad, but I also loved him. It was the kind of love you gave fiercely. No stipulations. Pure. Wondrous. Permanent. I was pissed at him—so fucking pissed—but he was still my dad, no matter how much or how little I talked to him.
“Chill. I’m not going to hurt him.”
My eyes widened. “I didn’t even mention anything about hurting him. Were you planning on hurting him?”
I remembered the bruised knuckles he’d come home with. Dad was in his late forties. He wouldn't stand a chance in a fight against Nash.
“Do you trust me?”
“Honestly? Not to keep your hands off Dad, but everything else? Yes.”
He muttered a curse and swiped a palm down his face. “The deal is—”
“I know what the deal is.” I needed to buy time. “Give me today.”
“For?”
“I?
??ll tell you. I promise. Just give me time.”
Maybe I could warn Dad first, which required talking to him. I realized, as my heart sped at the idea, how much I missed my dad.
I sank into my seat, grateful when Nash pulled back onto the road.
“Why didn’t you go to my dad’s funeral?”
“Is this one of your questions?”
