“You as well.” I watch her vanish down the hallway.
Right as I hear the elevator doors shut, the oven beeps, and I take out the meatloaf and potatoes, leaving the dishes on the stovetop to cool. The warm aroma of a home-cooked meal fills the kitchen as I shrug off my jacket, placing it on the back of the stool at the kitchen island. I remove my tie, leaving it on the countertop, and the phone rings. I grab the receiver off the light gray wall and place it to my ear. “Yes?”
The security guard says, “Mr. Blackwood, Mr. Holt, and Mr. O’Keefe are here to see you, sir.”
“Send them up.” I hang up the phone and move toward the elevator, rolling up my sleeves.
By the time I’m there, the double doors open and all three DC men stride into my condo. I see the tension on every face in front of me, and I understand their concern. It’s rare we meet at one another’s houses.
“We need to make this quick,” says Micah. “I’ve got movie plans with Allie and Taylor tonight.”
“Of course. Please come in.” I turn, leading them into the open-concept living room, which overlooks the twinkling lights of the Golden Gate Bridge. I couldn’t be more relieved that Taylor’s got plans with Micah and Allie tonight. She needs a little normal with all that’s going on.
I move to the cappuccino-colored bar in the corner of the room and pour four glasses of my best scotch while they take their seats in the black leather chairs. I hand out the glasses, then I sit down on the white leather couch. Before I begin, I take a sip of the scotch, tasting the peaty flavor. “I know how the information is being fed to the tabloids,” I tell the group before focusing on Gabe. “It’s happening at your pub.”
He nearly spits out his drink and coughs. “Come again?”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.” I see the anger tightening the expressions around me.
Ryder places his glass on the coffee table, eyes tight. “What proof do you have?”
“Earlier today, Gotcha! didn’t print the obvious choice of me with Alex,” I explain. “They printed another article about Taylor, giving her full name. They must have known her first name, but had to do some digging to find out her last name, which is why it took some time to get her name out there.”
“Okay,” Gabe drawls, staring intently at me. “But how is this about my pub?”
“When I read the article, it said that Taylor had been abused and that’s why she came home.”
“Which is true,” Micah interjects. “So, again, what does this have to do with Gabe’s pub?”
“They said something else that immediately caught my attention.” I hesitate, recalling the error I made the afternoon at Gabe’s pub. “When we met”—I glance at Micah—“and you decided to leave the DC, I had said that Taylor had bruises on the left side of her face, and that’s what the tabloid printed today.”
Ryder looks from Micah to Gabe and then to me and frowns. “I’m sorry, you’ve still lost me.”
“That day when I told you all that, I got it wrong. The bruises are on the right side of her face. But Taylor is wearing good makeup that hides the bruises. So…”
“So that little detail,” Ryder catches on, “is something only you know because you’ve seen her face without the makeup.”
I nod.
Silence.
And I understand why. This runs so much deeper than any of us ever expected. It means it’s not just some dipshit reporter reading between the lines and tying things together. Someone is out to get us.
I focus on Gabe. “Which tells me, along with what else has been printed about me in the tabloids lately, they are all things I’ve said in your pub.”
Micah’s posture stiffens. “Fucking hell.”
Even Gabe is shaking his head now, and he focuses solely on Micah. “Allie…”
“Yes, you’re right,” says Micah, eyes bright as he leans forward, obviously ready to act if he needs to. “I had called Allie a forbidden treasure at the pub that one night, and that’s the exact phrase they used in the article.” He shakes his head in clear disbelief. “I hadn’t put that together. But yes…yes, this fits.”
Gabe’s jaw clenches once, eyes ablaze. “And you also told me that night that you were betraying someone.”
Micah thrusts a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I did.” He rises, clearly unable to sit any longer, and turns to me. “Once they found out Allie was your sister, they must’ve just assumed I was talking about you.”
I nod. “That’s what I’m thinking, too.”
Ryder leans back in his seat, the only calm one in the room. “So, what are our theories here? That someone is spying on our conversations?”