Aarav understood what it was like for your father to withhold his approval. It was bad enough Cash’s father didn’t love him, or even like him, but to try to have him killed?
That had to smart.
“It’s a slippery slope. He probably only dipped into laundering to save face and cover his losses. But once you get involved in this kind of shit, there isn’t an easy way out.” Jordan leaned back in his chair, letting the pause lengthen as he considered what to do next.
“So do I just get on that jet and head back to my boat?” Cash asked wistfully, though he had to know that was impossible.
“No.” Aarav, Sola, and Jordan spoke at the same time.
“Sorry. It’s obviously not safe.” Sola looked up at him.
“Stay here with us. Sola and Aarav will look after you.” Jordan eyed the three of them before nodding. “The two of you are neighbors anyway. Move in together and keep an eye on our guest until we can resolve this issue.”
Cash opened his mouth as if to argue, but when Sola peered up at him, her big brown eyes practically begging, he made all of their lives easier and gave in. “Okay, but on one condition.”
“What’s that?” Jordan asked.
“While you’re poking around, look into my mother’s death. Please. Whenever I would ask about her condition, my father was vague. He said he didn’t want to burden a kid with details, but does that really sound like the behavior of the same guy we’re talking about here?” Cash flicked his hand at the gory images on the screen.
“No, it doesn’t.” Jordan sighed.
Cash met Jordan’s stare head on. “I want to hear it from you. Tell me what happened to my mom. And if he’s responsible, he should pay for it. I want justice for her.”
“I’ll see if we can get you some answers,” Jordan promised. “Hell, maybe it will help us shut him and, ultimately, Jay Barber down for good. Uh, you should be aware, though, that will probably be about the same in the end as you getting cut off. Anything your father earned illegally will be confiscated. A large percentage of his assets will be paid to us as fees. I can’t guarantee we’ll be able to match what he’s giving you, but we’ll set you up as best we can to live your life free of all this.”
“I don’t want my father’s dirty money.” Cash waved them off. “Wasting it was only fun when I thought it would annoy him. As long as I can keep my yacht, my home, that’s all I’m asking for.”
Jordan nodded. “Of course.”
Around the table, people began to shift in their seats, sensing the meeting was about to be adjourned. So it was obvious when Van and Kyra crawled past the doorway. The blond female drummer for Kason Cox—who happened to be married to Jordan and their wife Wren—and his beefy head of security, whisper-shouted, “Mr. Prickles! Mr. Prickles!”
“What the hell are you two doing?” Jordan asked, making them freeze.
“So sorry. Ignore us.” Kyra flashed them an overly bright smile. “La la la.We’re not listening to the murder meeting details. I swear.”
“We do not call them that,” Jordan reminded the pair while glaring at James.
“Sure, sure. We’re leaving anyway. Unless you’ve seen Mr. Prickles?” Kyra asked.
“Who?” Cash squinted as he asked Aarav.
“He’s their husband Ollie’s hedgehog.” Aarav couldn’t help it—he laughed. What a poor impression they must be making on their protectee. But, then again, this sort of crap was what made them loveable and human andnotthe monsters or killing machines some people would have accused them of being.
Despite their boss’s serious expression, James cracked up. It was his fault the term had caught on after he’d busted in on them planning an operation once, before he’d decided to join them and get them organized.
Cash scanned around the room, finally breaking into a smile of his own.
Kyra dismissed Jordan as she lunged then cursed. “Just missed him. Damn it. We have to get him before Ollie comes home. No one open the outside doors until he’s back in his cage.”
The pair scurried off in hot pursuit of their husband’s pet. Jordan dropped his forehead onto his fist as if regretting mixing their personal and professional lives by having their apartments on the floors above their headquarters. It certainly made things interesting.
But before he could recover from their interruption, a set of keys jingled rhythmically as if someone were flipping them around their finger. The noise got closer until a tall, built man with sandy hair and plenty of tattoos wearing ripped, grease-stained jeans wandered in.
Eli, the owner of the Hot Rods restoration garage, and one of their many friends in Middletown stopped short. “Oh shit. Is this a murder meeting?”
“Don’t use the M word!” most of the Shields shouted simultaneously in an attempt to keep Jordan’s head from exploding.
“Yeah, right.” Eli waved off their objections.