Interesting. “Go on.”
“I’m in the market for a fixer and rumor has it, you can make things happen. Or make it seem like they never happened. I’m real interested in both of those skills and a lot more. And as you might guess from our mutual friend, I like to keep my private life private and I pride myself on helping my employees do the same. So what do you say?”
“I won’t help anyone running against my sister, or any family members who might run for office in the future.”
Best to get that out of the way because if that was a dealbreaker for Taj, this deal was dead on arrival and there was no discussion left to be had.
“Fair enough.”
That was as tempting a proposition as he’d ever heard, and none too soon.
“I’ll think about it.”
“You do that,” Taj said, and then hung up.
That was fine. He had a brother to pay a visit to.
* * *
Lowell
He didn’t remember the drive over to Cabot and Nuala’s house, but here he was in their semi-circle drive in front of their grand colonial, and then his feet were carrying him up the wide steps to the front door where he rang the bell. As though he was paying a social call instead of confronting his own brother about putting a hit on his little girl.
Nuala answered the door, looking surprised but not displeased to see him.
“Lowell, come in. We weren’t expecting you.”
“Is my brother here?”
“Yes, he’s in his office. Would you like me to—”
Lowell walked past the petite, dark-haired woman and as he strode to the back of the house where his brother’s study looked out onto his manicured yard, some of the numbness wore off and the fury rose to the surface.
“Cabot!” he roared, the two syllables drawn out by his wrath.
Although he doubtless knew why Lowell was storming his office like a viking intent on sacking a monastery, Cabot rose calmly from behind his desk which only incensed Lowell more. To the point that he rounded his brother’s large desk, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall of built-ins. The books and picture frames shook with the impact.
“What the fuck were you thinking? She could’ve been killed!”
“That was sort of the idea, yes,” Cabot muttered, and rage blurred Lowell’s vision. “I was getting impatient. It’s not like you to be so indecisive. Seemed like I needed to take matters into my own hands. Or rather pay someone else to take matters into theirs.”
God, he was so fucking cold.
“You seriously hired someone to murder a woman so you could get your way?”
“Nothing else was working. She was the only thing standing in the way of you coming to work for mw. And you were the one who taught me that it was the end that was important, not the means. Do whatever you’ve got to do, no matter the cost?”
Lowell had known, of course, that his brother was ruthless. Seemed like the Foster-Webb siblings had either turned out honorable and good-natured and driven like Huxley and Holland and Keaton, or they’d grown up to be competitive to a fault, brutal and callous. Like he was. Like Cabot was.
His stomach lurched, because was he really as cold-blooded as Cabot? He didn’t like to think so, but he couldn’t say for sure. He sure felt pretty fucking murderous right about now.
“How did you think this was going to go down? That you’d put a hit on her, and then I’d just shrug and straighten my tie and come work for you?”
Cabot’s nostrils flared as his eyes narrowed. “I thought there might be a small gap in between, but yes.”
“And did you think about what would happen when I figured out it was you? Because you know I would.”
“If anyone would understand, I thought it would be you. What’s a woman to legacy? To power and influence and money? You’ve spent too much time with Hux, you’ve gone soft.”