Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“We both know you don’t have a nine o’clock, Mr. Dawson, so you might as well settle in. It’s in Mr. Bradley’s best interest that you do.”
His brown eyes narrow on me. “Why are you after him?”
“I’m simply following through on a lead. It isn’t like I’ve got a personal vendetta against the man.”
His thumb slides slowly up and down his Starbucks cup as he studies me. “You sure about that?”
“About what?”
“That this isn’t personal.” Kennedy’s voice is low and calm, but the jab couldn’t have hit more directly if he’d shouted it.
I’ve never been anything but 100 percent professional on a case, but I’m dangerously close to letting personal motivations creep in on this one. Not just because it could be my ticket into the FBI, but because I honestly can’t say that my opinions on Ian Bradley are solely work-related.
Still, I’m not about to admit that here, so I keep my voice impassive. “I was assigned to the case. I’m following up on the allegations that were handed to me by the SEC.”
“What about the accuser?” he says.
“I’m sorry?”
“You said you knew the allegations. But you don’t know who made the allegations, correct?”
“I can’t answer that.”
He smiles in victory. “You just did.”
I bite my cheek to keep from reacting. Get it under control, Lara. You’re better than this.
I skip right over what Kennedy thinks he knows. “Would you say Mr. Bradley’s skilled at his job?”
“Yes.”
“Better than you?”
“No.”
I lean forward. “And yet, you lost money over J-Conn. He didn’t. Why do you think that is?”
“Because that’s how this business works, Ms. McKenzie. You win some, you lose some. You want me to pull up a list of stocks I made out on when Ian lost? I can. Other companies he benefited from that I didn’t? I can do that, too. The only thing different about J-Conn is the scope of the loss.”
“It’s a big difference, though. You said yourself you lost millions. How did your clients feel about that?”
“Really fantastic, thanks for bringing it up,” he says with a bored look over my shoulder, as though I’m wasting his time.
I very well may be. God knows this is shaping up to be a waste of mine. Hell, for that matter, this whole case is starting to feel like a waste of time, and I really need it not to be. My boss has all but assured me that frying a fish as big as Ian could be the coup I need to make Quantico admissions notice me.
Only the fish and his fleet aren’t cooperating. Either they’re a pack of damn impressive liars, more adept at destroying evidence and covering their tracks than any company I’ve come across so far, or the tip we received is bogus.
It’s not that I think Ian’s incapable of breaking the law. It’s that I think he’s too close with the people around him not to confide in one of them or have them put the pieces together. And while Kate and Kennedy, and I suspect Matt, too, would definitely cover for Ian . . .
I don’t get the sense that they are. They’re too genuinely ticked by my very presence.
Still, I try for one more question, knowing my time is limited, his patience at its end. “Mr. Dawson, I realize Mr. Bradley’s a friend as well as a colleague. I respect that. Which is why you need to understand that the best way you can protect him is to be honest with me about any connection he may have to J-Conn.”
He’s silent for a moment. “You want me to be honest.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“You want me to tell you anything about him that might be useful to you.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes, absolutely.”
“All right, then. Maybe this will be helpful . . . I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so pissed off.”
“When?” I ask, leaning forward.
“Right now.”
The gruff statement isn’t Kennedy’s. It comes from behind me, and even if I didn’t already hear that voice in my dirty dreams at night, I’d know exactly whom it belongs to by Kennedy’s growing smirk.
Taking a deep breath, I stand and turn to face a very irate-looking Ian.
9
IAN
Week 2: Monday Morning
“My office. Now.”
I don’t bother waiting to see if Lara follows me—I know she will. She’s been panting after a meeting for days now and stalking me at lunch. She’ll follow.
My office is on the opposite corner of our floor from Kennedy’s. My long strides mean I beat her to it, but I stand by the door until she enters, slamming it shut and moving toward her until she’s backed up against it.
I don’t mean to. I’m not the sort of shithead who uses my title or build to intimidate people, but intimidating is not my angle here. I’m pissed.
Pissed that she followed me to lunch last Friday. Pissed that she’s interrogating my friends.