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)
I put down my fork, take a deep breath, and meet his eyes. “You keep saying you don’t have a connection to J-Conn, and the evidence backs you up on that, but it doesn’t change the fact that someone thinks otherwise.”
“But you don’t know who that someone is, do you?”
I shake my head, and even as I know I’m stepping over a dangerous line, I’m also realizing that this case isn’t black and white. There’s a definite murky-gray area, and Ian and I are right in the middle of it. Together.
“No, I don’t know,” I say quietly. My boss won’t tell me.
He rubs a hand down his face. “If we had the name of the source, this whole thing would be over,” he says. “It’s got to be someone with a vendetta against me.”
I’ve been starting to think the same thing, but I can’t tell Ian that. Not until I’ve looked at everything, until I’ve dotted every i, crossed every t. I’m close, but I’m not there yet.
Until then, I have to play by the rules.
“It’s also possible the source is someone who needs the SEC’s protection.”
Ian raises his eyebrows.
“It’s not uncommon,” I say. “The system does what it can to protect whistle-blowers. Their reputations, sometimes even their lives, are at stake the moment they come forward. It’s why we do the informal investigation first before escalating it to a formal one.”
Ian snorts. “What, like a white-collar version of witness protection?”
His tone is sarcastic, but his jaw draws open when I don’t say anything.
“Wait, really?” he asks. “They could be keeping a source confidential because they think he’s in danger?”
I shrug. “That’s how it’s supposed to work.”
He rolls his eyes. “Give me a fucking break. You really think this person is in danger? He’s lying, Lara. And the longer he stays in the shadows, the less time my lawyer and I have to refute his claims.”
“This isn’t a John Grisham movie, Ian.”
“Well, it’s not a fucking Disney movie, either. You said yourself you haven’t found any evidence, so why is there still a case?”
“Because I’m not done yet!” I shout. “I’m close. I haven’t found any evidence yet, but I wouldn’t respect myself, and you wouldn’t respect me, either, if I quit now.”
“Fine,” he snaps, draining his wine and standing up with ill-concealed impatience. “Keep the food. Enjoy the wine,” he says, shrugging his suit jacket back on.
“Ian, wait. I thought—”
“We’re either on the same side or we’re not, Ms. McKenzie. Either you think I’m innocent or you think I’m guilty of insider trading. You’ve had more than enough time to decide,” he says grimly, turning to leave.
“That’s not your call to make,” I say, standing and reaching out reflexively but then dropping my hand before I can touch his sleeve. “I do this for a living, and I’m telling you I’m not done. I haven’t been through all the archives yet; I still have a half dozen people to interview—”
“Forget all that!” he shouts, spinning back toward me and stepping so close my breath catches.
He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as though fighting for control. When he opens them again, his gaze is gentler but no less intense. He reaches out, touching my chin lightly so my face is tilted up to his.
I’m not sure what unsettles me more, the desperate urgency in his voice or the feel of his fingers against my face.
“Do you think I’m guilty?”
I sigh. “It’s not that easy—”
“Don’t answer as Ms. McKenzie. Answer as Lara. Do you think I’m guilty?”
I close my eyes to avoid his piercing gaze. The SEC investigator in me knows exactly what I should do—show him to the door and tell him I can’t discuss his case. But it’s not that simple. For the first time in my life, my usual cool objectivity has abandoned me, and in its place is something complicated and scary—something I want more than I’ve ever wanted anything, even the FBI . . .
“Ian,” I whisper, pleading. “Please.” I don’t know what I’m asking for, but he does.
His hands gently cup my face, pulling me closer. The second his mouth closes over mine, I don’t give a damn about right and wrong, or black and white, or rules and protocols.
I only give a damn about him, about the way he makes me feel.
His lips own mine with complete possession, his kiss as confident as it is skilled. But it’s the need that undoes me piece by piece, the desperation in the way he holds me close . . .
He breaks the connection far too soon, breathing hard as his eyes lock on mine. “Figure it out,” he says roughly, stepping back. “And let me know when Ms. McKenzie catches up with Lara.”
“Ian, wait . . .”
But he doesn’t. He walks out the door without another word.