Читать книгу The Charm Offensive - Cari Lynn Webb - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

BRAD NOTICED SOPHIE push the empty cart into the back room. For such a petite package, the woman remained a study in motion. She hadn’t stopped moving since she’d wedged herself between him and the cart and demanded he stop shelving her dog food.

He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d already found families for those kittens he’d brought inside.

She was efficient, competent and obviously guilty—like her father. There had to be a dark side to balance all that good, and he’d always been fascinated with exposing that shady inner core. And Sophie Callahan was too fascinating.

Matt leaned against his truck and tossed the tape measure at Brad. “Got a case you’re investigating?”

“No.” Brad caught the tape measure and avoided his friend’s stare. He wasn’t working a case. He was doing a favor. A favor for the widow whose late husband should be seated behind the Pacific Hills mayor’s desk, instead of his mother. “Would it matter?”

“If it involved Sophie Callahan, then yes, it’d matter.” Matt came over to stand beside Brad. “It’d matter a lot.”

Despite his experience, and what it had taken to build his company into a high-end forensic accounting and surveillance specialist firm, Brad hadn’t anticipated his friend’s reaction. Brad tapped the toe of his boot against the corner of the plywood-covered window. If he rammed his foot into the adjoining window, he’d shatter the glass. Nothing unexpected about that. Whereas everything was unexpected about Sophie.

His grandmother had dragged him to the symphony when he was thirteen. He’d been struggling to fit into his height, cursing his pimples and praying Sarah Quincy wouldn’t spot his braces. He’d lodged a series of complaints longer than any kid’s Christmas wish list from the back seat of his grandfather’s pickup, and still they’d arrived early to the performance. He’d slouched in his chair, dug his chin into his chest, convinced the evening would be torture.

But the music—the drive of the woodwinds, beat of the percussion and harmony of the strings—collided inside him and shoved out everything until only the sound remained. He’d never confessed to his grandparents, and even now his family didn’t know his contributions put him in the VIP seats of the San Francisco Philharmonic’s Stradivarian Circle, where he escaped to as often as possible.

Sophie Callahan was the first person to pull at him in places he thought only the music could reach. But, unlike the symphony, he wasn’t interested in becoming a patron of Sophie Callahan’s.

“Look, I carried in a box of kittens to her store this morning.” Brad pointed at the counter. Ruthie held a gray kitten while Ella hugged the white runt. Brad’s mother would approve of Sophie’s dedication to animals. That wasn’t Sophie’s first rescue litter and she acted as if she knew it wouldn’t be her last. Still, she remained committed.

Brad’s commitment to his own one-man cause seemed slightly more selfish in the face of Sophie’s passion for animal rescue. But he was doing what was best for him and his family: leaving. “Some jerk just dumped the box outside her place,” he explained.

“Hold on.” Matt yanked open the door and called to Ruthie, who laughed at his admonition to not get too attached to the kittens and lifted one of the kitty’s paws in a tiny wave.

Matt let the door close. “Ruthie’s sister has not one but two Great Danes that split their time between our house and Sophie’s day care. They’ll accidentally step on a kitten without ever noticing.”

Exasperation was thick in Matt’s tone, but he never masked the tenderness in his gaze when Ruthie was in his sights. Brad’s friend would bring that kitten home in an instant if Ruthie asked, and he’d protect it with everything he had. Love suited his friend. But Brad doubted he could ever love like that. He carried too much Harrington DNA. His family put on the show of being loyal, but at their core it was every Harrington for himself.

Brad measured the window and glanced over his shoulder at his friend. “I’ve been told big dogs can be extremely gentle.”

Matt watched Ruthie through the glass and grinned. “Don’t pass that information along to the doctor.”

“I’m sure Sophie already told Ruthie.” Brad typed the measurements into the notepad app on his phone, straightened and handed the tape measure to Matt.

Matt never reached for it and instead stared at Brad. “I meant what I said. It would matter if Sophie were involved.”

“Understood.” Brad tossed the tape measure from one hand to the other. He’d already lied to his friend about not being on a case. Fishing for information couldn’t be a worse offense than that. “Anything else I should know?”

“Sophie and Ruthie have been best friends since high school.” There was a warning in Matt’s tone and caution in his silence.

Brad waited.

Matt added, “Sophie Callahan is what I like to call good people.”

He’d witnessed the darkness that festered inside good people enough times in his career as an investigator that he wondered if true goodness was more myth than reality. Only time would reveal if Sophie’s goodness came from her soul—something he’d yet to witness—or simply camouflaged a more corrupt nature. Something that had become his norm. “And I’m not good people?”

“You’re the bubble buster.” Matt laughed and punched Brad’s shoulder, breaking the tension and putting them back on familiar ground. “The harbinger of truth.”

“Truth sets people free.” Brad punched back. He was certainly free now that he’d learned the truth about his parents. Free from the manipulation. Free to pursue his own life on his own terms. He’d gained way more than he’d lost. And if he exposed Sophie’s father, George Callahan, for the low-life thief that he was, then he’d set Sophie free as well, if she was innocent.

“And I don’t always expose the full truth.” He knew when to hold back, like now, with his friend. Brad rubbed at his neck. Surely that wasn’t guilt knotting his muscles. Guilt wasn’t standard procedure. “The Nikkos kids will learn the truth about their arms-dealing father when he goes to trial. And that wife of the fraudulent banker hadn’t wanted to accept the facts. But the truth always comes out eventually, whether a person is prepared or not.”

“Your brand of truth alters lives. And you know I agree with you, or I wouldn’t have joined you on those cases or any of the others.” Matt opened the lid on his toolbox. “But there’s an aftermath.”

Brad tossed the tape measure inside and closed the lid. If only that pinch of guilt was as easy to discard.

Matt studied him. “But she isn’t your case.”

“No.” Sophie Callahan was part of the aftermath. He’d skipped breakfast that morning and assumed the gnawing in his stomach was from hunger, not unease about Sophie. He’d never stayed long enough to witness the ramifications or the consequences. He’d always presented his findings, ensured justice was done and moved on.

Except for his last FBI investigation that had resulted in a counterattack explosion, an innocent woman’s death and his resignation. Yet, according to Dr. Florence, he’d resolved his feelings of regret and blame in his yearlong biweekly therapy sessions. Though, now, he wasn’t so sure, and despite leaving the Bureau, there was still always a next case. Still never time to review his emotions or stick around for the aftermath.

Matt squeezed his shoulder. “Besides, in a few weeks you’ll be leaving the corporate embezzlers, cyber criminals and money launderers behind and seeking your own truth with the sharks, stars and open waters.”

“Maybe when I return, I’ll be good people, too.” Brad feared if he stayed in the city, he’d become more like his mother. Matt would never consider Harringtons good people if he knew the full truth about Brad’s family.

“You should at least have a good tan.” Matt laughed before climbing into his truck.

Brad watched Sophie return to the storefront and help Ella into a fuzzy jacket that made her look like a baby polar bear: warm and bundled up and adorable. Sophie slipped into a similar fleece jacket that she zipped up to her chin. Brad decided Sophie looked entirely too huggable and tempting. For that alone, he needed to expose her secrets.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and strode down the sidewalk. Within twenty-four hours, he’d have Sophie’s security system installed; before the end of the long weekend, he’d locate her wayward father and deliver the truth to his client. As for Sophie, she was either innocent or guilty. Right now, he’d bet on the latter. No woman had ever gotten under his skin, or rather sneaked under, until today. Either she practiced witchcraft or had perfected a legitimate cover that only made him all the more suspicious. No one would ever imagine the adorable pet-shop owner who rescued strays to be a master con artist. No one except him.

A forgotten section of the Times tumbled out of the mist as if the fog had printed its own dire headlines. He stomped on the newspaper, stopping its escape, and bent down, crumpling it in his fist. Somewhere he’d lost his ability to believe in good. To see hope. To imagine something better. He smashed the newspaper into an overflowing trash can, wanting to punch through his own cynicism. But he feared no matter how far he dug, he might never discover that missing part of himself. It was like searching for a rare penny in the city dump. An impossible task.

For now, he just needed to finish this case quickly. Then he’d do what he always did—move on. Or in this case, set sail.