Free Controlling Interest by Elizabeth White Page A

Dean’s jaw. It was downright miraculous. “I’ll vouch for the fact that he’s a reformed man. No more pyrotechnics.”
    â€œOf course I’m sorry.” Matt tried to look sincere. Which wouldn’t have been so difficult if Natalie hadn’t just out-charmed him. “I promise I’ll tell all my billiards buddies this is the place to come.”
    The big man’s shoulders relaxed. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have the guts to show your face again.”
    â€œWe had to talk to a couple of your regulars,” Natalie interrupted. “Joey Roberts and Leland Stafford had seen a young woman we’re trying to find. Maybe you saw her yesterday evening when they brought her here.”
    Dean looked marginally interested. “Maybe. What did she look like?”
    â€œTwenty-five years old, Pakistani — never mind, here’s her picture.” Matt pulled Yasmine’s head shot from his pocket. “She had on a lime green outfit, one of those loose, gauzy dress things with pants.”
    Dean took the picture and nodded. “Yeah, I remember. Tiny little thing, noticed the big brown eyes and funny outfit. Wondered what the heck she was doing with Joey and Leland.”
    Natalie bounced on her toes. “Joey said she went into the restroom, but he lost track of her after that. Did you see where she went?”
    â€œShe asked me if I’d call her a cab, so I did, on my cell. She waited by the bar talking to Jason until it came.”
    Natalie gasped, and Matt wondered if he’d ever been that excited about doing his job. “Did you notice which cab company?” She pulled out her pad and pencil.
    Dean looked up at the sky. “Yellow, I think.”
    â€œYellow.” Natalie wrote it down as if the bouncer had narrowed their search beyond three-quarters of the cab service in Memphis. “What time was it when they picked her up?”
    â€œNearly six — happy hour was just about over.”
    â€œYellow Cab, six o’clock.” Matt took Natalie’s notepad, scribbled, and stuck it in his pocket. “Let’s go. Thanks, Deano.” Halfway to the car, he looked over his shoulder. Big Dean was standing right where they’d left him, head down. Compunction needled Matt’s conscience. Leaving Natalie, he walked back. “Tell your brother I’m really sorry about the fire. I should’ve already come to him to apologize.”
    The bouncer looked up, face softened. “Big of you, man. Apology accepted. Just don’t bring no more fireworks to celebrate the holidays, okay?”
    â€œYou got it.” Matt offered a hand, which Dean took in a crushing grip. Then, chuckling, he accompanied Natalie to the car. “Guess I’m lucky I got off with a smashed hand and messed-up hair.”
    â€œUm-hm. You’re welcome.” Natalie waited for him to open her door.
    â€œWhat? I’d have brought him around eventually.”
    â€œYeah, after he tossed you through the window.”
    â€œPorky’s doesn’t have any windows.” Matt sighed. “Alright! Thank you, Condoleezza Rice, for your masterful diplomatic skills. Nobel Peace Prize coming your way.”
    Natalie grinned and slid in.
    As they drove, she was so quiet that Matt glanced at her. “What?”
    She bit her lip. “Is there a lot of that kind of stuff in your history?”
    â€œWhat kind of stuff?”
    â€œFights. Fires.” She circled her hand. “Yada yada.”
    He hesitated, his mother’s voice ringing in his ears: Be careful where you go and whose company you keep, Matthew. The consequences of your choices will follow you around the rest of your life.
    The ironic thing was the biggest train wreck of his life had occurred after his decision to follow Christ — or, more precisely, because of it. If he’d kept George Field’s crimes to himself, he wouldn’t be in this