Jane Harvey-Berrick Saving The Billionaire

by Harvey-Berrick, Jane

  Rachel looks like she’s trying not to smile. As she heads to the kitchen, I jerk my head at Banner, and we scatter before the hurricane hits, then sit in my office, as useful as dicks on a donut.

  As ever, I let the job consume me. I knew a guy once who worked in bomb disposal: he could concentrate on disarming a complex IED even while bullets and shit were flying around him, because he knew that distraction was dangerous. He allowed himself to be utterly absorbed by his work.

  I operate in a similar way. I can’t prevent the ice storm from taking place in the living room after Maria’s putdown, I just make sure I’ve got snowshoes and a shovel on hand. And the way Maria is cutting a swathe through Anderson’s walls of anger and misery, I probably need my Kevlar vest, too.

  I turn to my computer and start working through emails. Mason has sent details of the Taiwanese trip and Pam will be leaving soon. She delayed a day to see if Anderson would be going with her.

  Seventeen minutes later, Banner stretches and stands.

  “I’ll go wait in the garage, T. Buzz me when Mrs. A. is on her way.”

  Three minutes later, Maria strides past my office. She doesn’t look in my direction, although she has a huge smile on her face, so I simply let Banner know to bring the car around front. For a small woman, she looks like an Amazon this morning.

  I feel real pity for the boss. In the almost two years I’ve known him, he’s positioned himself so he doesn’t have to deal with the emotions of others, let alone his own. Maria has torn down every wall, kicked open every door with her dainty, size six boots.

  Five minutes later, Anderson appears in the main room and sits at the breakfast bar.

  As always.

  Egg white omelet.

  As always.

  Eating in silence.

  Just like it was before Maria came into his life. But this time he’s smiling to himself.

  Weird. Don’t fuck this up, boss.

  As I leave to collect the car, Rachel places a soft kiss on my lips.

  “Look after him,” she whispers.

  “He’s a billionaire who’s married the love of his life and knocked her up. I’d say life is pretty peachy for him right now.”

  “Exactly,” she says, leaving me confused. Then she kisses me, leaving me confused but happy.

  During the short drive to work, the boss hums. It’s fucking irritating. He’s never hummed before. He’s sworn, yelled, and played tic tac toe on with the stock market on his phone, but he’s never hummed.

  If the world is ending, no one sent me the memo.

  I have an urge to turn on the radio, but it would be just my luck to hear Simon and Garfunkel singing, Hello, darkness, my old friend, and then I’d have to redefine the meaning of irony.

  My phone pings and a message from Reynolds is displayed on the center console: Maria has arrived at work.

  I shrug. I’m a driver and a bodyguard. I’m not Anderson’s friend and I’m not his therapist. Thank fuck.

  It’s a long day. Pam has flown to Taiwan. Ryan has been relegated to the outer office. No one goes into Anderson’s domain. He’s taking phone calls and has a video conference with his international law team hashing out the last issues on the Taiwan contract.

  I keep busy, working out a new security plan with Mason for Maria’s family and at the Farm.

  The highlight of my day is a text from Rachel; the lowlight is a conversation with Mason. He’s heard a whisper that Kranz will get bail after all. I hope to hell he’s wrong. The source of the intel is not the best, so we won’t act on it yet. If he does get out, I want a heads up so I can have the fucker watched 24/7.

  Finally, Anderson texts me to say he’s ready to go home.

  On the way, he tells me that we’re flying to Vermont the next day. Leaving early.

  But as he exits the car at Wolf Point, he turns to me.

  “How do you do it, Trainer? How do you be a father?”

  And isn’t that the billion-dollar question.

  “Well, sir, I guess you do it one day at a time, and by loving that little bundle of trouble more than anything else in the whole world.”

  He studies my face for several seconds, then nods and walks away.

  I’m dog tired and fall into bed, Rachel wrapped around me as I lose myself inside her, feeling her love surround me. She clings to me and I want to promise her it’s all going to be okay. But I say nothing, because I don’t lie to my woman.

  I wake in the night and hear a strange sound. Holy shit! I think it’s the boss’s piano. In the two years I’ve known him, I’ve never heard him play before, not that you can call this playing.

  I slide out of bed, careful not to wake Rachel, then pull on a pair of sweats in case Maria is walking around anywhere.

  When I approach the living room, I see the boss sitting on the piano stool, the only lighting from outside, and every second, he plays the same, solitary note on the piano, repeated over and over again. One note, struck continuously, marking the seconds throughout the night.

  Then Maria enters the room. She doesn’t turn on the light, but sits beside him on the piano bench. The boss pauses, his finger poised over the piano key, when Maria takes his hand.

  “It’s okay, Devon. It’s okay. We’re okay.” And then she lays her hand on her flat stomach. “All three of us, we’ll be okay.”

  The boss’s head slumps. When I see the tears on his cheeks, I leave as silently as I arrived, sliding back into my own bed. And then I concentrate on listening to the hopeful sounds of Rachel’s soft breaths.

  Seeing Anderson the next morning, you wouldn’t know that you were looking at a man with half his soul ripped apart and taped back together. I can see in the glazed expression on the university receptionist’s face that she’s just as enthralled as ever.

  It’s an interesting day. The Agriculture Division has made some impressive progress in their GM research. But I know for a fact that Anderson wouldn’t be here if he didn’t need distraction from thinking about becoming a father. I’m guessing that he also wants reassurance that he’s not a completely soulless bastard. What better way than to spend the day having his ego stroked by people grateful for his money, appreciative of his keen understanding and tenacious logic. I don’t blame him for that. We all crave acceptance from somewhere. Those of us who are human.

  “We’re heading back now, Trainer.”

  Thank fuck for that.

  I can feel a slight relaxation in the tense atmosphere when we land in Manhattan ninety minutes later. The nearer he gets to his wife, the safer he feels.

  That Newton dude will have to write a new law of gravity for Anderson and Maria: they can’t help being pulled toward each other. He’s a cold planet to her sun.

  The rotor blades are still turning when my cell rings.

  “T, fuck, man! Mrs. Anderson got a call from her friend Dolores Quinlan and just skipped out on me!”

  “What?”

  He’s not making sense.

  “She took the Benz. Just fuckin’ took off! She’s not answering her cell and Ms. Quinlan isn’t answering hers. I’m following Mrs. Anderson’s car. She’s heading north on … no, she’s taken the exit towards the New Jersey Turnpike.”

  Maria! What the hell are you doing?

  Anderson’s stare is intense.

  “You’re on speaker, Banner. Mr. Anderson is present. Where are you now?”

  “I’m following Mrs. Anderson. She’s speaking to someone on her cell. She seems agitated. Intercept or follow?”

  “Follow. I’ll tell Evans and Mason. We’ll be there in…” I check my wristwatch and my eyes flick up to Anderson.

  He nods.

  “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Anderson closes his eyes.

  I can tell that he wants to drive himself to release some of the painful tension that is swirling inside him, but it’s safer if I take the wheel. He’s too damn distracted and he knows it.

  I update Mason, but there’s more ba
d news.

  “Trainer, Kranz has been released. For some reason that really gives me a bad feeling, my request to hear the status of his detention was ‘lost’.”

  “Fuck! How long has been out?”

  “At least three hours.”

  “How the fuck did he make bail.”

  “You’re not going to like this,” Mason bites out. “Landon paid his bail.”

  And there’s the firm connection that we were looking for. Landon has finally played his hand—but what’s his endgame?

  The boss is restless, tugging at his tie, checking his cell phone for messages, drumming his fingers on his thighs. I’ve never seen him so agitated. His usual m.o. is to descend into stillness. It unnerves his opponents. But Maria isn’t his opponent—she’s his reason for living.

  My cell rings again.

  “This isn’t a good time, Howard.”

  “T, the blackmailer made his move! He’s spamming the internet with home videos. Warpath’s face is blurred, but that encryption will last an hour…”

  “And then?”

  “The world will know Mr. A’s kink.”

  “Fuck! Can you stop it?”

  “Maybe.”

  I’ve never heard Howard say ‘maybe’ ever. That’s not good.

  “Don’t tell me ‘maybe’, Howard. Give me something.”

  “I’m going to fianchetto his Bishop.”

  Is that a sex thing?

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a Chess move, T. He’ll underestimate my move, and then I’ll checkmate him.”

  “Will that work?”

  “99.43% of the time.”

  And he hangs up.

  Anderson is staring at me, completely stricken. I don’t need to explain. Everything has been timed to coincide: Dolores’ phone call, Maria’s disappearance, and the blackmailer.

  “Trainer,” he barks, “it has to be him! Forget the blackmailer, we have to find Maria! I’m going to kill him. If anything happens … if…”

  But he can’t continue. He rubs his eyes so hard I’m afraid he’ll gouge them out.

  “Just find her!”

  I keep driving toward Maria’s last known location, waiting for Mason to patch through the GPS coordinates on the car’s console.

  My phone rings for a third time, and the sound fires acid through my veins.

  “Banner, what’s…”

  “Mrs. Anderson just tossed her cell out of the car window. I think the asshole directing her realized it would be tracked.”

  “Can you keep eyes on?”

  “Negative. Traffic is crazy.”

  “The Mercedes is lo-jacked.”

  “It’s been disabled.”

  My blood pressure escalates.

  “But Mason just ran all the Wolf Point cells and something strange popped up: Mrs. Smith’s cell phone is showing at a location three miles away in a district that’s scheduled for redevelopment—just a bunch of empty apartment buildings waiting for demolition, but she texted me an hour ago to say she was heading out to do some grocery shopping in the Village. It’s too much of a coincidence, T.”

  “Fuck!”

  “I tried calling her, but she’s not answering.”

  I’m ice cold.

  “I’m sorry, T,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I’m keeping eyes on that location, but she … the phone isn’t moving. I’m sending the intel to the Rover now.”

  Anderson leans forward, his eyes fixed on the small screen. Finally, it pings to life. Neither of us speak as I violate every driving law ever made to close the distance between us and that small red dot on the screen.

  We drive through the city, screaming around corners on two wheels and even catching air as I hit a speed bump. Soon, we’re racing through the city and take the turn off into a desolate area full of weed-covered lots and ‘keep out’ signs.

  There’s still no sign of Maria or Banner and I estimate that we’re less than five minutes behind him. Where the hell is he?

  Then I see Maria’s Mercedes parked at a crazy angle in front of a condemned building, the driver’s door wide open as if it’s just been abandoned, Banner’s SUV beside it.

  I brake hard and Anderson leaps out of the car as I draw my weapon. I’m right behind him as we both hear the sound of gunshots, so close together, it’s hard to tell whether there were two or three. Unarmed, Anderson rushes forward, his wife’s name on his lips.

  Christ, no!

  Chapter 32

  Heat

  THE PARTIALLY DEMOLISHED building is a sniper’s paradise and I run in a zigzag toward the boss, my Smith & Wesson in my hand.

  Maria is down, blood trickling from a gunshot wound to her arm. Anderson kneels beside her, afraid to touch her, his eyes wide and full of fear.

  Banner is lying with his eyes open and a red gaping hole in his throat and blood pooling around him. I check his pulse, but he’s already gone.

  “Dev! He killed Lance! Lance was trying to protect me! Dios!”

  “Shh, don’t talk. I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “No, listen! It isn’t him!”

  And she points to Wyatt fucking Kranz who is turning white as he grips a flesh wound on his thigh.

  “He made me do it!” he shrieks.

  I pick up his weapon and stamp hard on the hand that was reaching for it. Kranz screams loudly, a very fucking pleasing sound.

  I see a second gun on the ground: Banner’s.

  The boss is cradling Maria in his arms, his eyes screwed tightly shut and a low pitched cry like a wounded animal rips out of him.

  “Dev, I’m okay,” she says faintly. “But you’ve got it wrong. It’s not him!”

  I have just a few seconds to decide what to do.

  I turn my gun on Kranz.

  “You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as them,” I say, inclining my head toward Anderson and Maria.

  The Smith & Wesson would take less than half a pound of pressure to send a bullet hurtling down the chamber. Just one small neural reflex and this fucker is out of the picture for good. He can’t hurt anyone else.

  I want to do it so badly. So fucking badly. But I hear Rachel’s voice in my head. I know that she wouldn’t want me to kill him in cold blood. But I wonder. Would any prosecutor charge me? Would any jury find me guilty? I don’t think so. And what’s more, I know the boss wouldn’t let anyone convict me. But I hesitate: where are Rachel and Dolores? And where is Landon? Is he here or with the blackmailer? I need those answers because without them…

  My decision is half a second too slow.

  I never get to pull the trigger.

  Someone else isn’t hesitating.

  A shot rings out and Kranz falls backward in a pool of blood, his fingers scrabbling weakly until he stops moving.

  Maria screams and faints, and automatically I dive for cover, rolling until I’m hidden in the shadows behind an old oil drum. But Anderson is still kneeling on the cold concrete, cradling Maria.

  And Frederick bitch-ball Landon is standing with a gun trained on them.

  “How nice to see you again, Devon. I always liked you on your knees.”

  “Freddie.”

  The boss’s voice is angry but resigned, as if he’d always known this day was coming.

  Keeping to the shadows, I edge closer.

  Landon has the pistol pointed at the boss’s head. From four feet away, he won’t miss. If I took him down, one twitch of his finger would send a bullet into Anderson’s brain.

  “I need to call an ambulance,” the boss begs.

  “Oh, I don’t think poor Wyatt needs an ambulance now. Pity.”

  “An ambulance for Maria! Freddie, please! She’s losing blood.”

  Landon ignores him.

  “Wyatt was a useful assistant, although sorely disappointing in bed. He hated you,” he says, smiling at Anderson. “He hated you as much as pathetic little Aston loved you. God, it was hard work keeping him in line.”

  “It doesn’t make sense, Fred
die. I never knew Wyatt Kranz!”

  “That didn’t stop him from loathing you. He was very much like you, you know. Let’s just say … he was at one of those other parties, the ones you tried so hard to suppress. But you can’t stop people’s basic needs, Devon. You of all people should know that. Pretending that you can be normal and have a normal life. Good grief, you even went so far as to fool yourself by getting married! But it was amusing to watch you have your little moment. It won’t last, of course.”

  He’s gloating, relishing the enjoyment of letting Anderson know how long he’s been manipulating him, all the strands of Anderson’s life that’s he’s been holding.

  “But I didn’t appreciate being left off the guest list, Devon. That was very, very wrong of you. Your parents asked questions, ones that I wasn’t prepared to answer. I had to act very hurt. Well, that was fun. So amusing to be best friends with your poor, dear, clueless parents. If only they knew what a naughty boy you’ve been. But I think they’re about to find out. In 37 minutes—then the Farm’s tapes will be released. Unless…”

  Anderson ignores his taunts.

  “I need an ambulance for Maria. She’s pregnant!”

  Landon’s lips curl in disgust.

  “How utterly prosaic. You chose to breed like a common rutting bull with that little slut. You could have been extraordinary, Devon. Instead you choose to be one of the common herd. It’s pathetic. She will never be what you need.”

  “Please, Freddie. If you ever cared about me…”

  He laughs, a cold, chilling sound.

  “Care about you?” His eyes darken. “I cared that I had you under my control. I could see the potential—I simply wanted a fair return on my investment. You think those few million that you threw into my cigar bar business was enough? You owe me everything! Everything! We should have been partners! Your business should be MINE! It should be ME that Presidents want to meet; ME who has every businessman on the East Coast pandering to his every whim—not you! NEVER YOU!” He pauses, his mouth twisted. “And now you have 35 minutes.”

  His breathing is fast and I wonder if he’s distracted enough for me to take him, but the gun is still pointed at the boss.