A Collateral Attraction

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A Collateral Attraction Page 23

by Liz Madrid


  “It has, hasn’t it? But it’s a lifetime, Billie, at least for me, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

  “So what happens next, Heath? I mean, after your meeting with the board?”

  He exhales. “After I defend my decision to delay informing the board about Blythe’s alleged fraud and show them everything my office has discovered so far — that Jackson and Charlene were behind all this — life will go on as always. And if there’s someone else involved, we will find them. I still hold majority control of the company so even if they vote me out for incompetence, it won’t change anything — not unless I’m dead.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I’m sorry. Anyway, I just need to find out who stands to benefit the most from the company falling apart. It could be one of our competitors, some activist investor…or it could be someone from inside.”

  “What about Richard?” I ask. “Doesn’t he know too much, being Ethan’s assistant? Didn’t you say that they trained in the same polo school together, but that he just couldn’t make it past the top 200?”

  “We did run a check on him today and other than being adopted, I guess his only crime would be being Ethan’s number one groupie, living his dreams through Ethan. Hanging out with famous people, that kind of thing. It’s what he gets off on,” Heath says, sighing. “But why are we talking about business again, Billie? I wanted to talk about us.”

  I giggle. “Pillow talk, you mean — without the pillow part?”

  “Shh, you’re not alone, you know.” Heath whispers. I love seeing him drop all his defenses, even if it’s just over the phone.

  “Did you know this is the most we’ve talked today?” I say as thunder rumbles overhead, the skies lighting up seconds later. “I mean, once you work, you really work.”

  “Hang on a second, Billie,” Heath says as I hear the sound of someone’s phone alarm going off in the background. It’s the sound of crickets, loud and annoying the longer it continues. “Can someone get that please?”

  There’s mumbling in the background, as if he’s awoken everyone in the cabin with his request.

  Heath’s voice returns on the line. “Someone’s set his phone alarm — oh, wait, it’s one of my security. Rogers, yes, you needed what? Oh, God-“

  Suddenly there’s a piercing scream on the phone, followed by one word — knife! A scuffle ensues and then shouts. Then I hear Heath groan.

  “Heath!” I scream just as the sound of crickets goes off inside the SUV and I see Brad reach for something from the glove compartment.

  A gun.

  29

  Memory

  The moment Brad’s gun goes off inside the SUV, the flash from the muzzle fire blinding me, and the explosion from the bullet exiting the chamber so deafening that my ears are left ringing long after everything goes dark, I get things all wrong — the date, the time, who I’m with, even where I am.

  For as both men in the front seat battle for control of the car, the SUV hurtling across the opposite lane and flying over the embankment before it rolls down a steep slope, I’m somewhere else.

  Somehow, I’m in the back of another car with mom and dad in the front seat and they’re talking about Blythe, and how she got herself through another year in fashion merchandising and how they’re so proud of her.

  “And we’re so proud of you, too, honey,” Mom is saying as she turns to look at me from the front passenger seat, her left arm reaching back to grasp my hand. “Just because we hardly say it doesn’t mean we love you any less, or aren’t proud of you. We are so proud of you, honey, we really are.”

  “But I haven’t finished anything,” I shrug. “I quit school last year, remember?”

  “Yet here you are helping us with the shop, bringing it into the 21st century with a website and social media — whatever that is,” Mom says, making a face. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. But you’ve put us on the map, Billie, and we even internet orders. Can you believe that? Internet orders!”

  “But we were actually thinking that maybe you could go back to school in the fall semester — in a few months,” Dad says, glancing at me from the rear-view window. “Business administration, right? Mom and I saved enough for a four-year degree for you-“

  I sit up, surprised. “Four-year? Like a university?”

  Mom grins. “We wanted to surprise you.”

  Dad glances at me from the rear-view mirror again. “It’s time we explore the world while you go back to school getting your degree. Just a few weeks, not like we’re taking a year off or anything, but it will be good for you to go back to school, honey.”

  “But what about the store?” I ask.

  There’s a pregnant pause between them before Mom speaks. “You know I inherited my parents’ house, right? The one in Sacramento that we rent out? Right now, the tenants’ lease is coming up in less than year. We plan to just move over there and be more in town, you know, not too isolated up here.”

  “We’re not going to sell the building, honey,” Dad says reassuringly, “if that’s what you’re worried about. The shop will always be there, and if it’s not Thyme and Lavender, it will be something else. It’s up to you and Blythe to decide what to do with the property when we’re gone.”

  “Don’t say that, Dad,” I say, frowning. “It’s too soon to talk about morbid stuff like us dying.”

  But it’s not too soon, not when there’s a Mustang barreling towards us with its headlights off just as Dad makes the sharp turn on the two-lane highway.

  30

  Players

  The smell of gasoline wakes me first, along with the creaking of twisted metal and someone tugging on my seatbelt, trying to click it loose. The car is upside down and I can see the headlights illuminating the woods beyond.

  “Wake up, damn it!” someone is saying, a rough hand, slapping me fully awake. “Run, Billie! Run for the road!”

  With one final tug, the seatbelt comes loose and I slide down against the roof of the car that’s now filling with mud and rain through the broken windows. Beyond the clearing where the SUV landed on its roof, there’s only darkness though I can hear the sound of rushing water nearby. Outside, someone is moving as the smell of gasoline grows stronger.

  “Run, Billie,” Wally mutters just before someone pulls him back outside the windows and I smell fresh blood as Brad hits Wally with a punch that sends him slamming against the car. The impact causes the metal to groan, and I hear the sound of glass crunching beneath me as adrenaline finally takes over and I squeeze myself through the broken window, glass shards cutting through my jacket and skin.

  Both men are slipping and falling on the muddied ground, their punches connecting and missing. There’s a gun on the ground near me but before I can even think of reaching for it, Wally orders me to run once again. Then he grabs hold of Brad’s jacket and pulling him backwards, they tumble down some ravine, beyond the reach of the SUV’s headlights.

  Somewhere in the distance, I hear the sound of rushing water and I wonder if we’re close to the Yuba River. I wish I could get my bearings but I can’t. Parts of Highway 49 are devoid of houses and I wish I’d paid attention to where we were exactly just before the alarm of crickets sounded. All I know is that we’re not far from where my parents’ car ended up three years earlier, which also means that we pretty much ended up in a secluded area.

  As I stand up on shaky legs, the crack of gunfire breaks through my panicked thoughts and I freeze.

  “Wally?” I whisper as I see the branches move in the distance. Not waiting to see if it is Wally, I scramble as quickly as I can down the embankment, and hide myself beneath an outcropping of borders. Wally, please be alive.

  There’s a screech of tires up on the road above us and for a moment I wonder if it’s a passing motorist. I should get out and get help, but just as I make a move to step out of my hiding place, I hear Brad’s voice.

  “Down here!”

  Before long I hear someone making their way noisily dow
n the slope, cursing about the mud getting into his Gucci shoes and ruining his Ferragamo coat.

  Richard Pressman.

  “So is he dead?” Brad asks. I realize then that I’ve never heard him speak before, and his voice makes my blood run cold.

  “I’d hope so. The in-flight lines are not working but Rogers should be calling me soon,” Richard replies. “I’ve even tried calling Heath’s phone, but he’s not answering.”

  There’s a scuffle and Richard protests. “What the fuck was that for, man?”

  “Are you so stupid to actually call the man you want dead at exactly the same time Rogers makes his move?” Brad shouts. “Fucking idiot! Do you have any idea how that call can now be traced?”

  “Shit,” Richard says. “I didn’t realize-“

  “That’s because you’re a fucking idiot, that’s why,” Brad says. “Now make yourself useful and look for her. We’ve got to finish the job.”

  “Do we have to? She doesn’t know anything,” Richard whines. “She doesn’t even know Marrant, alright?”

  “Since when did you start questioning orders? Your job was to take care of Ethan and that bitch, Blythe, and yet you failed-“

  “Me? Jackson and Charlene did! I did my job to make sure Ethan remained clueless and let us do everything, and I did it well. If Jackson and Charlene hadn’t messed up like they did, I sure as hell wouldn’t be here-“

  “Well, you are, and your job right now is to look for her. We can’t have any of them in that boardroom tomorrow — not alive,” Brad says. “Here, it’s Wally’s gun. Use it if you have to. ”

  “Where is he?”

  “Dead,” Brad replies. “Now go before I have to get rid of you, too.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t,” Richard says. “Just count your lucky stars you’re a fucking Kheiron.”

  The sound of screeching tires above us announce the arrival of another car and as Brad and Richard move, they dislodge chunks of earth above me. With nothing to hold onto, I slip from my hiding place and land on top of a boulder below with a thud, my back hitting the rock hard

  “Fuck! She’s-“

  Richard’s shout is interrupted by a burst of gunfire and suddenly I don’t care who’s shooting who. I get up, forgetting the pain in my back just as Richard launches himself towards me. I feel his hand grab hold of my ankles but I start kicking frantically, feeling him loose his hold till I’m free.

  This time, I don’t stop to think. I just run, half stumbling, half falling for I can’t see anything in front of me. The sound of another gunshot cuts through the drone of the rain but I keep going. If I’m shot, I’ll figure it out later, but as long as I’m still running, I know that I’m still alive. I need to make it to the road so I make sure to keep heading up the hill, not caring about the branches that sting against my skin or the rough bark that cut into the palms of my hands every time I reach out to grab hold of them. I just need to make it back to the main road and get help.

  A beam of light illuminates the brush ahead of me, erratically moving through the trees. I should keep going, but I turn to look. It’s Richard and he’s about twenty feet away from me, his face contorted with anger. He aims his gun at me and shoots, but his aim goes wild again.

  Somewhere behind us, there’s a boom! So loud it knocks both of us off our feet but I don’t stop to look this time. I keep on running, praying the road will come into view.

  A tree trunk right next to me explodes, sending shrapnel of bark and wood chips against my skin, but I keep running. Suddenly, Richard’s right there behind me. I feel his hand catch hold of my hair, and I’m yanked backwards with such force it stuns me. I fall down on the soaked ground, the wind knocked out of me but I roll onto my back and kick wildly at him — his face, his torso, his groin — anything.

  My foot comes in contact with Richard’s jaw and he goes flying backwards, the gun knocked from his hand. I scramble to sit up but he recovers too fast and he’s on top of me, his fingers wrapping around my neck.

  I deliver a right hook into Richard’s temple, the same right hook I gave Heath on the plane though he’d been too proud to admit that my fist made full contact. This time though, I pray I don’t miss at all.

  Richard curses out loud, letting go of my neck, for I did hit him and my knuckles hurt like hell. But before he can recover, I pull myself up and knee him hard in the balls, and this time, Richard doubles over and falls to his knees as I scramble up the slope.

  I keep making my way up the slope till I reach the top, my feet pounding on gravel along the side of the road, wincing as I feel sharp stones cutting through skin. In the distance, I see headlights approaching behind the trees, just before the bend, and behind it, a red glow illuminates the night sky. The smell of gasoline comes rushing back to me and I almost double over from what could have happened if I’d stayed in the SUV.

  Behind me, Richard emerges from the woods, his Ferragamos covered in mud. Missing one Gucci shoe, he’s limping towards me, red hair plastered against his scalp. Rage fills his features, his fists balled into fists. Blood seeps from a cut on his left temple.

  That I can tell those details in a dark highway is only because the lone car has now turned the bend, its headlights illuminating every detail about Richard even as it heads straight at me. But I don’t care.

  I wave my arms wildly, screaming for help. The car swerves slightly to the right, and then left, as if the sight of me startled the driver, but it rights itself and continues down the road towards me. Behind Richard, another figure emerges from the woods. Its Brad, his gun held out in front of him.

  The black SUV screeches to a stop right in front of me, the smell of rubber reaching my nostrils and the sound of screeching tires against soaked asphalt just about leaving me deaf. For a moment I could have sworn the SUV has hit me and I’m dead, but the door swings open as I stand there, too shocked to move.

  “Get in!”

  I don’t have to think twice for Brad starts shooting, two shots hitting the other side of open door that shields me. I scramble into the passenger seat and shut the door, ducking as the window cracks from another round, the a flattened bullet stuck in the bulletproof glass.

  “Holy sh-”

  “No swearing,” Fred says as he makes a sharp U-turn and steps on the gas pedal, hightailing it as far away from Brad and Richard.

  31

  Blue Eyes

  “Oh my God!” I scream at him. “They got Heath! They got him!”

  “No, they didn’t,” Fred says, his eyes on the road. “He’s okay. A bit shaken up but he’s okay. I promise.”

  I stare at him, refusing to believe what I just heard. “How do you know he’s okay? He fired you.”

  Fred doesn’t answer. His jaw is clenched and he’s gripping the steering wheel till his knuckles turns white. Finally, it hits me. If Heath fired Fred, what’s he doing here? Is he with Brad and Richard?

  “What are you staring at?” Fred demands, slowing the car as we near a bend in the road, the high beam headlights illuminating the trees. “And why haven’t you put your seatbelt on?”

  “Are you going to kill me?” is all I manage to croak before I buckle my seat belt with shaking fingers.

  “If I’d wanted to kill you, Billie, it would have been a hit and run back there,” he says, before reaching out to touch my arm for I suddenly burst out crying.

  And he’s right. It would have been a quick one, too.

  “Ah, shit, I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me to say,” he says, gripping the steering wheel again. “But what kind of a question is that anyway?”

  “Because…because Heath fired you,” I sob. “And…and I have no idea what you’re doing here. Why are you even here?”

  “Would you rather I take you back there?”

  “No,” I retort, my tears gone as quickly as they had come. Somehow I believe Fred. If he had wanted to kill me, I wouldn’t still be sitting here listening to him being sn
arky towards me. He’s probably just getting back at me for getting him fired in Santa Barbara.

  As two fire trucks and an ambulance race towards us from the opposite side of the road, Fred eases off the gas and slows down, stopping along the side of the road before stepping on the gas again. This time though, we’re driving within the speed limit.

  “Wally’s still back there-”

  “I know. He’s dead,” Fred says, his jaw clenching as he grips the steering wheel and glances at the rear-view mirror. “He was a good man, Wally. Young and bright, and one of my best men.”

  “One of your best…what do you mean? You own the security company that Heath hired? Is that why someone managed to get him in the plane? And Brad, too?”

  “Brad and Jeff aren’t my men.”

  “Everyone in the security team was with Kheiron Industries-“

  “No,” he says sternly. “Everyone but Brad and Jeff work for Ettinger Holdings. Brad and Jeff were added in Santa Barbara-“

  I grip Fred’s forearm. “What about Blythe and Ethan? Did they-”

  “They’re safe,” Fred says, glaring at me till I released his forearm, apologizing for the nail marks I left on his skin. “They were in the middle of a party at the country club and my men were able to isolate them the moment the attempt on Heath happened.”

  “And Heath?”

  “He’ll be fine,” he says. “Take is easy. You’re fine, too, though you need to get cleaned up and checked for any internal injuries. You sure you didn’t get shot?”

  I shake my head, not to tell him that I hadn’t but because I don’t know. Adrenaline is still pumping through my veins and I’m almost numb.

  “Can I talk to Heath?”

  “No — at least not yet,” Fred replies, exhales. “We’re all on radio silence, even Ethan and your sister. But you can call her as soon as we’re done with the meeting.”

 

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