Sasha had a point. Ethan remembered how he felt after he first read the passage from Tropic of Cancer; he had wondered if she had put a tracker on his phone to keep him away or on a leash. And when he was at Sean McQueen’s house, he was so sure that she wanted him to come for her, unplugged. The article most likely explained why her brother was looking for her, something to do with who would take possession of the Highpoint Estate, but it didn’t mention murder, the reason why she was running away, or if she wanted him to stay away from her entanglements or come for her. He still didn’t know.
“I have no idea,” he admitted, but when he looked up at Sasha, he found his answer. His eyes drew wide and he reached slowly for her neck.
She jumped back. “What are you doing—?”
Sasha was wearing the antique necklace that Ethan had bought Brooke at the little jewelry store on Abbot Kinney Boulevard in Venice Beach.
“That’s my girlfriend’s pendant. It’s a handmade one of a kind. I would know it anywhere.”
Sasha nodded. “It also came in the package today.” She unhooked it and handed it to him.
Ethan snapped open the heart-shaped lavaliere, and sure enough there was a folded-up note inside. He read it out loud, “‘I love you always.’”
“Thank you!” He kissed her on the cheek, ran out, and shouted, “I’m coming for you, baby!”
As the door shut behind, Ethan heard Sasha say, “We get all the crazies.”
CHAPTER 35
Jack and Sean used all of the Stalker and Hounddog search tools to look for Brooke and her brother Clinton. They went full on, full throttle, full court press.
They worked on separate laptops in the living room, but Jack had trouble focusing, his mind still reeling from everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. He was trying to process that Bailey, his friend and former business partner, was dead. He was also thinking about finally coming out to his brother, and Ethan’s reaction. And he still couldn’t shun the image of a man dying right in front of him. The altercation with the tattooed bounty hunters played back in his mind—the fight, the gunshot, his escape. It looped in his mind until Sean snapped him out.
“Take a look!” Sean called out as he turned his computer around. “I’m using our institution tool to see if they have any affiliations, and I found this.” He showed Jack a list of church patrons. “The Godeaux family was a longtime member of St. Francis Church in Napa Valley.”
“I wonder if that’s the church Ethan called me from,” Jack said, “where Brooke got married.”
“I bet it was. There’s a Godeaux library and a Godeaux preschool. Looks like they were big donors—” Sean noticed Jack’s stress face, his worried look. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve been through a lot.”
“And my brother’s out there looking for Brooke with no way to be contacted, and very possibly heading into a trap.”
“It is concerning,” Sean agreed. “We’re doing everything we can, though.”
Then Jack smiled. “He took it exceptionally well, don’t you think? About us.”
“Amazingly well.”
“Maybe I should have told him sooner.”
“We do it when we’re ready.”
“He was really cool about it,” Jack went on. “Really cool. I mean, this was a really big deal.”
Sean smiled. “They say twins are more intuitive with each other. Maybe he always knew but didn’t want to say anything until you did.”
“Maybe. Now I feel bad about not having more faith. He never wavers from the things he believes in, and I doubt everything.”
Sean laughed. “You do have an issue there, I won’t argue with that. What made you turn atheist? Did you have a bad experience or something?”
Jack started his stock answer, “The idea of faith in something no one will ever prove—all the manipulations, the ridiculous, antiquated mythologies—just keep the world from breaking down the barriers of differences.”
Sean smiled. “And you’re supposed to be a chosen one.”
“Let’s look into the Godeaux family’s involvement in this church,” Jack said to change the subject. “We can chat about the end of times and other great fiction another time.”
As they both looked back down at their computers and continued searching for clues, Jack thought about the many discussions he had had with his brother about faith, and why Jack rejected it. Ethan had tolerated Sunday school, but Jack was always turned off by the Bible’s intolerance, knowing then that he was different, and that he wouldn’t change, or couldn’t.
When the twins turned thirteen, they had a double bar mitzvah—a symbolic ritual when young Jewish boys enter adulthood by chanting a section of the Torah in front of their family, friends, and an entire congregation. It was a turning point for Jack, but not for the usual reasons. He realized something about himself and his brother that he would never forget.
—
Jack was sitting in a chair behind the podium, watching Ethan singing his haftorah proudly, assuredly. Once Ethan completed his portion, the rabbi continued on in Hebrew and Ethan took the seat beside Jack.
“I can’t do this,” Jack whispered to Ethan.
“Yes you can. You’re well prepared. You’ll be fine.”
“That’s not why. I don’t believe in any of this. I don’t understand a word of the Hebrew. I don’t want to start my manhood as a hypocrite.”
“Get over it,” Ethan hissed.
“I have to be true to who I am.”
“You’ll break Dad’s heart. Look at him.”
They both turned to look at their father sitting on the opposite side of the bima. He had a frozen squinty smile, a jubilant gaze, and never looked more proud. He was an older dad with thinning gray hair and thick bifocals. And in spite of being a first-generation American whose parents had perished in the Holocaust, he never lost his faith, never held a grudge for a God who would turn his back while millions were slaughtered.
Jack knew that Ethan wasn’t going to let him break their father’s heart just because he was being a sanctimonious, smug little prick.
“You’re going to have to man up,” Ethan told him.
“I don’t believe in God.”
“You’re not the first.”
“And I don’t believe this ceremony makes us men. We’re just thirteen years old, for Christ’s sake.”
“Leave Christ out of it today.”
Jack didn’t laugh and began to stand up.
Ethan pulled Jack back down. “Don’t take it all so seriously. It’s just symbolic, a rite of passage. That’s all.”
“I don’t believe in symbolism or rites of passages,” Jack continued relentlessly. “I really don’t want to do this.”
Ethan got the rabbi’s attention, pointed off stage, and whispered, “Bathroom?”
The rabbi nodded and Ethan nudged Jack away.
Behind the stage curtain, Ethan began taking off his grey suit. “Switch,” he ordered Jack. “And hurry!”
“What are you doing?”
“Becoming you. Gimme your pants. Now. Let’s go!”
Jack pulled down his trousers and put on Ethan’s. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.”
They switched jackets.
Jack said, “Going through it twice isn’t going to make you twice the man or anything like that.”
“Shut up and give me your tie.”
“Dad will understand.”
“I’m not only doing this for Dad,” Ethan said. “I’m doing it for you.”
“Why?”
“Because someday you might have regrets.”
“I won’t. I know what I believe—”
“Someday you might grow up and believe in something, or someone. You can�
��t see it now, but I know this—”
“You’re not going to hold this over me in years to come, are you?” Jack asked as Ethan handed over his navy coat to complete Jack’s transition into him.
“I’ll never even bring it up, ever,” Ethan promised. “Now get back up there.”
They walked back on the bima and took their seats just in time for the rabbi to call Jack up.
Ethan sang Jack’s portion of the haftorah and the twins pulled off their first major bait and switch. Jack didn’t feel like a total hypocrite and their father didn’t have a heart attack. No one ever knew what they had done, and Ethan never brought it up again, as promised.
—
“My brother has always had my back,” Jack told Sean. “He always comes through for me, and I never show him any gratitude.”
“Never too late to start,” Sean said. “He needs you now. Let’s check this place out, this church. Maybe the priest that married Brooke knows something.”
“You gave Ethan your car,” Jack reminded him.
Sean got up. He was grinning. “I have others.”
“Where?”
“In the garage.”
“I didn’t know you had a garage. You always park out front.”
“It’s not actually a garage,” Sean said, “more like a shrine.”
Jack followed him down some steps and through a door leading from his maid’s quarters. They entered a two-thousand-square-foot, pristine man cave—a car collector’s reverie—with a dozen of the most luxurious sports cars Jack had ever seen. Jack was no car aficionado like his brother was, but he recognized a McLaren, a Ferrari, and a gorgeous Singer 911.
“You should have shown this to my brother,” Jack said. “You would have won him over in a heartbeat.”
“That’s not how I want to win people over.”
“Is that why you’ve never brought me in here?”
Sean climbed inside a bright yellow Lamborghini Gallardo and backed it out like he was handling a newborn. Jack got inside and buckled up. He couldn’t contain his smile as the V10 petrol engine purred.
“Is it—?” Jack asked over the grinding din.
Sean shouted back, “I didn’t want you to fall in love with me for the wrong reasons.”
And he peeled out like a bolt of lightening.
CHAPTER 36
Ethan charged back up north, the Maserati engine growling as he steered around the steep bend and passed the Dancing Rabbit entrance once again. He was in such a hurry, he had forgotten about the detectives in the black sedan waiting in the driveway who were, by the way, not gobbling donuts and trying to explain their Bermuda Triangle conundrum.
The last thing Ethan wanted to do was attract attention, but that’s what cars like McQueen’s GranTurismo do, especially plum-colored ones. When it had raced past Dancing Rabbit the first time around, with its deafening roar, the seasoned detectives had the fortitude to snap a photo of the license plate and do some due diligence. They learned that the owner, Sean McQueen of San Francisco, had a clean record. A simple search informed them that he was a rock star in the Silicon Valley tech scene.
“There are two likely reasons his car would be dipping in and out of Big Sur in such a hurry,” Ramsey told his partner. “McQueen was either dropping off something illegal or picking up something illegal.”
“Or a third option,” Johnson said. “That car was just stolen.”
“Any of those prospects worthy of a tail?”
Johnson shrugged and Ramsey drove out of the Dancing Rabbit driveway. They followed the Maserati for five miles, and then Johnson picked up his phone. “He’s leaving our jurisdiction, I’ll phone it into the next county.”
“Don’t do that,” Ramsey said.
“That’s protocol.”
“Fuck protocol. When we were taking down gangs in LA, we bent a lot of rules. We did what we had to do.”
“We’re six months from retirement,” Johnson said. “I don’t want to screw it up now. We lose our pension, and then what?”
“I don’t know about you, but I won’t feel right about leaving this department in worse shape than when we arrived. Sergeant Cruz is a good guy. He’s done right by us. He deserves our best, especially now. There are missing people involved here.”
“After what we’ve been through, we deserve something, too.”
“You’re right. We’ve been through a lot, you and me. That should count for something. I’ll only keep going if you’re in agreement.”
Johnson glanced his own image in the side mirror. His balding head and leathered skin reflected back a ghost of the cop he used to be. “Let’s do this then,” he told Ramsey.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
—
Ethan was headed onto the part of Highway 1 that merges with the 101 when he noticed the detectives’ car weaving multiple lane congestions behind. They hadn’t used their siren and lights but he was sure they were following him. He slowed to the speed limit, but his mind raced: Could they possibly know I’m inside this monster car? Had Sasha called them after I left the Henry Miller Library? Were they in contact with the FBI agents who were hoping I would lead them to Brooke?
He glanced in his rearview and figured he ought to be able to lose them in a car like McQueen’s Maserati GranTurismo. Why have a car like this unless you show what it can do?
He shifted gears, put pedal to the metal, and charged toward Napa Valley like a bat out of hell.
—
FBI agents Shu and Matz had no idea where Ethan was. Their APB was searching for the Tesla that was sitting behind Sean McQueen’s gated driveway, not a plum Maserati. So when their third-party tracking app suddenly pinged and showed a glowing line moving up the 101, they were able to track Jack, hopefully to Ethan.
“Ethan’s on the move,” Shu told Matz, “heading north.”
Matz glanced the map. “You mean the brother is heading north,” Matz corrected. “Remember the brother, Jack, has Ethan’s phone.”
“Assuming he told the truth,” Shu said. “They could have pulled a bait and switch.”
Matz rolled her eyes.
“Can you imagine what it would be like to be a twin?” Shu mused. “Think of the possibilities of being in two places at once.”
“Call and find out,” Matz said. “See which one answers.”
“They sound a lot alike.”
Matz rolled her eyes again and Shu dialed Ethan’s phone. It rang four times and then the voicemail picked up. “I told you.”
“You told me what?”
“They’re not answering. Bait and switch.”
“Give me their fucking twenty,” Matz snapped.
Shu watched the blue line on his map turn right. “Elyse exit, off of Highway twenty-nine.”
“That’s the exit to Napa, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
Agent Matz hit the gas.
—
The bright yellow Lamborghini Gallardo headed north toward the least touristy cluster of Napa, through Yountville, Oakville, and Ruthford, where the landscape is more majestic. Jack looked out the window at the unspoiled rolling knolls and watched a salient blood-orange sunset drop away.
“It’s hard not to feel starry-eyed when you move through such a sanguine place,” Jack told Sean.
Sean agreed. “It’s an instant reminder that there are other choices besides rat races and treadmills. Makes you imagine all the possibilities.” Sean turned down a Sugar Pine–lined street peppered with four-star restaurants and artisan shops and searched for street signs. “Did you say we’re looking for Sonoma Street?”
“Yeah.” Jack checked Google Maps again. “No, sorry, Sonoma Road. It’s a winding road that runs up to the church on the top of the hill.”
“I think I might have missed the
turn.”
“Why don’t we stop at one of these places up ahead and ask?” Jack suggested. “I could use a bathroom.”
“Good idea.” Sean pulled up in front of a sophisticated-looking tavern called Carpe Diem.
After Jack did his business, he found Sean at the bar being served by Fritz, the handsome bartender who had practiced his French on Brooke, and was now practicing his pickup lines on Sean, unabashedly. Fritz poured Sean a glass of wine and droned on about it, as if he were a master sommelier. “This heavenly grape is from a top-notch, small producer dedicated solely to super-premium Bordeaux-style reds, incredibly opulent fruit-driven reds that age for decades, like—”
Enter Jack. “We should get going.”
“One for the road won’t kill you,” Fritz said.
“Isn’t that the DMV slogan?” Jack smirked.
Sean laughed. “One for the road won’t kill you. Good one.”
Sean’s phone pinged, but he ignored it.
“This is one of California’s best reds ever,” Fritz said as he topped off Sean’s glass and winked. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Sean savored a healthy sip. “Napa bartenders make everything sound so good it almost doesn’t matter what the wine tastes like. But this one is truly amazing. Thank you.”
Sean’s phone pinged again. But he still didn’t look.
“Come back anytime,” Fritz said, meaning Sean, not Jack. And he moved on to other customers.
Sean’s phone pinged once more.
Jack asked, “Aren’t you going to see who that is?”
“It’s my Grindr app,” Sean admitted. “It goes crazy in places like this.”
Jack looked around and saw a lot of hopeful men. “This place is gayer than a fruit salad,” Jack joked, with a twinge of jealousy in his voice. “Why do you still have a Grindr account?”
“I forgot to cancel—”
Just then, a tall man with curly hair approached Jack and said, “You look just like that guy on TV.”
“I can’t go anywhere with you, and this is why.” Now Sean was the one that sounded jealous.
The Second Son Page 20