“Holy shit,” Oliver said once he got to them. “That could’ve been bad.”
Regi couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something that filled him with such pride. Riding that wave, he led the way to the plane door, shoved the new layer of snow from the bottom of the entrance, and swung it open.
He stepped in and plonked into the middle seat. The other two didn’t come in right away, and when he looked out and saw them untying their rope, he removed his gloves and did the same.
Holly came in and he handed her his end of the rope. She tossed it outside.
Oliver remained outside, sorting through stuff in the sled. Regi hoped he was planning on food, because he was starving. None of them had eaten since the night before.
Holly went to the back of the plane and sat looking down at Chancy’s body.
“What’re we going to do with him?”
She looked Regi’s way and shrugged. “I don’t think we should take him back ourselves. I’ll arrange for someone to come get him, though, and the pilot.”
Holly seemed really beat up about what happened to Chancy, though he was pretty certain they didn’t know each other.
She turned to him, and when their eyes met he was stunned by how blue they were. “Regi, you know we’ll need to make up a story, don’t you?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”
“Well, Oliver and I said we were coming up here to retrieve Milton’s body, but we didn’t succeed. You and Pope said you were here for an insurance claim. Now that people have died, we need to figure a few things out.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“We know. None of us did.”
Regi was thinking that Oliver had sorta killed Pope. Then again, if Regi hadn’t punched Pope, the gun wouldn’t have gone off. So maybe he sorta killed Chancy too.
The door creaked open, luring Regi from his tumbling thoughts. “Who’s hungry?” Oliver tossed a couple of packets of freeze-dried meals onto the front seat.
“Hell yeah.”
As Oliver set about making their meals, Regi toyed with his earlier thought. If he wanted to, he could label Oliver as Pope’s murderer—if he needed to, that was. If Holly and Oliver decided to throw him under the bus when they got back, he’d have his own backup plan.
Holly moved away from Chancy and sat opposite Regi. “Olly, I was just talking to Regi about our need to get our story straight.”
Oliver looked up from the stove he was getting ready to light. “What story?”
She turned to Regi. “It seems that we both have secrets. You didn’t want anyone to know you were looking for Milton’s DNA, and we didn’t want anyone to know we were looking for Angel and Fred’s bodies. It’s a crazy coincidence that put us all together.”
“You got that fucking right. Why were you looking for those people anyway? Was it the money?”
A look of sadness crossed her eyes. “It’s a long story.”
He held his hands wide. “Got nothin’ else to do.”
She huffed and looked at Oliver as he ripped one of the packets open. “He’s right.”
Holly pulled her water bottle from her pack, and after taking a swig she turned to him. “Four years ago, I took a helicopter flight up here with Milton. We crashed, and well…your father and everyone else died.”
The way she spoke, almost trance-like, made him wonder if this was something she needed to talk about. Regi decided not to tell her he’d read all about it in the paper. When she told him about Angel and Fred, though, he was glad he didn’t stop her.
She was right about it being a long story, and they’d all eaten their meals by the time she finished. Regi had never met anyone like Holly. He thought she was amazing before, when she’d fetched that stuff for him, but her willingness to risk her life for people she’d never even met was the most unselfish thing he’d ever heard of.
It was there and then that he knew he’d never need that backup plan with Oliver. And when Holly had said she’d help him, he was certain she would.
“So,” Holly said, “we need a favor. When we get back, I don’t want anyone to know about Fred or Angel. At least not until I’ve had a chance to tell Fred’s mother.”
Regi nodded. “I can manage that. But I’m going to need your help.”
“Sure.” She didn’t even hesitate.
“Well, I assume it’s going to take time to get the DNA tested and stuff. Then there’ll be more time settling the estate.” He screwed up his nose. “I don’t really know any of that stuff, but I need to get Carson off my ass as soon as I can.” He cleared his throat. “Do you reckon I could have that money? In the case?” He pointed out the window. “I’ll pay you back when my money comes through.”
“There’s no need to pay us back. It’s not our money.”
“Oh… Um.” He was stunned speechless by her response.
“Let’s see how much it is.” Oliver went outside to fetch the case, and between the three of them they began counting the money stacks. Regi had never seen so many hundred-dollar bills in his life. As he counted up the thousands, it began to hit him that he was about to be rich. Mega-fucking-rich. He could ditch his boring job, buy a new car, a new house. Get one for his mother too. He could buy fancy clothes and shiny leather shoes like he’d seen Carson wear. The thought of Carson brought the whole fantasy crashing back to reality.
None of it was worth a cent if Carson continued to own him.
“Holly, when you said you’d help me, did you mean it?
“Of course.”
He believed her. One hundred percent.
The next day, everything went to plan. The weather was back to perfect and they set off as soon as the sun lit the horizon. Once they crossed through the towering pillars, Oliver used Chancy’s two-way radio to call for a rescue.
They were back at Miracle Lodge before lunch and the police were choppered in a few hours later. Holly, Oliver, and Regi were interviewed together. Regi made a point of keeping his mouth shut, and it worked exactly as planned because Holly answered most of the questions. No one seemed to question her story about Pope looking for the ransom money he’d thought was in the plane. They also didn’t ask too many questions when she told them how Pope had gone crazy and shot Chancy when the money wasn’t there.
“So where’d he go?” the redheaded policeman asked Holly.
“We don’t know.” She shrugged. “After Pope shot Chancy, he just left the plane. Maybe he tried to come back down. We never saw him again.”
Oliver and Regi both nodded, agreeing with Holly’s story.
What the police didn’t need to know, nor anybody else, was their visit to the crevasse after Chancy had been shot. As far as the police knew, they spent over twenty-four hours hiding in the wreck, from both the storm and the madman outside.
When the interview was over and the police left, Holly arranged for them all to get a helicopter back to the airport. On the way back, she handed Regi a piece of paper. “Here’s my cell number. Call me whenever you need.”
As much as he hoped he wouldn’t, he was also pretty certain he’d be needing her help again, and probably very soon.
They landed to a mob of reporters all shoving microphones in their faces. But it wasn’t him they were after, it was Holly. And while Oliver tried to save her from the pushy bastards, Regi snuck away, and that was the last he saw of them.
When his plane landed in Seattle, the temptation to go home, shower, eat, and sleep was strong. But the need to get it over with with Carson was stronger. He looked like shit. His hair was a mess, and in addition to the split in his fat lip and his black swollen eye, his face was sunburnt. He stunk too.
But he didn’t care.
Regi took a taxi from the airport straight to Carson’s gate. He paid the driver and tugged his pack from the trunk. It was the same guard from las
t time, but it wouldn’t matter and he knew it. He’d still have to go through the motions. Even though the pit bull had seen him walk up, he still waited until Regi knocked on the small glass panel.
“What?” he grunted.
“Reginald Tate, here to see Mr. Carson. Tell him I have his money.”
The guard cocked his head as if Regi’s comment jogged his memory. It should’ve, because it was what got him through the gate last time.
Once again Regi was ordered to sit on the bench nearby. As he waited, he wondered who Carson would send this time, now that Pope was dead.
Pope was dead.
He hadn’t even had time to celebrate.
Regi waited out the minutes by trying to count how many times Pope had beaten him up. He was at number twelve when Carson’s Rolls-Royce Wraith curved into the waiting zone.
The side gate popped open, and Regi grabbed his pack and aimed straight for the back seat. He climbed in and checked out the driver. He’d seen him before. The man had joined Pope in many of Regi’s beatings, but Regi had no idea of his name.
He said nothing, so Regi didn’t either.
Once again he was driven down to Carson’s twelve-car garage, but this time, when the car stopped Regi got out and made his own way to the exit. He climbed the steps, and at the top he searched for Carson. The entire house was lit up, but nobody was around. Some kind of buttery pastry was cooking in the kitchen, and the smell had Regi’s stomach growling.
Unsure of which way to turn, he waited for the driver to make his way up from the garage.
“Where is he?” Regi asked the second the man appeared on the stairs.
“In the bar.” He pointed in the direction and Regi strode that way.
After a few strides on the polished white tiles he heard music, and then laughter. Women and men. And a loud crack that sounded like the start of a game of pool.
He entered through the open double doors and Carson was there, arms open as if ready to hug him. “Ah, there he is, the man of the hour.”
Regi pulled to a stop and did a quick scan of the room. Other than Carson, he recognized only one other man, another one of Pope’s goons. Centered in the room was a giant pool table. To the left was an enormous bar, and the brunette behind it was topless. The remaining women ranged from fully clothed to nothing but G-strings. All six men and seven women around the room turned to face him. Everyone had a glass in their hand.
“Can I talk to you, please, Mr. Carson?”
“Of course.” Carson indicated to the bar.
“Alone.,” Regi pleaded.
“But we all want to hear your story. It’s been headlining all day.”
That was news to Regi, and he wondered just how much Carson knew. But as he squeezed the handle of his backpack, loaded to the brim with half a million dollars, he knew Holly wouldn’t have said any more than she needed to.
“There’s nothing to tell,” he said. “Pope’s dead. I’ve got your money. We’ve got a deal to settle.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. Have a drink with us.”
“I don’t want a drink, Mr. Carson. I want you out of my fucking life. Forever.”
Carson’s eyes narrowed. Regi had stepped over a line, a line that would force Carson to show those in the room who was in charge. And without Pope around to do his dirty work, Regi was interested to see how he planned on doing it.
“You’ve got a lot of gall coming into my home and saying that.”
Regi unzipped his pack and upended it, spilling bundles and bundles of money onto the plush carpet. “Here. Five hundred thousand dollars. That’s how much you said I owed you.”
Carson blinked at the stash. A murmur rumbled around the room.
“For the damage to the Stingray. And so I could walk away. That’s the deal we had, right?” Regi clenched his jaw.
“Yes. That was the deal. Before you… How shall I say it… Lost Pope. My best man. So that deal’s no longer on the table. You’re mine, Reginald Tate. No amount of money can release you.” Carson had a way of making a threat real. Calm, calculating. Like wielding an axe loaded with menace.
“Yours? What d’ya mean I’m yours? I’m nothing like Pope. I can’t go around beating people up, just ’cause you ask.”
“Pope told me you’re fast on your feet.”
“That’s because when he’s around, I’m running for my life.”
Carson sipped his drink, then chuckled. “You’ll learn.”
Regi kicked the bag, then picked up a wad of cash and threw it at Carson.
Carson ducked, but he didn’t need to, because the money separated and fluttered to the floor. Once it settled, Carson pegged his glass at Regi. Regi could’ve ducked, but he’d learned that lesson years ago. The glass hit him square in the chin, showering him in ice and liquor. He howled at the sting to his split lip and the pain to his already thumping bruises.
There were as many gasps around the room as there were sniggers.
Regi glared at Carson with a hatred so deep it burned.
Carson laughed. Laughed and laughed. Then they all started laughing. Regi turned and ran, sprinting down the long corridor, out the enormous front doors, down the broad road with the fancy trees, and out the panel in the gate.
The whole time he was running he expected to be tackled to the ground.
But he wasn’t.
Carson let him go.
But only because Carson could get him any time he wanted.
Chapter 28
After they’d come down from the mountain, and survived the media frenzy and endless police interviews, Holly and Oliver had parted ways. While he returned to Brambleton, back to his work and worried family, Holly had stayed in Seattle.
She had business to attend to. And she was determined not to return to Brambleton, or Oliver, until she was done. But after just seven days, she couldn’t wait to get out of the place she’d once called home.
While the taxi ambled along in the bumper-to-bumper traffic, Holly looked out over the bay. The scene was picturesque, but it was no longer the thing of beauty that she’d once considered it. Holly reached for the gold locket in her purse, opened it again, and stared at the photos of Angel and Fred inside. Not that she needed to; their smiling faces would be permanently implanted in her mind.
Her heart was pounding out a frantic beat by the time the taxi pulled into the curb outside the four-story apartment complex. She paid the driver and stepped into the uncertain Seattle weather. It seemed that one minute the sun was blazing and the next minute black clouds plastered over it, threatening rain. When she’d lived here all those years ago, she hadn’t really noticed its volatile weather patterns, but it’d certainly put on a show in the last few days. The weather perfectly matched how she was feeling, and as she walked up the uneven brick path, her nerves swung from dread to excitement.
No matter what happened, she was about to change an old woman’s life.
Holly climbed the short stack of steps and walked along the narrow wrought iron-lined balcony. She stopped outside the door with a large number seven screwed into a middle panel.
When she couldn’t procrastinate a moment more, she reached up and knocked.
Several heartbeats later, the door opened a couple of inches, until a chain stopped its progress. “Hello.” The woman’s quavering voice matched her age.
“Hello, Mrs. Pearce, my name is Holly Parmenter. I rang you yesterday about—”
“Yes, yes, just a moment.” The door shut, and after a metallic shuffling sound it reopened again. Dorothy was short, and her dependence on a walking stick had her leaning over, reducing her height even further. “You say you have some information on my Frederick?”
“Yes, I do. Would you mind if I came in? I brought us a tea cake.” Holly held up the white box containing the treat.
“Oh,
that’s very thoughtful of you, dear. Come in. Come in. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Holly stepped into a small lounge area dotted with trinkets, fake flowers, and a variety of photos. Several photo frames housed pictures of Frederick. Him in his police uniform, playing sports, and with his arms around a much younger version of his elderly mom.
As she followed Dorothy’s slow progress into the apartment, Holly prayed the news she was about to give the elderly woman wouldn’t ruin the image Dorothy had created for her son.
Dorothy made tea and indicated where Holly could find small plates and a knife to cut the tea cake. She may look frail, but Dorothy could assert herself just fine. Once they were ready, she led them back to the living room, and while the elderly woman sat in a small recliner, Holly sat on the two-seater sofa, close to Dorothy. She put her bag on the couch beside her and swallowed hard.
She’d rehearsed over and over how she’d convey what she knew, and the only way that’d made any sense was to start at the beginning. Holly placed her teacup on the coffee table and turned to Dorothy. “Dorothy, what I have to tell you is a long story.”
“I’ve got all afternoon, dear.” She sipped her tea.
“You may need it. Okay, so four years ago, I traveled to Canada with my fiancé, Milton.”
Dorothy was an excellent listener, she nodded and blinked and sipped her tea, but didn’t utter a single sound until Holly said, “The helicopter explosion released a giant chunk of ice. That’s when I saw…Frederick and Angelique. They were there, on the ledge with me.”
Dorothy gasped. Frowned. Her hand went to the pearls around her neck and tears welled in her eyes as she put her teacup down. But still she remained silent. Holly reached into her purse and removed the photo she’d chosen as the most moving, yet beautiful picture of the couple.
It was peaceful, loving.
Dorothy reached for the photo and her lips parted. For a long moment she stared at the photo with her trembling fingers, making it shiver. Finally, a small smile curled at her lips. “They make such a handsome couple.”
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