by Ella Frank
Julien is missing, and Jimmy is free.
Julien is missing. And Jimmy is fucking free.
As the full impact of those two things slammed into him all over again, the next thought that hit was: Robert. Fuck.
Priest quickly hit Robbie’s number, and as he sat there staring at the stark white wall of the bathroom, he did something he hadn’t done in years: he prayed.
ROBBIE SAT AT one of the booths at The Popped Cherry and punched in the numbers for the monthly order they needed to place. He and Tate had made good headway today, and in another hour or so they should be done with inventory.
Throughout the day, Robbie had been sneaking quick looks at the new reviews popping up about Julien and hadn’t been able to stop himself from raving about it to Tate. He figured he was owed that, considering he’d had to listen to Tate talk about Logan for years, and just as he was about to check for anything new online, his cell phone lit up and he saw Priest’s name and number appear.
With a smile on his face, Robbie reached for it and hit accept, and then settled back into his seat. “Did you finally track down our famous chef? I think we should—”
“Robert.” Priest’s voice cut Robbie off like a knife, his tone was that sharp, and Robbie immediately straightened in his seat.
“Yes? What is it? What’s wrong?” Robbie said, automatically sensing that something was very, very wrong.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at…work. Inventory, remember?” Robbie thought it extremely odd that Priest would forget something as simple as that—unless, of course, something else, something much bigger, was distracting him. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“I’m coming to get you.”
“Wh…what? Wait a minute. What do you mean you’re coming to get me? I work tonight.”
“Is Tate there with you?” Priest said.
“Yes. We’re just ordering and stuff. Why?”
“Tell Tate to lock all the doors, and do not leave that fucking bar. Do you understand me, Robert?”
Robbie’s entire body shook at Priest’s words, his brain understanding that whatever was going on, whatever had Priest barking orders at him, had to be something big, something that scared Priest, and the only thing Robbie could think of that did that was…Jimmy.
“Priest, you’re freaking me out. What’s going on? Where’s Julien?”
“I don’t know,” Priest said, and the impact of those three words was like a sledgehammer. “Lock all the doors and don’t leave. I’ll be there in ten minutes, max.”
“Pri—” Robbie started, but Priest had ended the call, leaving Robbie sitting there shaking in his seat.
What the hell? What did Priest mean when he said he didn’t know where Julien was? Wasn’t he at the restaurant?
Robbie swallowed a gulp of air and ordered himself to keep it together and do what Priest had told him. There was obviously a good explanation for this, because Priest wasn’t the kind to overreact unless it was important, but that didn’t make Robbie feel any better.
Robbie slid out from his seat and wiped his palms on his pants, and then he made his way to the bar, where Tate was putting all the bottles back in order.
“Uh, Tate? I, um…”
When Robbie stopped talking, Tate turned around to face him and frowned. “Hey? Are you okay? You look pale as a ghost.”
“I…uh, Priest just called, and he sounded really worried, and I know this is going to sound weird, but he said we need to lock all the doors and…stay inside.”
“Lock the doors? Why?” Tate put down a bottle of Patrón, and then he walked to the bar pass and came around to stop in front of Robbie. “Do you need to sit down? Is everything all right?”
“No. I just…” Robbie swallowed again and said as calmly as he could, “I just really need you to listen to me, please?”
“You want me to lock the doors? Can you tell me why?”
“I…” Shit, he didn’t know if he could, and until he did, he wasn’t about to divulge Priest’s secrets—not even to Tate. “I think Priest is just being overly cautious about something. But he said he was on his way, and I’m sure he’ll tell us more then.” Robbie could see that Tate wasn’t thrilled with that explanation, but it was all he had. “Please trust me.”
Tate sized him up for a long minute and then said, “Okay, let’s lock up. Then I’m calling Logan to see if he knows what the hell is going on.”
Robbie nodded. But he had a feeling if this had to do with who he thought it did, Logan wasn’t going to have any answers for Tate. The only man who held those was Priest.
Chapter Twenty
CONFESSION
Nothing will happen to him.
Not while I’m breathing.
“GET IN THE boat, Jimmy.”
A tall man dressed in camouflage gear who went by the name of Detective Winston gave the curt order, as he shoved a handcuffed Jimmy Donovan closer to the edge of the pier, where the police were ready to take him back to the city for processing.
Joel stood on the bank of the bayou and watched as his father and Victor were put into a second airboat that had appeared from out of nowhere, docking behind the one that had brought him into this nightmare.
With blood on his shoes, and his pants soiled and stuck to his legs, Joel didn’t dare move as a dozen or so police marched to where his father was now being shackled to the side of the boat.
“Joel!” Jimmy shouted, making Joel cower and shift closer to the policeman beside him. “Joel! Where are you, boy? Get over here before I leave,” Jimmy called out, and this time Joel reached for the policeman’s hand as his little body trembled with fear.
As the boat’s engine started up, Jimmy called his name out again, but when Joel didn’t answer, Jimmy swiveled around until he was looking right at Joel, and then he snorted.
“You think you’re safe now? You scared of me?” Jimmy said. “You think they’re gonna protect you? Get over here, I said.”
This time, Joel automatically shook his head, and the second he did, he realized his mistake, because Jimmy lost all fatherly decorum. “You don’t want to be my son no more? Is that it? Then you better listen to me good, boy, because I’m gonna tell you what I tell anyone else who tries to walk away from Jimmy Donovan. There’s only two things in life you should fear—me and God. And no matter how far you run or how well you hide, we’ll always find you, and when we do, you better hope one of us is in a forgivin’ kind of mood.”
As the boat began to pull away from the dock, the policeman standing with Joel called out, “Why don’t you shut the fuck up, Donovan?”
But Jimmy wasn’t to be deterred, as he met Joel eye to eye. “Don’t worry, boy. One day, I’ll get out and I’ll find you…”
PRIEST SHUDDERED AT the memory and tried to shove it aside as he made his way to The Popped Cherry.
Thank fuck it was clear today. No rain or sleet, or any of the other shit weather that often fell in Chicago at this time of the year, because with the speeds he was clocking, he’d likely have ended up skidding into a wall and being no good to anyone—least of all Julien.
Somewhere between throwing his guts up back at the condo and getting in his car, Priest’s panic and confusion over what had happened to his husband had morphed into full-on rage.
It all made sense now. Jimmy’s escape and Julien’s sudden disappearance had Priest’s father’s fingerprints all over it.
The surprise.
The timing.
The ambush.
Instead of waiting until nightfall, Jimmy had done it in the light of day. But how had he found them? And why take Julien? Priest had been so careful in keeping his past a secret, at keeping their marriage away from prying eyes. How had Jimmy found out about Julien? And what the fuck did he want?
That was the question Priest had been asking himself over and over, and there was one thing he kept coming back to. The only reason Jimmy would give up a chance of parole would be to vanish without a
trace. Turning rat came with a big target, but escaping and disappearing? That was a different story altogether, one that kept you friends instead of making enemies, and if that were the case, Priest knew he needed to think about what he did next very carefully.
Jimmy was arrogant, and if all he’d wanted was to seek revenge on his son, then he would’ve done more than just take Julien to get Priest’s attention. But Jimmy hadn’t done that. He’d sent a message, one that told Priest Jimmy wasn’t done with him just yet, which meant Priest needed to come up with a plan. Not an easy feat when every thought in your head was raging against common sense and steering you toward thoughts of bloody murder.
Priest made the next turn as though on autopilot, his mind now firing off a million and one different ways to track Jimmy down, when suddenly a light bulb went off in his head—Henri.
Priest hadn’t given his ex much thought since he’d seen Henri talking with Robbie at the restaurant last week, but at the time his appearance had most certainly struck Priest as odd, and now that feeling was turning to downright suspicion.
Why had Henri been there, making a sudden reappearance in his life? And as Priest grabbed his phone from the passenger seat, he couldn’t stop the sliver of doubt that was now creeping in.
As he pulled into the side street that led to the tiny parking lot of The Popped Cherry, Priest hit Henri’s number and waited for it to connect. It didn’t take more than one ring.
“Joel, I was just about to call you—”
“What the fuck are you doing here in town?” Priest barked out, not giving two shits about what Henri was or wasn’t going to do.
“Hello the fuck to you too,” Henri snapped back. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I was traveling through and saw a certain chef’s restaurant opening, and decided to stay and take a look around cold-ass Chicago. I just got word, however, that your father—”
“Escaped prison?” Priest pulled his car into an empty spot. “Is that what you were going to call me for? Because if it is, don’t fucking bother. Where do you get your information? On CNN?”
“No,” Henri said. “Everyone was tight-lipped trying to get him back before mass hysteria hit. No one knew shit, and I didn’t want to tell you until I had more facts.”
“Well, they know now. Jimmy is all over the fucking news. So are the three people he killed to escape, and Julien—is gone.”
Silence met Priest’s ear, and told him in an instant that no, Henri had not been aware of this news, and no, he had not been involved—and really, why would he be? He had been just as afraid of Jimmy all those years ago as Priest had been.
“What do you mean gone?” Henri finally asked, his voice cold.
Priest clenched his jaw, remembering what he’d found—or not found—in the parking garage. “As in never showed up for work this morning, won’t answer his cell, and his car keys were on the ground by our SUV back in the parking garage. Gone.”
“Fuck,” Henri said. “You didn’t call the police, did you?”
No. No, he had not. And while Priest knew that was what he was supposed to do, he also knew—
“If you call the police, Julien’s as good as dead. You know that, Joel.”
Hearing the words out loud from someone other than himself made Priest feel a little less crazy for not having gone straight to the authorities. But at the same time, it also made him more fucking scared than he’d ever been in his life.
“Look,” Henri said, “you and I know Jimmy better than any cop or PI in this town.”
“What’s your point, Henri?”
“My point is”—Henri took a deep breath—“let me help you. Let me help Julien. Let me look for him, track him down. It’s what I do, and you know I can look in places that others can’t or…won’t.”
Priest slammed the heel of his palm against the steering wheel and let out a stream of obscenities. He hated this world Jimmy existed in, but at the same time knew if he wanted to get Julien back, he had to play the game Jimmy’s way, because that’s what this was to Jimmy—a game.
“Do it,” Priest said in a voice he barely recognized. “Whatever you have to do, just do it. He took my fucking husband, Henri. I want to know where the hell he went.”
“Got it.” The line went silent for a moment and then Henri said, “Joel?”
“What?”
“I don’t know that young man I spoke with on Thursday night. But if he’s as important to you as he appeared to be, get him somewhere safe.”
Priest looked at the back door of The Popped Cherry and hated that all of the reasons why he had avoided relationships in the past were now coming to fruition.
“You just worry about finding Jimmy, and when you do, I want to know about it. I’ve got to go,” Priest said.
“Okay, I’ll—”
But before Henri could say more, Priest had hung up, realizing he needed to make a couple of calls before he went inside to get Robbie. It was time to take him somewhere safe, because while Henri had been close in his assumption, important barely scratched the surface on what Robbie meant to Priest.
ROBBIE’S LEG WAS doing a nervous jig as he sat in a booth. It had been around ten minutes since he’d gotten the call from Priest but it felt more like an hour—or three.
He was a wreck. His hands were shaking, his breathing was all over the place, and when Tate had shoved him into a booth and told him to sit down before he fell down, Robbie had gone without question.
As much as he’d tried, he couldn’t stop hearing the severity of Priest’s tone or the distress in his words over and over in his head, and as his mind rewound to the story of Jimmy, the shack, and Mr. Stevens, Robbie couldn’t stop thinking the worst.
He brought a trembling hand up to his mouth and gnawed on his thumbnail, as he looked across the table to where Tate had taken up residence, and Robbie didn’t miss his look of concern.
Tate had sent off a text earlier—to Logan, no doubt—but judging by the way he’d been alternating between watching Robbie and the blank screen of his phone, the message had gone unanswered.
“Robbie,” Tate said. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you? It’s obvious you have some idea what’s going—” A loud banging at the back door had both men jumping in their seats, and Tate shoved a hand through his hair. “Fucking hell.”
He got to his feet, and Robbie also slid out of the booth, already knowing who was on the other side of that door. As he and Tate headed to the back entrance, Robbie rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants again and tried to steady them. He didn’t want to worry Priest any more than he likely already was, but Robbie was having difficulty getting his hands to stop shaking.
Tate unlocked the door between the bar and the foyer that led up to the loft, and then he punched in the alarm code. As soon as the alarm was disengaged, Tate pulled it open, and when Priest came into view, relief flooded Robbie’s entire body.
Tate stood aside, and as soon as he did, Priest stormed into the foyer and reached for Robbie. Without a word, Priest hauled him into his arms and wrapped him in a fierce embrace, and Robbie burrowed into his solid strength, holding on to the one person he knew would always keep him safe.
“Are you all right?” Priest asked, his voice rough.
Robbie nodded, and when he looked Priest in the eye, he could see the stress there. “I’m fine, really. I’m just worried.”
Priest gave a clipped nod and ran a hand up Robbie’s spine. “I know. So am I.” He looked over his shoulder. “Hello, Tate.”
“Hi,” Tate replied.
“Thank you for looking after Robert for me. I appreciate it.”
Tate gave a curt nod. “Of course. Is everything okay?”
Robbie looked at Priest’s face, wanting the answer to that himself, and when Priest said, “No, everything is not okay,” Robbie held on to Priest a little tighter. “You’ll be fine. The issue is with me. Do you mind if Robert takes tonight off?”
“I
don’t know, should I?” Tate asked, his tone frostier than Robbie had heard in a while. “Is he in some sort of trouble? He’s not telling me anything, and you haven’t told me anything yet either. All I know is you called and told him we needed to lock all the doors. That doesn’t really make me want to let him go anywhere with you.”
“Hey?” Robbie said, and let go of Priest to stand in the middle of the two men. “I am right here, and an adult. I’m not in trouble, okay? But I’d like to go with Priest.”
Tate’s jaw ticked, and Robbie could see the indecision on his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Robbie put a hand on Tate’s arm. “I’m fine, but I’ll be better if I can go with him. Will you be able to find someone to cover for me tonight?”
“I’m not worried about that.”
“Tate?” Priest said. “We need to go.”
“If anything happens to him—”
“Nothing will,” Priest said in a voice Robbie hardly recognized. “Not while I’m breathing.”
Robbie flinched at that, and Tate narrowed his eyes.
“But we really have to go.” Priest took hold of Robbie’s elbow. “You ready?”
Robbie nodded, and as they walked out the door, Tate said, “Does Logan know what’s going on here?”
“No,” Priest said, as he led Robbie around to his side of the car. As Robbie slipped inside, he heard Priest say, “If Logan needs me, though, he knows he can call.”
Priest shut the door, and as Robbie stared out the windshield at his friend and boss, he wished he could tell Tate something to ease his worries. The problem was that he didn’t know anything, not really, and what he did know certainly wouldn’t make Tate feel better.
Priest opened the driver’s-side door and got in. He buckled up without saying a word, and when he started the car, Tate turned around and headed back inside out of the cold.
When the door shut behind him, and the two of them were finally left alone, Robbie looked at Priest and asked the one thing he feared the answer to: “It’s Jimmy, isn’t it?”